Blue-Eyed Angel

RaineMalfoy

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Mystery
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 7
Published: 28/01/2007
Last Updated: 09/01/2008
Status: completed

Thirteen years after the Dark Lord was vanquished, Draco Malfoy is out of Azkaban, wandless, practically destitute and physically afflicted from his trespasses against Voldemort. Who should chance by and save this shell of a man from the ice he has become, but a fiery redhead from his dark past. (Written before book 7, but some scenes bare a certain resemblance that is too striking to not have a spoiler warning for DH.)

Chapters

1. Chapter 01

2. Chapter 02

3. Chapter 03

4. Chapter 04

5. Chapter 05

6. Chapter 06

7. Chapter 07

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 09

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

24. Chapter 24

25. Chapter 25

26. Chapter 26

27. Chapter 27

28. Chapter 28

29. Chapter 29

30. Chapter 30

1. Chapter 01

Summary:

Thirteen years after the Dark Lord was vanquished, Draco Malfoy is out of Azkaban, wandless, practically destitute and physically afflicted from his trespasses against Voldemort. Who should chance by and save this shell of a man from the ice he has become, but a fiery redhead from his dark past.

Disclaimer:

I do not own the Harry Potter franchise or any character that originates from it.

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Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter One

The days of Lord Voldemort were long past, though anything but forgotten. The scars left behind all across the Wizarding world from the battles were kept as reminders of once dark times and a promise for brighter future. In Diagon Alley, though the people hustled and bustled along in their own affairs, they could not help but glance at the ravaged buildings that stood as tribute and testament to those who had fought bravely, and died young, those many years before…all in the name of good and right.

The now incredibly famous Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the young wizard who had single-handedly defeated the Dark Lord at seventeen-years-old, was held in such high esteem that he was comparable to that of a living deity on earth. A sort of divine being of great power, wealth and prestige to be admired, hailed, honored, and even worshipped.

Potter's constant companions, the other two of the Three Musketeers, the fearless and virtuous Gryffindors, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, were of course no less hailed and respected. Their aid in the downfall of the Dark Lord was recorded in the history books, documented in the Hall of Records in the Ministry of Magic, and they too were honored. Like Harry, they were recipients of the Order of Merlin, First Class, for their service and sacrifice in their stand against evil at the risk of their own lives in those dark days when they were oh-so-young.

Diagon Alley was crowded. It was the start of December and witches and wizards were out, bundled up in their warm cloaks and scarves, boots and hats, all on their merry way, buying gifts for their loved ones on a cold night.

Lights of sparkling fairies glittered in the windows of shops, festive decorations sang carols as people passed by, snow powdered the eaves and it was trampled firmly underfoot. The sky was black, the stars were out, and the sounds of so many happy people filled the crooked and narrow street, giving off an aura of contentment and slight urgency. A very important anniversary was near at hand. Not just the birth of Christ, but the death of an evil wizard.

Nearly thirteen years had passed since the Dark Lord had been overthrown, killed, destroyed, obliterated. Twelve years had passed since the now infamous Death Eater Trials had come to an end. Eleven years had passed since Hogwarts was officially reopened, and in the ten years since, the witches and wizards of Europe had lived in safety and with peace of mind.

Ding-dong, the wicked…wizard…was dead! The celebrations had lasted months.

Despite the time that had passed, Harry Potter still could not walk down the street without looks, without stares, without whispers, and without proclamations of gratitude.

It was something he had long ago come to terms with. Whether as a boy known as the Boy-Who-Lived, or a young man dubbed The Chosen One, or now as a man and The Great Hero…he had always been forced to endure the gawkers, the celebrity-crazed fans, the obsessed admirers, and the resentful people who had lost everything because of him.

Wrapped up warmly in his expensive yet tasteful black cloak and scarf of his prideful Gryffindor colors, Harry Potter moved through Diagon Alley amidst the snow and shoppers. He enjoyed the winter, and the cold, for the excuse to be covered and not look conspicuous. Polyjuice Potion was all well and nice when he wanted to get out for an hour or two in peace, but he could barely stomach the concoction, and to take on another's appearance seemed cowardly. He had done nothing wrong, why hide?

He had his mother's beautiful green eyes, his father's striking face and unruly yet thick dark hair. He was six feet tall, slender but strongly built, now that he was a man. He was thirty years old and handsome. He should not have to hide himself like the Elephant Man.

Yet he did.

Few would recognize him just in passing, but if one were to give him a solid look, recognition would streak across his or her face and Harry would continue on without a word, in hopes of being lost in the crowd before the news of his presence spread. With his hat pulled down to cover his hair and his famous scar, if no one looked right at his face, little commotion would follow in his wake, but not tonight.

“It's Harry Potter!” the eager whisper drifting from some feet past met his ears. Harry felt himself cringe at the thought of a small number of people's excited realization would become a scene of mass hysteria, all wishing to personally meet and thank the Great Harry Potter so close to the anniversary of his triumph over the Dark Lord.

He hated winter too, and that anniversary was the reason why.

Not taking a moment to consider his next action, Harry ducked into the closest building. He did not want to trap himself somewhere there was no back exit, and Apparating out of the scene would be terribly careless and rude, but he could not stay on the street.

Entering the very dark pub Harry pulled the collar of his cloak upright so that it blocked a good portion of this face from view, his hat's brim wide and sloping, hid the rest while his head was tilted down slightly.

“Oi, I'll be right with you, sir,” came a woman's voice, seeing Harry out of the corner of her eye as she tended to a recently emptied table. Clearly not having been recognized, Harry was able to relax slightly, thankful for the break in the otherwise constant tightness in his gut when he was out.

Harry Potter took a seat near the back, but not in the corner. Not only was that table occupied, it would make it harder to get away should he find it necessary. From the back, but more to the right, not too far from the bar, Harry could see all the way across the poorly lit pub to the front door. The windows were frosted over so that the people on the street were just distant shadows on the other side of the glass. Harry could see over the heads of everyone in the place, people minding their own drinks and their own company. To his left, very near to the bar, there was a door, a door that led out to the back. It was a last resort of course to flee, but it was something that was always on Harry's mind when he went out. It had become a part of his life, so much so that it was normal and he did not dwell on the fact that he could not stroll the streets anymore.

He was a celebrity. He had to deal with all that came with fame.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Harry knew those words. The moment they crossed his mind his stomach contracted like someone had hit him with a Slug-Vomiting Charm right in the gut. Those words had not been his originally, and he had not just thought of them now on accident. He had an inexplicable compulsion to look to his right, to the table in the corner, and stare.

A man sat alone with his back to Harry, but he seemed to be aware of Harry's perturbed stare and turned slowly in his seat to look right back at him. Turning however revealed he was not alone at all, but in fact accompanied by another, someone who had been blocked from view while he sat so hunched and small in the corner, hands in his lap, eyes on his untouched drink, and the look on his face obvious melancholy.

Draco Malfoy slowly raised his silver eyes from his drink, tilting his lowered head just a fraction of an inch, to lock eyes with Harry Potter around the man that had turned to reveal him.

His appearance was thin, undernourished even. His skin, once as fair and rich as cream, was now pale as milk and the dark circles under his eyes gave away that he lacked sleep and sunlight. His hair, once platinum blond and shining, at some point had just become white and it now hung long and straight, half covering his face, smooth yet slightly tangled looking. His pointed face would have been striking in its attractiveness, if it weren't for his eyes. Stunning they were, but the haunted weight they carried was enough to send chills and distract from their utter rarity and beauty.

The two men held the contest for a few long heartbeats, but then Harry's attention was ripped away, leaving him startled. The waitress who had greeted Harry upon arrival was now standing beside him. She had spoken to him and his startled reaction had in turn made her jump.

“Oi, I'm sorry, Mister. I did not mean to startle you,” she said, her right hand over her heart as she smiled, easing herself down as Harry relaxed, his eyes a little too wide behind his glasses, and his hand easing away from his wand under the table.

“Oh, I am sorry. I was just distracted,” he said, apologizing and nodding.

“What can I get `cha?” she asked, her youthful manner and speech charming, her body attractive. It was her utter obliviousness to Harry's fame that he found the most attractive of all at that moment.

“Just a Butterbeer to warm up, please,” he said, flashing a perfect smile.

“Right away, sir,” she said with a grin, scooping up the coins Harry offered her before rushing off.

Harry watched her go, fully aware that though she was clearly an adult, she was far too young for him, still taking the opportunity to ogle a little bum.

“Eyeing your young fans, Potter? Tisk-tisk. Disgraceful, that is,” came a male voice drifting over to Harry from the corner. Harry looked over with angry eyes to see Blaise Zabini turned in his chair so that his left arm was resting on the back of it (right arm likely free in case he needed to go for his wand) glaring over at Harry, looking both patronizing and self-assured. Draco sat at the table too, but he was silent and remained still, just as Harry had seen him moments before, only his eyes were back on his drink set before him. His shoulders were rolled so far forward it seemed as though he was trying to shrink down into himself.

“Zabini,” Harry said, voice calm despite the rage he felt bubbling deep within him, “you are out of Azkaban, I see,” he said this calmly, making a civil conversation of it rather than exchanging insults. He would let the Death Eater be petty and insulting. It would only make him look like the bigger person in the end to ignore it.

“Been out for a few days now. It didn't make the newspapers though. I guess no one wants to ruin everyone's perfect day by revealing that a dangerous Death Eater made probation after a decade served in that hellhole,” he said, being just as civil now but unable to speak without baring his teeth slightly. His appearance too was disheveled and worn. Stretched thin, waxy dark skin, and haunted. Azkaban did that to people.

“How is life on the outside treating you?” he asked, honestly not caring how the filthy son of a Muggle killer and Death Eater was doing.

“Well, the home welcoming was not exactly warm, but the Ministry has assigned me work. Standard procedure, so I hear for all probations from Azkaban,” he said flatly.

“So as to keep a careful eye on you,” Harry said. He was well aware of the mandate that stated that all released from Azkaban via probation would work for the Ministry of Magic until their probation was through. It had been proposed as a means of “reaching out” to the repentant-through-prosecution, to help them “reestablish” their lives once out of prison. Probation was meant to reintroduce them, and to help them adjust to life…but Harry knew the truth. The Ministry did not trust the Death Eaters, and rightfully so in Harry's opinion, and those they had been unable to sentence to death, and could not legally lock up for a lifetime, they had to find a means of dealing with. There was a whole generation of witches and wizards in Azkaban that had wound up in there because of their families. Those who had killed no one, had no evidence of having used an Unforgivable, yet had maintained their allegiance to their families while proclaiming their innocence.

Now a little more than a decade later, they were all reaching their probation and slowly, one by one, they were being let out.

Two now sat before him, and neither looked very happy to see him.

“Yes. Well, working for the Ministry,” Zabini began, “even as a lackey in some dark hellish cellar of that disgrace to the name `bureaucracy' isn't too bad,” he said, eyes harsh as ever, tone quickly slipping to show the same.

Harry felt outrage at the insult to his Ministry.

“Watch your mouth, Zabini,” Harry warned.

The pub was quiet now, all eyes turned to the quarrel. All eyes but Draco Malfoy's that is. He seemed oblivious to the scene except for the tightness in his shoulders.

“I don't recall you always being so chummy with the Ministry,” Zabini accused. “Oh, that's right; The Great Harry Potter is now a firm supporter of the corrupt Ministry. They give you a medal or two, an award or three, a nice cushy job, some more fame, and you suddenly absolve and love them?”

“Do not dare imply that my values and loyalties can be bought for any price, Zabini. I worked for years to clean up the Ministry and set things right,” Harry said fiercely before his voice died in his throat, Malfoy looking back up at him with his scorned eyes. Harry regretted his choice of wording now.

“Made everything better didn't you, Potter? Have to save the world every damn day don't you? Defeat the big baddy, reform the government, hand out recognition and awards, pardon those who deserve it…bang up job you did too,” he mocked as Harry stood suddenly, Zabini doing the same, both itching for an excuse now to draw their wands.

“Mister Potter, please, no!” the young waitress implored, near the table but not daring to come near enough to touch him, only reaching out to him.

“You have something you would like to say to my face, Death Eater?” Harry spat. “Say it to my face, say it.”

“Turn around and drop your trousers and I will,” Zabini came back with an insult, Harry's face burning with suppressed anger.

“Let's step outside then,” Harry proposed, making it clear his intentions without having touched his wand yet.

“Ladies first, Potter,” Zabini said harshly, holding his hands out as though offering the door to Harry.

Harry Potter defiantly turned his back on the Death Eaters and stepped out the back door, no one stopping him despite the sign that read “employees only” hanging from it. Zabini followed and a few seemed to want to stop him, but with Draco Malfoy bringing up the rear, his cold stare chasing back any courage the people in the pub had been gathering, they were allowed to disappear through the door unchallenged, leaving a buzz of gossip and wonderment in their wake.

“You want to start something, Zabini, just out of Azkaban?” Harry demanded, turning on Zabini once the door closed, locking them in a nearly closed off square yard, showing great self control having not drawn his wand at that point, in his opinion. Trash bins had been stacked against one stone wall, the other side being a tall wooden fence. The snow was thicker back there without the heavy foot traffic having packed it down and an extremely narrow alleyway was the only noticeable exit, leading to the busy street between the two old and squat buildings.

“You feel I have wronged you, Zabini?” Harry demanded.

“Me and how many others?” Zabini replied.

“Let them speak then,” Harry said, clearly implicating Draco then and glancing over at him.

“You honestly feel you are faultless?” Zabini snapped, while Draco stood with his back to the door, watching the scene with crossed arms.

“I'm not perfect, but I did everything in my power to…” Harry faltered.

“You think I am intimidated by you, Potter?” Zabini questioned.

“There any reason you shouldn't be?” Harry spat. He was not full of himself, but he was extremely world worn and confident.

“Oh, I know it is folly to mess with you, the Ministry's darling,” Zabini scoffed.

“I am no one's darling and I have earned my reputation. I brought down the Dark Lord at seventeen, that alone is evidence to the fact that I can handle myself,” Harry stated calmly.

“Still holding to that are you? Still reveling in your own grandeur? Tell me, do you recite you accomplishments to yourself every night before you sleep?”

“You calling me conceited?” Harry asked.

“Still pretending that you took down the Dark Lord all by yourself? That you stood up to him like a man and fought him one on one?” Zabini accused. “That he fell at your feet as you held your wand high like a bloodied sword after a fierce battle, to the applause of all those who witnessed your moment of triumph?” he spat, disgust apparent and obvious in his face.

“I have given apt credit. I never said I took down the most feared wizard of our time alone. Medals and awards were handed out, libraries were named after…” Harry continued.

“Oh, you can wipe that `my shit doesn't stink' attitude away right now, Potter!” Zabini suddenly shouted. He seemed to make a move for his jacket's inner breast pocket and Harry had his wand drawn but not yet pointed. He did not even realize he had gone for his wand until it was in his hand.

“You want to end up back in Azkaban, Zabini? One word from me, with all those witnesses in there,” Harry said, indicating the pub, “and I can have your probation revoked and you can finish up the last of your term behind bars,” he said.

Draco Malfoy, who had been silent and unmoving through the whole confrontation so far, looked over at Harry with angry eyes, his hair still hanging limply around him like a partially opened curtain, his dark robes faded from age, mended with care but disheveled in appearance. His Muggle jeans were torn at the knees and his heavily treaded boots scuffed and worn. Harry looked away, not able to look at Draco, knowing exactly what Draco was thinking right then.

Zabini suddenly made a move as if to stupidly go for his wand, and Harry's attention snapped back to the other wizard, jumping into action, defending himself.

Before Zabini could even draw and point his wand Harry sent a silent hex towards him, hitting him with a spell that seemed to punch him in the face, blood erupting from his nose as his head shot back in a snap.

While Zabini's eyes watered and his left hand shot up to his face to shield his now broken nose Harry used that opportunity to try and disarm him.

“Expelliarmus!" he shouted out loud even though that was not necessary anymore.

Nothing happened.

Harry glanced at his wand and back over to Zabini again to see Draco Malfoy tending to him, leaning Zabini's head back and directing him to pinch the bridge of his nose in hopes of slowing the bleeding.

“We do not have wands, Potter,” Malfoy said, sounding angry while looking over at him, hands still on Zabini's shoulders, steadying him. “The Ministry snapped them in half more than thirteen years ago and we are forbidden to replace them. You know that,” he said.

Harry felt sick.

He did know that.

What had he been thinking when he had attacked…defended himself…from Zabini? Did he honestly forget that he had been a part of the team that had set in place the laws to prevent the Death Eaters from ever having wands again? Did he really think that Zabini had actually found someone that would sell him a wand?

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable, his guilt over a great many things magnified with the other man standing there.

“Having a drink with an old friend,” he said simply, looking back at Zabini as he fell to the snow, pulling his knees up so he could rest his elbows on them, trying to sniff back the blood that was oozing down his dark face.

“I'm sorry for this. I did not mean for…” he said, pausing and dropping his intended words to opt for different ones. “I will make this better,” he said, looking at the two men. They were two men that had nothing. No money, no wands, no respect, no lives. He had attacked an unarmed wizard. Not even a wizard really, but just a man.

“Haven't you done enough already?” Draco asked softly, looking at Harry with eyes so full of bitter resentment that Harry felt sick. Malfoy was not saying that what Harry had done since the war was good; he was not thanking Harry for things he had done; he was not blindly worshiping Harry like the rest of the wizarding world was.

He was reminding Harry of his darkest secret, the thing that brought Harry so much shame and guilt and the reason behind why seeing Draco in the pub so unexpectedly had unnerved him so.

He was reminding him of the one thing he had failed to set right, and the one life he had been unable to save as a result of it.

Harry looked right at the man he had failed so terribly more than thirteen years before and could not hold his gaze.

“I'm sorry,” he offered for the hundredth time as Draco stood Zabini up and turned him so that they were heading towards the narrow alley.

“For yourself maybe,” he said bitterly before turning away with still angry eyes and leading Zabini out of the fenced and walled in yard, leaving Harry Potter to stand there, miserable and shamed in all his grandeur.

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Draco Malfoy silently slinked into the Ministry of Magic's headquarters in London through the street entrance. He could not Apparate into the hall because he had no wand, he was forbidden to use the Floo Network even if his home was connected to it, and there was no one willing to allow him to Side-Along with him when they Apparated there.

Dialing the number after standing in the decrepit red phone booth just off the Muggle street, Draco waited patiently as his familiar ride down into the bowels of the Ministry began. The sun had not yet broken the horizon at that point, it was hardly dawn and the stars could still be seen. It was a terrible time to be awake, yet there he was, slowly descending at quarter past five, on his way to work.

The booth opened up to spill him out into the main hall of the Ministry, with magnificent mahogany-paneled walls and highly polished dark wood floors. The peacock-blue high ceiling gleamed with inlaid symbols that continually changed. He had entered into the Atrium where Apparating wizards appeared slowly here and there, a few emerging from the fireplaces along the left wall by Floo. It was early, and though there were a few coming in, Draco was missing the morning rush. That was why he was up at such a God-awful hour.

His hood pulled up over his head so that his face was shadowed, his hair tucked down the back of his cloak so as not to give him away, he made his way past the witch at the front desk. The fountain that had previously stood as the showpiece in the Grand Hall had been replaced some years before, due to all the damage it had sustained during the many battles in that final war.

Once occupied by statues of a golden wizard, a house-elf, a witch, goblin, and a centaur, now it was a glamorized depiction of the Great Harry Potter besting the Dark Lord who was crumpled face down at Harry's feet while partially submerged in the water. Harry's foot rested atop him, a silver shield of armor on his chest, his hair blown back from his face to make his scar focal, and his wand arm held high in triumph. Water shot up in a jet behind Harry's likeness, giving a dramatic backdrop for the centerpiece, or just maintaining that it was supposed to be a fountain. Draco raised his shaded eyes scornfully to the statue as he passed it, hating that piece of “art” more than just about anything he had ever hated in his life.

The Desk Witch in her peacock-blue Ministry robes did not look up or acknowledge Draco as he passed and made his way through the golden gates, but she did greet the two wizards that passed a few moments later, flashing a smile and happy wishes for a good day.

Draco slipped into one of the still empty Ministry lifts and rode it down as far as it would go. No one hopped on or interrupted his ride. It was too early for that. The Atrium was on the eighth level. His descent into the Ministry of Magic from the street had already taken him more than halfway towards his destination. While most witches and wizards took lifts up from the Atrium to reach their offices in levels two through seven (level one being where the Minister worked, few having the clearance to warrant such a visit,) Draco needed to go down, down past the Department of Mysteries on level nine where the Unspeakables worked, and down past the courtrooms on level ten which could only be reached by stairs.

It was like some cruel joke that he would have to pass those dreaded courtrooms every day. The Ministry was not without its sick sense of irony.

The lift stopped with a slightly unsettling screech of brakes and the golden caged doors opened onto a landing. Draco did not look around but immediately started walking. Torches provided dim light, making it seem even more like night, and he proceeded alone and silent for a long time. Eventually he passed a person on his way down, a wizard coming from the direction Draco was heading, probably from one of the courtrooms. Malfoy paused and pressed his back to the wall with his head down and in shadow of his hood to let him pass. Though the hallway was wide and roomy, he still moved aside for the wizard. Daring only an angry glance at the wizard's back, Draco was on his way again.

He took a long flight of stone stairs down, then another. It was growing increasingly damp the further down he went. By the time he was past the third set of poorly carved stairs there were actual streams, trickles, running down the walls. There were no longer hallways of wood and stone; it was like a tunnel in the bare earth.

The torches were fewer and farther between at that point, but his feet knew their way. He knew to skip over the cold puddle that pooled in a dark section of the hallway that was so much deeper than it ought to be, and he avoided some of the toppled rocks that had freed themselves from the clay walls.

With a groan of heavy old wood on rusted hinges, Draco pushed open the door on the right of the hallway. Inside was a room that seemed too large, tall, and deep for it to be called a “room” at all. The place was a cave, but carved out and squared off. The ceiling disappeared into shadow, bookshelves just as high stood in long rows. There was a pair of desks directly in front of him, sitting face to face, sharing a singular desk lamp with a green-glass lampshade. Paperwork was stacked impossibly high, old brittle quills littered the area, crumpled parchment was scattered in the general vicinity of the bin, and books lay battered and sad while waiting to be repaired or placed back onto their shelves.

The whole room smelled of parchment, earth, dampness, and of darkness. The darkness had a smell, a smell that was kind of like mold, but a little colder.

“Draco, my boy,” a man called, coming from behind a line of tall bookshelves to greet him.

“Good morning, Mr. Coderdale,” Draco said softly, walking further into the room. “You are here awfully early,” he commented, taking off his cloak at his desk and laying it across the back of his chair to reveal the same, tight, torn jeans and zip-up black hoodie that had seen better days. The elbows were worn out and patched with a very contrasting red and the front pocket was tearing off.

“Well, I could say the same about you, but you are actually running a little later than usual,” he noted while snapping a book closed with his one hand, drawing his very round glasses away from his very elderly face with the other.

Mr. Coderdale was so ancient looking it seemed to defy reason that he was still alive, let alone moving around and climbing up and down ladders like he did. His long beard and bushy eyebrows were snow-white and wispy, his head otherwise bald. His age spots looked like ink blotches on wrinkled parchment. His hands were long and thin, his body perpetually hunched from too many years spent nose-deep in books, and his walk was a bit of a limp, but he never let his age get him down. His deep grey robes billowed out around his feet as he walked, arms extended with glasses in one hand, the book in the other, seemingly offering a hug but really just being very welcoming.

He was a kind old man.

“Late for me, but still early on the clock,” Draco said, smiling slightly.

“Of course. How was your evening?” Mr. Coderdale asked, dropping his book on his desk causing a small flurry of papers to rise up before settling.

“Lackluster,” Draco said simply, pulling his chair out from his desk and flopping into his seat to now be shorter than his inbox. He really hated being shorter than his inbox.

“You get in fights with Harry Potter so often that it has become tedious, Malfoy?” he asked, a wise smile creeping across his face as he peered at Draco from over his mess of paperwork and books, placing his glasses back on his face slowly.

“You heard that did you?” he asked, a little surprised. Though he had guessed news would spread quickly enough that he had been seen in the company of Harry Potter and harsh words had been exchanged, it was barely eight hours after the fact and already Claudius Coderdale of the Ministry's Hall of Records knew about it.

Knowing that, Draco had little hope of having a decent week at that point.

“Well, I heard that there was a scuffle in a pub involving you, Mr. Potter, and another Death Eater.”

“Another Death Eater, implying that I was the first,” Draco retorted darkly.

“Draco, I know you are no Death Eater, but you spent ten years in Azkaban. Your trial was published all over the Daily Prophet and every other publication. I mean, The Quibbler was even reporting that you were a Death Eater for Merlin's sake, but only because a Wrackspurt nested in your ears and caused momentary madness,” he said and Draco managed to snort a laugh as Coderdale chuckled. “It is not outlandish to think that people will assume you're a `vicious, Dark Arts peddling, loyal Death Eater' to the now past Dark Lord and that you vowed vengeance on Harry Potter, the man that took everything from you, when you were in a harsh exchange of words with him so close to the anniversary of the end of the war,” he said

“Who's to say that I didn't vow vengeance on said Mr. Potter?” Draco grumbled, not feeling terribly vengeful at the moment, just really tired actually.

“Well, people still believe that you cursed Potter during that scene you made at the end of your trial…bad luck following him for years after,” Mr. Coderdale trailed off.

“Potter doesn't though, so there's no point in playing advantage to that rumor.” Draco pouted, wishing Harry Potter really did believe he had cursed him. He'd rather be feared than pitied.

“What happened last night, Draco?” Coderdale pressed much more sympathetically than before.

“Nothing,” he said, grabbing the top file and pulling it down to his desk, opening it with a focused determination to ignore Coderdale.

Coderdale looked down at Draco for a long moment and Draco knew he was being looked at, but he refused to look up. He stayed focused on his file, unfolding and placing his glasses on his face so that he could read, taking notes about what volumes of what transcripts he would need to pull for various people of various departments of the Ministry.

Coderdale eventually sighed and busied himself re-shelving volumes.

Draco looked up once Coderdale was away, taking his glasses off to chew on the right earpiece distractedly, his mind flashing through a memory involuntarily, forcing him to relive it for a moment.

“You promised me! No! Let go! You promised me, you lying bastards!” he screamed, kicking, yelling, and trying to shake off the hold the guards had on him. His light frame was literally picked up by a guard leaning back while his arms wrapped around Draco from behind. Draco kicked out at the guards that were trying to wrangle his feet.

“No! No! NO…” he shouted, his voice quivering at the last as he fought back frightened and frustrated tears, his voice actually cracking from his screams as he struggled.

“Come on…” the guard grunted, giving Draco a shake as he held on to him, the other having hold of Draco's one leg, his other still kicking.

“Get him out of here!” the Minister shouted, smacking his gavel over and over again, trying to speak over the commotion Draco was making and the people who were watching in shock.

“No! You promised me! You can't do this!” Draco shouted.

“Get him out!” the Minister's booming voice shouted over the heads of all those in the courtroom while Draco struggled still despite his small size.

“You can't do this! You bloody damned LIARS! You will get what's coming to you, I swear! No! No! Let me go! Do not send me there, PLEASE!” he screamed, begging at the last as the guards now had him, one hugging Draco from behind to his chest with Draco's arms pinned down, the other holding Draco's ankles tight, carrying him suspended between them. A third guard had his wand drawn and pointed right at Draco's chest, making it clear he would jinx him into submission if he struggled any further.

Unable to move, wands upon him, no one listening to him, Draco hung his head and wept as he was carried out of the room, the people witnessing the trial abuzz with what they had just seen:

A guilty verdict…

Draco Malfoy trying to struggle away from the guards…

Draco Malfoy breaking down and crying…

Draco Malfoy…proclaiming vengeance?

To whom? Harry Potter, undoubtedly, in the unified opinions of all those witness to the scene.

“No! No! Please, they promised me!” he screamed again, not once saying who “they” were, his words echoing down the corridor before the heavy door could slam shut and block out his screams from the witches and wizards now talking furiously at the conclusion of a Death Eater's trial, the first of many to follow over the next year.

Draco snapped out of his memories with his shouts and screams echoing in his head. He took a shuddering breath and let it out firmly, calming himself.

That was more than thirteen years ago, yet that night…that night was still so plain in everyone's memories, his being no exception.

The only difference was he was one of the select few that knew the truth behind the meaning of his words. Those that mattered knew, but none that knew thought it mattered enough to set things right, apparently.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” he muttered to himself bitterly like he had so many times before. He had used his Legilimency to remind Harry of that the night before. It was a magical and mental ability, but no wand was required when simply pressing a thought into another's wide-open mind.

Draco worked in the Hall of History, Documentation, and Records. His story was there, written out on the pages of many different volumes and transcripts, but it was always inaccurate. It was always wrong.

Draco Malfoy: Convicted Death Eater and Werewolf.

That was untrue.

The Death Eater part at least.

-->

2. Chapter 02

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Two

Narcissa Malfoy hurried between one Ministry Official and another, shouting, taking things from them and setting them down, just to turn her back and have the item picked up and carried off again.

“Stop this! You have no right! Get out of my home!” she shouted, her usual crisp and proper voice faulting around the edges, anger close to the surface, sadness and frustration already there.

“I'm sorry, Madam, but we have Ministry orders to search your home and remove anything we suspect relates to Dark Magic,” the wizard that stood vigilant over the scene said, unfolding a piece of parchment and offering it to Narcissa. Narcissa strode over to him in several long graceful steps, her ornately beaded silver dress clinking expensively as she approached. She snatched the parchment from him in a huff and looked it over while witches and wizards tossed the room, carrying things out.

“You have searched my home twice already! What do you hope to find this time?” she demanded, her pointed face hard with anger to mask her tears that threatened to come.

“Your husband, Lucius Malfoy, has just been sent to Azkaban, Madam. He broke into the Ministry under orders of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and attacked several young Hogwarts students. He bears the Dark Mark,” he said, as though that somehow explained what the Ministry hoped to find in the Malfoy home.

Narcissa sobbed at that point, unable to deny what her husband was, and upon being reminded where he was. Her home was being torn apart by people she knew from the Ministry, people she had once considered associates or even friends! Without a word, she hurried from the room, still weeping, lifting the front of her dress so as not to stumble, while wizards used their wands to overturn furniture and search the undersides with charms and spells in hopes of finding things concealed.

Draco stood on the stairs about halfway up, his back to the wall where he leaned his bum against the railing, arms crossed, face flushed in anger as he watched his home be invaded and torn apart for the third time in recent memory, by strangers and family “friends” alike. The sixteen-year-old wizard glared at the unwelcome guests in his house from overhead. He saw his mother hurry into the Grand Hall where the stairs stood and his face fell, arms loosening slightly. He could see and hear her weeping and it made his chest tight with guilt and pain. He hated seeing his mother cry.

Hurrying down the stairs, Draco joined his mother under the chandelier, hugging her slender body protectively.

“It's all right, Mother,” he comforted.

“They can't do this. They can't,” she sobbed into his shoulder, the Order of Decree crumpled in her perfectly manicured and delicately jeweled hand as she wrapped her arms around her son's shoulders.

“We cannot stop them,” he said, hating that. Hating that he could not ease his mother's pain, free his father from Azkaban, clear their family name, and protect and defend his home. He felt powerless, and that made him positively livid.

“Oh, your father would be at the Ministry now, raising hell if he were here. He would not allow this; he would not stand for it,” she said, unintentionally comparing Draco to his father like she often did, only making Draco all the more angry, angry that he could not be the man his father was no matter how much he wanted to be, or how hard he tried.

“Our name is no good anymore, Mother. We have no standing with the Ministry with that new Minister,” Draco said, trying to make it sound as if it weren't simply because he was inept that he couldn't smooth this over like his father had so many times before, with threats and with gold.

“Oh, God,” Narcissa cried. Draco just soothed her softly and rubbed her back, glaring over her shoulder at the wizards that had just entered the hall.

“Check the upstairs, starting with the boy's bedroom,” one called out to the others as they filed up the stairs. Draco's eyes narrowed and his chest tightened again in outraged violation.

Draco pulled away from his mother to look at her straight on.

“Mother, go lay down in Father's study,” he said.

“Draco,”

“Go, please, they are done in there. Just lay down before you give yourself a nose bleed from stressing,” Draco said, giving his mother's hands a squeeze before turning and following after the wizards on their way to his bedroom.

He took the stairs two at a time and caught up with the men just as they started on his room in the same fashion they had the rest. Draco appeared in his doorway in time to see his mattress flipped over onto the floor and his dresser drawers being pulled out, their contents carelessly thrown out.

“Excuse me!” Draco shouted, watching as his privacy was not only violated but as his belongings were so disrespected. “Excuse me, you can't...” he tried but the wizard closest to him produced a Ministry Order of Decree from somewhere in his robes, about to assure Draco they could.

“We have an Order…”

“Sod off, I'm not talking about that, I…HEY!” he shouted, distracted from the Ministry Official before him, as one of the wizards in the room took his wand to the pillows and split them open, tossing the downy feathers out and searching through them, clearly in hopes of finding something hidden. Draco turned to see his closet being pulled apart and his belongings tossed about. Two wizards, knowing Draco was watching them, each grabbed the sleeve of a shirt and pulled, ripping it down the middle. Draco turned again and saw the pictures on his walls being pulled down and checked over, their backings ripped away to expose their canvas backs, but nothing hidden.

Draco's bottom lip trembled and his hands clenched in rage. The wizards knew there was nothing to find in his bedroom; there was no need to be so destructive. They were just being cruel.

“Alright, alright, there is nothing to find here,” the wizard who had spoken to Draco already announced, stopping the fun. The wizards slowly filed out, mean, yet satisfied smiles on their faces at Draco's expense. The wizard in charge grabbed Draco's hand and slapped the Order of Decree in his palm and closed his fingers around it.

“Happy birthday,” he said with a harsh smile.

Draco glared at him with angry bitter tears brimming in his eyes at that last remark.

The wizard turned, and left to join the others as they tossed the rest of the upstairs.

Draco balled his fist around the parchment until his hand shook and his nails bit crescent marks into his palm. He threw the parchment away with an angry yell and faced his room.

It was a mess, more than a mess, it was a disaster.

Walking through the white feathers that littered the floor like a fresh snowfall, Draco approached his bed. The four-poster was pushed aside, the deep green curtains in tatters, the mattress on the floor slashed into ribbons, the pillows emptied, and the bedding torn away and thrown aside. Draco squatted down and dug through the feathers, looking for something.

Tossing aside an empty pillow, he found what he was searching for. Falling backwards onto his butt and scooting across the floor until his back was against the wall, he hugged it tight.

Draco was not going to cry. He was not. But this was not how he wanted to spend his sixteenth birthday.

In all actuality, he had turned sixteen on the fifth of June just three weeks before, but this was his first day home, and since he had first started attending Hogwarts, his first day home had always been his birthday celebration.

There would be no celebrating today.

Draco hugged what he had rescued from the ruined bedding. The battered, but well-loved bunny with button eyes that lived under his pillow and only came out when Draco needed comfort was there with him now, offering him much needed comfort.

It was not fair.

He hadn't done anything to deserve this.

Draco woke up from his restless sleep feeling stiff and very cold. He let out a sigh of breath that faintly clouded around his mouth; it was that cold in his room. Not even in his sleep was he safe from his memories. Not for a moment could he be at peace, it seemed.

Getting up and dressing slowly, he walked stiffly, readying himself for another day at the Ministry. He hated getting up so early, but felt he had no choice as he would rather get out of work early and spend his afternoons and evenings relaxing, as opposed to cooking dinner and going straight to bed. He had better things to do with his time.

Walking with a stiff limp, he brushed out his long hair, washed up, and left without eating. His stomach was unwell this morning. He locked up behind him after making sure that all the curtains were drawn and walked to the bus stop. He would ride the Muggle bus, with its Muggle passengers, all the way into London. He had no other alternative.

He missed having a wand …he missed magic, but he had learned to get along without it. Not by choice, but out of complete necessity.

He had never completed his schooling. He had not attended his seventh year (for obvious reasons), and his sixth year, well, he had been a little too distracted to fully benefit from any classes that year. With only a fifth year education, he really was a bit of a substandard wizard, but he was an excellent study, and working in the Hall of Records he had a lot of time bone up on all he had missed, and then some. He couldn't do any practical magic, but he knew more spells than most wizards his age, and he knew best how to apply them in any given situation.

Unfortunately, he would never get the chance to utilize such knowledge.

He had spent ten years in Azkaban and had been out for three. He would never be allowed a wand again.

Learning to travel without magic, learning to cook, to clean, to sew…it had taken some fortitude and resolve on his part, but he had picked it all up rather quickly. It was not just that stubborn Malfoy determination in him to excel in everything he attempted, but that he had had to. He had gone from a life where house-elves and servants catered to his every whim and need, while having magic as a back up, to having nothing, and no magic to fall back on.

This early in the morning, the bus was near deserted. The bus driver bid him a cheery good morning and Draco paid his fare without a word, but a single nod. Sitting in the back of the bus, he absentmindedly looked out the window while his forehead leaned against the glass. Oh, how his life had changed.

“Malfoy…Malfoy,” Coderdale said, trying to get Draco's attention. Draco looked up from his desk, blinking. He had been at work for two hours and the entire time he had been in a daze while filling out paperwork.

“Sorry?” Draco said, blinking to clear his mind. He had been overtaken by yet another memory, and without anything to actively distract him from it until Coderdale had yelled just then, he had been unable himself to pull out.

“I asked you a question,” Coderdale said, shaking his head.

“Forgive me, I…I was drifting. What did you ask?” Draco asked, while straightening his papers before him like it had a purpose, other than to ease his embarrassment.

“I asked you if you have the volumes on Gretchen the Ghastly. I need them and I couldn't find them shelved,” he said, looking worried about Draco but not letting that be heard in his voice.

“No…no, I don't have them,” Draco said distractedly at first, looking around his cluttered desk quickly.

“They are not on the list of checkouts; did you not shelve them properly?” Coderdale asked. Draco heaved a sigh.

“Probably not,” he answered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What's with you today, Draco? You are more of a flake than usual,” he said, letting his concern finally surface in his voice.

“I'm just tired. I have not been sleeping well,” he explained, remembering his dream, a dream that had just been a terrible memory.

“You been eating?”

“I don't think that is of any concern of yours,” Draco snapped.

“Draco, I worry.”

“And it is not necessary,” Draco said, cutting the man off while standing. “I'll seek out those volumes I misplaced,” he said, already turning and walking away, leaving Coderdale to worry by himself. He did not need the man's concern.

Prideful creatures, those Malfoys.

Draco drifted off into the towers of books, glass lanterns shelved periodically to provide soft light. As he walked, though his footsteps soft, echoes rose up around him. He limped into the section that contained texts on everything from Goblin Gold to Geisha Witches. Surely Gretchen the Ghastly was somewhere around there.

He found Gretel of Gadsdorf and Gunther the Terrible but no Gretchen.

“Bloody hell,” Draco said, holding a lantern up and turning in full circle to look around. Where had he put it?

Sighing loudly in irritation, he reached over and grabbed one of the sliding ladders that were attached on a track to the shelves. He pulled it over, hooked the lantern in the bend of his elbow, and started climbing stiffly. His joints screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain, or at least did not let it hinder him.

About halfway up, he stopped to hold the lantern out and read the titles of the books. What had he been doing while shelving the books? Surely if he could remember what he was thinking about, he would be able to backtrack his way to the section where he had misplaced them.

“Damn it,” Draco grumbled, preparing to climb down when a familiar name on the spine of a particularly massive volume caught his eyes.

Granger.

Of course she was in there, and of course she had her own volume. She was a renowned and “brilliant” witch. She had been a part of the Dark Lord's fall and had since built her career further with her work in the Ministry. She was a “clever” and “intelligent” Healer now.

Draco glared at the book. His tongue darting out to moisten his lips, he put his lantern down on the wide shelf and pulled the dusty text.

Turning around carefully on the vertical ladder so that he could sit partially on one of the rungs, Draco opened the book to a random page and was immediately presented with a picture of the book's namesake herself. She stood tall, bright, and waved. Draco narrowed his eyes at her and read the caption.

“Hermione Granger, Muggle-born, rose to fame early in life due to her contribution to the Order of Phoenix at the mere age of seventeen. One of her most notable achievements was the capture of the Death Eater, Draco Malfoy… (for more information on Malfoy see Dark, Deadly and Dangerous Death Eaters)…”

The book read on, but Draco snapped it shut with much suppressed anger causing a cloud of dust to billow. He re-shelved it with more force than was necessary.

“Slag,” he muttered bitterly, insulting her.

“Hello?” a man's voice distantly echoed. Draco looked away from the shelves, towards the direction of the voice.

“Hello?” the disembodied voice called again after a moment.

“Coderdale, where the bloody hell are you?” Draco muttered to himself, climbing back down towards the floor. He could hear the man calling, and he had expected Coderdale to be right there to offer assistance, but he appeared to be misplaced at the moment. Draco could only hope the ancient one had not wondered off and died in some dark corner of the library. It would be weeks before he found him and the smell would be terrible.

Draco pulled up his hood as he moved towards the front of the vast room, covering his long hair and tucking it out of sight. The man's calls could still be heard, closer than before, but still echoing from the high ceiling.

He paused at the end of the row and carefully leaned around the shelf, looking to see who it was that had wandered all the way down into his awful pit of a Ministry department.

A young wizard stood alone, looking around, a few paces from the desks. His hair was the color of old gold, smooth and long enough that it was nicely slicked back with oil. His robes were a charcoal grey and nice, though not too fancy. Simple business robes. A cornflower blue tie at his throat, polished shoes on his feet, he looked like just about any other wizard his age in the Ministry.

The man was looking away and called out, "Hello?" again, before glancing back to see Draco silently peeking out at him from about twenty feet away, looking timid.

“Oh, hello there,” the man said with a strong Irish accent. “I thought for a second that I was alone in here, but given the size of this place…wow…I figured I would linger and maybe give someone the chance to reach me,” he rambled, friendly, fresh, fake.

Draco said nothing. He simply stared at the man as he leaned around the shelves, his hood up so that his pale face was in dim shadow. His face was not hidden, but his identity was.

The man looked at Draco for a long moment before clearing his throat and shifting.

“I came looking for some volumes,” he announced. Draco said nothing. “Then again, I suppose everyone that comes down here is looking for volumes,” he said with a smile. Still, Draco said nothing. “I tried sending a note down this way, but owls are all backed up on the seventh floor, and no one can get any messages past until the mess is cleared up, so I had to come all the way down here to…” he said, drifting off to look right at Draco. “You really don't care do you?” he asked, abruptly dropping all pretenses, his voice suddenly so much less friendly and his shoulders so much less squared.

Draco just shook his head.

“I'm looking for some texts on Dark Magic. I had a list, but it's lost somewhere up on the seventh floor.”

“There are a lot of volumes here on the Dark Arts, but most are restricted,” Draco finally said, still partially hidden behind the shelf. Where the hell was Coderdale? He was the one that dealt directly with the people that wandered into the hall, not Draco.

“I have a note,” he said, holding up a finger as though requesting a moment, reaching deep into his robe's pocket and feeling around with his other hand. Draco watched him pull out his wand and then keep searching. Draco looked at the wand for a moment before the man spoke again, and drew Draco's attention away from the slender piece of wood.

“Aha, here it is,” he said, unfolding a piece of parchment and levitating it towards Draco. Draco watched the bit of parchment bob in front of him before plucking it out of the air reluctantly. Looking down at it while the man placed his wand away, Draco read.

“This says you are from the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the Office of Misinformation,” he said, looking back up at the man, pulling his reading glasses away from his faintly confused face.

“That I am.”

“Forgive me, but why would you need texts on the Dark Arts? You work with Muggles,” he said, knowing the extent of the man's job being that he helped wizards of other Departments of the Ministry understand Muggles when their cases overlapped Muggle jurisdiction, or needed Muggle Ministry cooperation.

“I cannot really talk about it. You can see there on the note that I have the signatures required…”

“You have this signed by the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Draco commented, looking back down at the note.

“Is that a problem?”

“What are the Aurors doing with the Department that works with Muggles where they would then need such detailed volumes on Dark Magic?” Draco asked, studying the parchment with his glasses back in place. He found there was a list of volumes on the back, something the man had apparently not been aware of.

“Do you think it's forged? You can perform a Proboiaceo Charm to see that it's authentic,” he said. Draco looked back up at him.

“I cannot,” he said, looking angry rather than embarrassed.

“Oh, oh…sorry. I forgot. I was told just before coming down that the Ministry employs Squibs down here,” he said, looking as though he wanted to slap his hand over his forehead, but refraining.

“Yeah, something like that,” Draco grumbled.

“I'm sorry. I do assure you, the note is real, and I do have pressing matters I have to get back to, and it is such a long trek down here that…”

Draco just disappeared into the shelves again.

“Um, excuse me, hello?” the man asked, following after where Draco had disappeared to. He saw Draco walking towards the back, grabbing a lantern as he went. The man followed after him, as Draco knew he would, and he eventually caught up.

“Sorry, I didn't introduce myself. My name is Reamann Rossiter. You are?” he offered. Draco said nothing but kept walking. Reamann looked at him to answer, but after a moment started talking again.

“There are a lot of books here. How many are there?” he asked.

“A fair few,” Draco muttered. Did the man actually expect him to have any idea the exact number?

Reamann cracked his knuckles and swung his arms from side to side with a sigh, walking and looking around as they progressed down the row. He noticed Draco's limp, and chewed his tongue so as to not to inquire about it.

Draco eventually stopped and set his lantern down on a shelf. He made to climb up the ladder when Reamann reached out to stop him.

“I could do it, if you like,” he said and Draco just looked at him, already with a foot on the ladder. Reamann was not overly tall but he was taller than Draco, though that was not hard, as Draco was only five foot nine. Reamann was probably about six feet tall, but he clearly outweighed Draco by an arm and a leg, a testament more to how little Draco weighed rather than how much Reamann did. The man looked lean, sun kissed, and healthy, Draco looked pale and a tad too skinny.

“I noticed your limp and…” he said but Draco just started climbing while still looking at the man with fierce eyes. “Alright, that's fine too,” Reamann muttered to himself, feeling awkward.

Draco climbed about halfway up and started skimming the volumes, looking for the first one on the list after replacing his reading glasses. Not being quite the style statement for him as it was for Harry Potter, Draco's eyesight wasn't what it used to be not so long ago, and his rectangular black rimmed glasses were all he had to aid him. He was too damn young in his opinion for his eyesight to be going, but without magic he could not correct it.

Reamann remained below him, looking a little unsure of what to do with himself.

“So how long have you been working down here?” he asked, finally giving up on amusing himself with his glances around and restless shifting.

“Three years,” Draco said simply, pulling a volume from the shelves and setting it aside while looking for the next.

He may not have been a wealthy Malfoy for the past thirteen years, but he was still a Malfoy, and he had maintained his upper crust drawling accent.

“Three years? Wow. How does one end up with this job? In all honesty I did not even realize your job existed until today. I thought the courtrooms were the lowest level…but then, I suppose the Ministry needs a place of records and such, and what better place to have them but below the courtrooms?” he said. Draco said nothing. Reamann waited, but eventually moved on. “So, um, do you enjoy it down here?” he asked.

Draco let his head fall back so he could stare off at the dark ceiling for a moment, thinking to himself what a stupid question that had been, while rolling his eyes as though looking for some heavenly aid or intervention at that point. There was a reason why he did not interact with anyone that happened to find their way to the hall, and it wasn't just that he lacked social niceties. Draco chose to ignore the man further as he pulled another heavy volume.

“I suppose if you like books then it would be a nice job,” Reamann muttered, turning in place once. “You work alone down here?”

“No,” Draco said flatly.

“Really? Where are the others?” he asked.

“Dead in a corner somewhere, for sure,” Draco said in an unconcerned tone, tucking several volumes against his chest as he slowly climbed down and offered them to Reamann. Reamann took them and Draco immediately climbed back up to get more. It was quite the balancing act to carry texts -often large and heavy- up and down in his arms, but the ladders, flush and perfectly parallel to the shelves, were fixed with charms to prevent him from falling even if he tried.

Reamann didn't seem to know what to say to Draco's remark so he was quiet for a handful of minutes. Draco enjoyed the silence, but Reamann clearly didn't because he started talking again shortly.

“I'm relatively new,” he announced.

“Are you now,” Draco said distractedly, climbing up and a little further, readjusting his lamp to search more.

“Yeah, I'm not exactly straight out of Hogwarts or anything, but I haven't worked for the Ministry long. I'm Muggle-born you see, and my parents had their hearts set on me going to Medical School and becoming a doctor,” he explained. Draco made an indifferent noise of encouragement to show he was listening, although he really wasn't paying any attention. “Yeah, well, after nearly six years of that, I realized that I was just not meant to be a doctor.”

“Took you that long, huh?” Draco muttered.

“Well, it had been a growing feeling for a while and I finally just acted on it. I came to the Ministry, and with my knowledge of Muggles I was able to get a position with the Misinformation Office, specifically the Department of Muggle Relations,” he said, sounding proud.

“Well done,” Draco said flatly, shelving a book and looking for the more recent edition. He did not envy the wizards and witches that worked in the Department of Muggle Relations. They had to deal directly with Muggles that marveled at magic if they even knew about it, and wizards perplexed by Muggle ways. They were something like translators between the two worlds. It took a good sense of humor and a lot of patience; two things Draco lacked entirely.

“Thank you,” Reamann said, and Draco rolled his eyes again, the man clearly having thought Draco was being sincere. “Yeah, now with this case, and working with the Aurors? It's really exciting. I could get a major promotion,” he said, beaming again.

“Couldn't happen to a better bloke,” Draco muttered, hugging some massive volumes to his chest with his left arm while climbing down the latter.

“That all of them?” Reamann asked, taking the books Draco offered in his other arm, suddenly laden with so many heavy texts he looked like he would either drop them or fall over, or drop them and fall over.

“What case are you working on?” Draco asked, and Reamann shifted his weight, hoping to balance the books better in his arms.

“The attacks on Muggles in Manchester,” he said, before looking up at the realization of what he had just absentmindedly revealed. “You can't mention that!” he said, looking at Draco with panicked eyes. The man was obviously new, to have let slip his first big case to a stranger that had just happened to ask about it.

“So what the papers have been reporting is true then, there have been Muggle attacks. Wasn't it just last week that the Minister publicly denounced such rumors?” Draco asked with a smirk, glasses pushed down his nose slightly so he could see over them.

“You cannot say anything,” Reamann pleaded, shifting again, the corner of one of the books digging harshly into his left inner arm.

“Why would the Ministry be covering up such a thing?” Draco inquired.

“I can tell you I don't know, but I have been told not to say a word to anyone about this,” he said, as Draco turned and climbed back up the ladder. “Where are you going?” he asked, hoping there weren't more volumes. He wouldn't be able to carry anymore hefty volumes.

Draco glanced over the books quickly while holding up his lantern.

“Here,” he said, pulling a smaller volume and climbing back down.

“What's this?” Reamann asked.

“If someone is attacking Muggles -and using Dark Magic to do so- then this text could be of some use,” he offered, holding out the book.

“This was not on the list?”

“A lot of good volumes I think would help were not, and a lot of useless ones are,” Draco said with a smirk, before setting the book atop the rest with a pat and grabbing his lantern. “I'll check you out,” he said, implying Reamann should follow.

With Draco's increasing limp and Reamann 's heavy load, it was a slow progression back to the desks.

“Are you alright?” Reamann asked.

“Splendid,” Draco said dismissively as he sat with a grinding pain in his hips and knees, placing his glasses on his face once again as he started copying down the names of the volumes to be checked out. Reamann set the texts down on Coderdale's desk and looked down at Draco for a long moment, while Draco worked.

“You seem awfully familiar,” he finally said. Draco froze for a second, but otherwise gave no indication of the sudden dread he felt.

“Do I?” he asked, managing to sound bored rather than uneasy. Malfoys were accomplished in such deceits.

“Yes, I can't place your face though.”

“I can't say that we have met before, so you must be mistaken,” he said, being honest but not mentioning that Reamann probably recalled him from the papers, not from a personal encounter.

“No, no, I know I have seen your face before,” he said, looking more closely at Draco. Draco sighed and pulled his glasses off his face to look up at Reamann in annoyance.

“I do not like being stared at,” he said flatly. Reamann narrowed his eyes and considered Draco for a long moment before looking away. Few could hold a Malfoy glare for long.

“You never told me your name,” he said.

“It is of no never mind to you what my name is,” Draco said looking back down at the books, and writing “Dark, Deadly and Dangerous Death Eaters” down on the note with a hand clenched a little too tightly on his quill. “The Aurors really think Death Eaters are involved? They are all locked away in Azkaban or dead,” he said conversationally for once on his part.

“They have been letting them out for the last three years, don't you know?” Reamann asked.

“I did know that,” Draco mumbled.

“I don't think a Death Eater out on probation for three years or less is gonna start attacking Muggles for no apparent reason, but the Aurors want to look into it as a possibility,” he said, and Draco looked up at him.

“I wish you luck,” Draco said, smiling in a pleasant mask as he held out Reamann's list of checkouts to sign.

“Thank you.” Reamann nodded, whipping out his wand to shrink down the volumes so that they could fit in his pocket for easy transportation. Draco's eyes remained fixed on the magic before him before he blinked his mind clear and took a deep breath.

Reamann walked out with one last bid goodbye, and Draco nodded vaguely at him.

Who was attacking Muggles?

Surely, no Death Eaters…Lord Voldemort was dead; there would be no point. That, and no one in their right mind, however bigoted they were, would risk going back to Azkaban over some stupid Muggles.

Still, he needed to make a few calls.

Who else was out other than him?

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

Reamann Rossiter hiked up flight after flight of stairs on his way to the lifts and back up to the Department of Muggle Relations.

“Reamann, how are you?” Arthur Weasley called out, as Reamann nearly walked by him in the hallway, his mind a million miles away at the moment.

Arthur Weasley was aged, but still so friendly. He had become entirely bald but the fact that he was a redhead was not lost. His eyebrows were still red and the beard he had grown was mostly red with some white streaks running its length.

“Mr. Weasley, sir. It's good to see you down here. I'm a right bit exhausted with all that is happening and those flights of stairs I just took on, but I'm good,” he said, apologizing for nearly walking past him while so distracted.

“Reamann, how many times must I insist you call me Arthur?” he laughed.

“Every day, it seems. Sorry, sir,” he smiled.

“Will we be seeing you for dinner tonight? Molly is at home right now making some of her famous beef stew,” he said.

“Oh, I'm sorry, sir…Arthur…but I have so much reading to do that I really need to just work through the night,” he said, wishing he could drop everything for a spot of Mrs. Weasley's wondrous cooking.

“That is a real shame. My daughter will be most disappointed,” Arthur said with a slightly fallen face.

“I will make it up to her on one of my free evenings, I promise,” he assured.

“You busy now? I was about to take my lunch,” Arthur offered, revealing the reason why he was down there and not in his own department. “A little early I know, but dinner will be early, too.”

“No, I can't, I'm sorry. I just came from the Hall of Records and I have all these texts I need to start barreling though…”

“Molly won't like it if she hears you're not eating.”

“It's just lunch, and I'll be sure to get something a little later,” he promised with another smile.

“Alright, alright, off to work with you then. Send me an owl later on your progress, and if you can possibly make it to dinner.”

“Will do,” Reamann said with one last grin, while walking backwards on his way to his office.

Small, cramped, and bright, his office had a wonderful view of London…except for the fact that they were underground. The window was fake, just a clever spell.

“Oh dear…oh dear, oh dear…” he sighed, rounding his desk and collapsing into his chair. He put his elbows up on the desk and rested his face in his hands. Rubbing his face up and down vigorously for a moment, he then smoothed his hands over his slick hair while taking a deep breath.

“What am I gonna do?” he asked no one in particular. He loved the Weasleys, but they were treating him like he was already part of the family. He was dating their daughter, yes, but if Molly inquired one more time into when he was going to “pop the question” and, thus, when she can start expecting some more grandchildren, he was going to scream.

Looking across his desk his eyes fell on a picture frame. Inside was a photograph of him and Ginny, embracing and smiling, giggling and rocking, autumn leaves falling all around them. His picture self stole a quick kiss from Ginny, and she giggled and nudged him affectionately with her elbow while pulling on her scarf.

Reamann looked away.

“Knock-knock.”

Reamann looked up to see Harry Potter standing just outside his office.

“Harry,” he said, smiling, wiping away all his conflicted thoughts to be dealt with later.

“Hey, I was making my rounds and thought I missed you. Arthur assured me you were back. Where were you off to? It was awfully early to take lunch,” he said, stepping in.

“I went down to the Hall of Records. That mess on the seventh floor got everyone in a tizzy and I had to head down in person,” he explained, pulling out his miniaturized books and setting them on the desk before restoring them to actual size. Harry moved over to the desk and picked up the top book -the book Draco had picked out just for Reamann - and opened it.

“This is a lot of reading,” Harry commented, as though the fact were not painfully obvious to Reamann already.

“I know…I won't make it to dinner tonight.”

“Really? Molly will be disappointed,” Harry said.

“Her favorite son-in-law will be there, don't worry about her,” Reamann teased.

“Ex-son-in-law,” Harry corrected. “Unless you have forgotten that Ginny and I divorced,” he said with a smile.

“You what? I had no idea,” Reamann said with good-humoured sarcasm while absentmindedly opening one of his books. Harry was still loved by the Weasleys, even though he was no longer married to their daughter. He was, and always will be, a son to them. It was fortunate that his and Ginny's divorce was pretty amicable and they had remained friends.

“You sure you won't make it?” Harry asked, flipping through the book he had in his hands.

“Look at these books. I have to have a report written up by tomorrow morning,” he said, waving his hand over the pile.

“Hermione would be excited over the prospect of staying up all night reading these books and writing up a report. It would probably end up being three scrolls, too.”

“Well, we all know she is totally mental,” Reamann laughed.

“You know, I would disagree with you on principle, and her defense, but you have said nothing untrue,” Harry laughed. “You catching lunch?”

“No,” Reamann sighed.

“I'll bring you back something then,” Harry offered, smiling and walking towards the door, after tossing the book he held onto Reamann's desk.

“Thanks, mate, you're a real life saver.”

“Yeah, well, I would hate to think what Molly would do to me should I let you starve,” Harry teased, disappearing into the hallway. Reamann laughed softly to himself while looking down to his book. Harry was a good bloke and he was lucky to have him as a friend. Molly was a lovely woman too; it was unfair how much they teased each other at her expense.

His laughter immediately ceased, however, upon seeing a very familiar face glaring up at him from the pages of his book. Harsh silver eyes, pointed pale face, thin sharp lips, now topped off with platinum blond hair.

“What the…” he said to himself under his breath. “It couldn't be,” he said, not so sure.

He quickly looked down for the caption that went along with the picture.

“Among the Death Eaters tried in the year following the war's end, Draco Malfoy, a werewolf, was the first to be sentenced and, thusly, achieved the most notoriety. It is said that he cursed his captors before sentencing, the years following the likes of which Harry Potter have suffered misfortune. (To learn more about Harry Potter, read: The Greatest Wizard Who Ever Lived.)”

Reamann looked up at the picture -the picture of the man he had met down in the Hall of Records- with his eyes wide and just stared.

“He's a Death Eater?” he asked in disbelief after his brain was able to register it all.

“Rossiter,” came a sudden, very serious man's voice. Reamann snapped the book closed with a jump, and rested his elbow on top of it, his chin in his hand, trying to look innocent. “Rossiter, you get those books?” his boss bellowed. He was not an angry man; just a man whose voice always carried such authority that people got to work swiftly around him.

“Yes, sir,” he said quickly, holding his hands out, gesturing to display the volumes before him.

“Very good. I like that you got that done right away and didn't let that little mess on the seventh floor get in your way,” he said.

“Of course not, sir,” Reamann assured with a shit-smear grin.

“Alright. I look forward to your summary in the morning during the meeting with the Aurors,” he said, walking away already, not giving Reamann the chance to say anything more.

“Yes, sir…” he said quietly to himself, his boss already gone.

Looking down at the cover of the book, Dark, Deadly and Dangerous Death Eaters, Reamann swallowed hard.

Had he met Draco Malfoy down in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic?

-->

3. Chapter 03

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Three

Draco walked down the cobbled street of Diagon Alley. His joints were in agony today, and he knew it was the cold to blame. He hated that he needed to use a cane, and he preferred to think of it as a style statement, a status symbol. His father had walked with a cane that had contained his wand and had had a serpent's head with emerald eyes. Draco's cane was far less glamorous, while moreover lacking a wand, and was needed more for its intended purpose than anything; but no one needed to know that.

It was snowing and cold, but thankfully there was no wind. The snowflakes fluttered gently to the ground, or anything that met them on the way down. Draco was one of those things, as was everyone else on the street. He was wrapped up warm in his faded cloak, hood in place as always when in public, the snow building up on his shoulders.

Carolers sang and owls hooted as Draco Malfoy entered Flourish & Blotts to the jingling of a tiny bell. After having spent all day at work surrounded by books, it seemed silly to then go to a bookshop, but he had made arrangements to meet someone there.

Walking slowly while looking around, Draco sought out his cohort. It did not take long for him to find her; she did kind of stick out amongst the dark shelves.

“Mother,” Draco said, while smiling and moving as quickly as he could over to her, embracing her in a one-armed hug.

“Angel! Hello, darling,” she said, hugging him back. “How are you?”

“Awright,” he mumbled.

“You look awful,” she said, her face falling slightly while taking in her son's gaunt appearance.

“Mother, please,” Draco attempted, not really wanting to be babied by his mother, at least not in public.

“Come here, sit down,” she said, guiding him over to a table amongst the shelves where she pushed him down into a seat. “You are walking with your cane again.”

“It's just the cold, has me a bit ropey,” he said, trying to be dismissive.

“Oh, you would play down your own death if you could,” Narcissa said, fussing over her son. “Here,” she said, dropping her voice, “I brought you some Curatio Draught.” She pulled a vial out of her cloak and held it out.

“Mother, please!” Draco hissed, lowering his voice as well, and pushing her hand down onto the table to cover the vial with his hand atop of hers. “You can't be so indiscrete about these things,” he said, looking at her intently.

“Don't be silly. Just take it. It will do you some good,” she said, pushing their hands towards him.

“How am I to know it's not a Calming Draught you are slipping me again, Mother?” he asked, eyeing his mother, though a smirk was pulling across his face.

“Is it wrong for a mother to want her son not to be stressing himself ill?” Narcissa asked, placing her free hand over her heart in a very innocent and blameless way. Draco released his mother's hand with a sigh, falling backward against his chair.

“Just pass me the Curatio Draught,” he said, holding out his hand. Narcissa smiled and placed the small bottle in his palm. Draco uncapped it and downed a gulp of the foul potion without question. He trusted his mother not to poison him, though he could not trust her to give him exactly what she claimed. He was either going to be in a whole lot less pain, or be too calm to care about it or get mad at her for lying.

“I couldn't imagine what you needed so badly that you would owl me in the middle of the day, sweetheart. I was with Clarissa, and I was planning on seeing you later, wasn't I? I had to leave her with your cousin,” his mother continued on, as Draco sniffed at the vial he held in his hands and made a face. It smelled awful and tasted even worse.

“I needed to ask you…and not in front of Clarissa…” he said, taking another gulp, “what other Death Eaters,” he said, dropping his voice while saying that, “are out of Azkaban?” His mother's reaction to the question was the one he had expected: surprise and shock.

“Draco, why would you ask me this…?”

“I just need to know who is outside and free to, I don't know, do as they like,” he said.

“I don't think any of us after getting out of that God-awful place can do as we like, Draco,” Narcissa stated flatly, having spent three years in Azkaban herself. She had been “lucky” and Draco scoffed at that. Lucky would have been not having gone at all.

“True, I just want to know who has been let out,” he said. Narcissa looked at Draco for a moment, considering him carefully, her pale eyes searching his face to betray him, but it didn't. His thin and pointed face was as blank of a mask as any other time he was being careful. Looking away, she sighed. She hated that he felt he had to be careful around her.

“Well, I'm not sure, I would have to ask around, but we both know Blaise Zabini was just released,” she said, and Draco nodded. “Pansy Parkinson got out the same year you did,” she continued, and Draco grimaced. He had run into her more than once. “Vincent Crabbe was released, Merlin, eight months ago?” she said, thinking hard on that while trying to recall the exact amount of time. “And I believe there are a few others, but I'm not sure. None of the true Death Eaters are out. They have lifetime stints in Azkaban, or...”

“Or they're dead,” Draco finished for her, his voice deceptively indifferent, almost sounding harsh because of it. Narcissa nodded and sniffed, not about to allow herself to weep in public.

“Right,” she whispered. “Why do you ask?” she inquired, knowing her son had never wanted anything to do with Death Eaters before, and doubting he would have a sudden change of heart now, so many years later.

“No real reason. Just looking for some familiar faces is all,” he said with a shrug, taking another gulp from the vial and making a face. His complete ambiguousness gave him away entirely to his mother. Most wouldn't have known him well enough to recognize it, but his total blankness, his air of indifference, was not like him. Not when talking to her. She knew something was up.

She did not believe him when he said it was nothing, but she did not press the matter. She knew he would not tell her anything he did not want to, and pushing him never made him want to do anything.

“You be careful, Angel,” she warned warmly, reaching across the table and grabbing her son's hand firmly in hers. Draco smiled at her.

“Always.”

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

Reamann hurried down the steps of the Ministry two at a time and jogged down the corridor. “Lumos,” he whispered once it got darker. He avoided a cold puddle on the floor, but stumbled over some uneven ground. Hurrying, he retraced his way back to the Hall of Records deep below the Ministry of Magic.

Pushing open the great, heavy door, he entered the vast room to find an old man standing there, looking surprised to see he had a visitor, especially one that was so sweaty and short of breath.

“Can I help you, sir?” Coderdale asked, still unsure what to make of his guest.

“I'm…I'm looking for…Draco Malfoy,” he panted, “Nox”-ing his wand and tucking it away in the pocket of his robes.

“How do you know…?”

“Please, I need to speak with him,” Reamann said, sounding as polite as he could while stressing his urgency.

“I'm afraid he has already left for the day,” Coderdale said, frowning at the young wizard deeply.

“Already? But…” he said, smoothing his hair down with his hand. “This is important,” he said, taking a deep breath.

“You will have to come back tomorrow if you wish to speak to him,” Coderdale said, not feeling too helpful, and not really wanting to. Who was this man that was looking for Draco?

“Alright, yes. Alright. I can stop by tomorrow -early- to see him,” he said, his breath even again, his tone clearly annoyed.

Without a word, he turned around and headed back the long way up to the more hospitable parts of the Ministry.

Why had he run all the way down there to speak to Draco Malfoy?

Was it because he was a Death Eater?

If Draco Malfoy were behind the attacks he wouldn't have admitted it if asked bluntly, and if he knew who was, surely he wouldn't have turned them over just like that.

So why run?

To see if it was true: was it really Draco Malfoy?

Reamann got back to his office and packed. He would head home to read case files and all the books Draco had found for him. He would write up his report and try and get a nap in before dawn. He needed to see Draco Malfoy early before his meeting with the Aurors.

He was still, however, unsure of the importance of meeting with the Death Eater, he just knew he needed to.

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

Ginny Weasley was in Diagon Alley, doing a bit of early holiday shopping, enjoying the weather, and looking forward to supper at the Burrow where she would get to see a good portion of her family. She saw most of her family often, and those she couldn't, she kept in touch with, but it was a rare occasion that they all got together. Her family had always been large, but it had since grown even larger. It was difficult, and near impossible, to get everyone in the Burrow for Christmas. Family, wives, and grandchildren all fighting for space, it was a feat; never mind the food and preparation it entailed.

To try and make things easier on everyone, and her mother in particular, they had several smaller family dinners throughout December, so that everyone still got to see each other.

It was a bright Wednesday afternoon, and Ginny would have typically been working at that time of day, but she had the day off. Mandatory. She was getting too many hours in and the Ministry was not about to pay her overtime.

Ginny looked in the window of Flourish & Blotts and smiled. She still needed to shop for Hermione, and that girl could get a book every year for Christmas and still be happy. Entering to the jingle of the shop bell, she unwound her scarf from her neck and looked around, taking in the deep smell of parchment and leather.

She loved winter, and the smell of books was so pleasant, but she would never admit that last thought to anyone, except maybe Hermione, since she would be the only one who wouldn't give her a hard time about it. Parchment just had a dryness and crispness to its warm smell and she just could not imagine how one wouldn't enjoy it.

Walking in, she smiled as people passed, and nodded to those that greeted her. She was a bit of a celebrity, many were because of the war. Being the ex-Mrs. Harry Potter seemed to be her claim to fame, so many forgetting what she had done when she was only sixteen. She supposed being the former Mrs. Potter was better in the end as she was able to walk around more freely than Harry, Hermione, or Ron could. She still had her envious fans, but few had to stop her and shake her hand repeatedly, graciously thanking her for all she had done.

“You be careful, Angel.” A woman's voice drifted over to her in the quiet shop.

“Always,” a man answered. Ginny rounded a bookshelf in time to lay eyes on who had spoken. A woman and a man sat at one of the many tables scattered about between the shelves. The man drew his hand away from the woman and locked eyes with Ginny.

Recognition was instantaneous for them both and they became utterly still for a brief moment, their breath caught in their respective throats.

“Mr. Potter,” Voldemort laughed, assured in his victory, a smile pulling at his distorted features awkwardly, “watch, watch as all hope for the future dies…dies,” he whispered harshly into Harry's face as he leaned over Harry's shoulder. Harry was magically bound and unable to move, unable to help his friends as he watched them fall right into a trap.

“You deceitful BASTARD!” Harry spat, trying to wrench himself free, but unable to do so. Voldemort laughed because he knew it was not him that Harry was talking to.

Draco stood off to the right, hugging himself, watching the distant scene in the hollow below them and standing beside the trap he was about to spring upon the Dark Lord's order.

“I TRUSTED you! I thought you had changed; been a decent human being for once in your worthless, pathetic life! You made me believe you were fighting with us, and then you led me to think that you were fighting for yourself only, but certainly not for him…but you were! You were working for him all along!” he shouted and Draco's eyes darkened, chin drooping slightly.

“Ah, yes,” Voldemort said, speaking on behalf of Draco, “A decent human being...” he said, smiling. “Draco is no `human being' though, now is he?” Voldemort laughed, smacking Harry across the face lightly. Draco's head fell at Voldemort's words and he pressed his lips together.

“Draco, do it,” Voldemort commanded, his snake-like face grey and wet-looking, his slanted eyes burning red. His nose was but slits in the center of his face, by far above all else removing any discernible human quality from it.

Who was he to disparage Draco for not being human?

“Release me and fight me like a man, you coward!” Harry shouted, struggling, unable to break the binding curse that held him, but not for a lack of trying.

“A coward? Me, a coward? You are merely a boy and one I have no fear of. I could have killed you just now, but instead you live. You live only because I have allowed you to. Remember that, Potter, while you watch your friends die. Your death will be soon enough, but before that time I want you to understand that your continued existence, however brief, is because I allowed it,” Voldemort spat, spittle clinging to Harry's face from his hissing words.

“You're helping him,” Harry yelled at Draco as he focused intently on the task he had been set to. “You are helping him kill innocent people! You will stand by, and let him kill me, like you allowed Snape to kill Dumbledore?” Harry shouted, anger boiling his blood. Draco could not look up from his work, his eyes would betray him, and reveal his hurt at Harry's words.

“This is not what I wanted; I did not mean for things to happen like this, or for it to go this far…” Draco whispered into Harry's mind, using his hard earned Legilimency. Harry's eyes narrowed and he shot back every foul, harsh, and crude thing he could think of back at Malfoy. He was not successfully trained in Occlumency or Legilimency like Draco had been, but he knew Draco would get the message loud and clear.

Draco looked over at Harry with hollow eyes, and then focused once again on his task before Voldemort became aware of their exchange.

“Now, Draco, let's end this.” Voldemort laughed, opening his arms wide. “Mr. Potter, if you would be so kind as to direct your attention to your far left and the hollow below, you will see your pathetic little friends on their way to save you…visible despite their efforts, because of my spells,” he laughed.

A magical fog was seeping across the snowy ground below, allowing the people there to be seen from above, while being totally unaware of their exposure themselves. “Now, please observe my lovely little catapult Draco has so kindly set up for me,” Voldemort announced mockingly, his joy oozing from him in a way only a sociopath could manage. “Once they are within range, this will launch these devastating little balls,” Voldemort explained. “Such potent potion mixtures they contain, that upon impact, they will shatter and mix, and the effects will be somewhat…destructive,” he hissed. “Your friends will have moments of pure agony to ponder what has happened, before they die.” He laughed, high, cold, and harsh.

“Simple curses and spells won't work, oh no, your friends are clever enough to protect themselves from that, but they would not think, Potter, think to protect themselves from projectiles,” he cackled, and Harry felt his stomach drop out. It was true. Everyone was prepared to deflect charms, curses, and hexes, but no one had thought about physical objects.

Draco stood beside the small wooden contraption he had set up and hugged himself, unable to look at Harry, unable to look at the people approaching the castle below. He looked down at the ground to his left.

Voldemort swept over to Harry and wrapped himself around him again, his front to Harry's back, holding Harry's chin tightly in his grasp and forcing Harry to watch his friends.

“Watch with me, Harry. Watch with me as the last of the Order of Phoenix are destroyed, and all hope is lost,” he whispered into his ear, his breath cold against Harry's bruised face.

There were other Death Eaters there with them. Three to be exact. Theodore Nott, a Slytherin from Draco and Harry's year, stood vigilant over the scene. He was still stringy and thin, but imposing with the sword at his side, his hand resting on it gently, ready, waiting. Alecto, a squat and lumpy woman who Harry had first met in the initial assault on the Ministry of Magic back in his fifth year, and Yaxley, an enormous blond Death Eater.

“Watch, Harry,” Voldemort said, backing up from him to stand slightly to the right, so he was between the catapult and Harry, overlooking the scene below them all, the best view of anyone to watch the sight.

“They are in range now,” Alecto said, her voice firm. She was standing near the edge, leaning over it just slightly. Theodore and Yaxley were on the other side of the contraption, near Draco, ready and waiting, for anything.

“Do it, Draco,” Voldemort commanded and Draco squatted down.

“NO!” Harry shouted, wanting nothing more than to have his wand back in his hand. Then Voldemort would be at his mercy.

Draco released the switch on the catapult and it swept in a great arch, flinging the contents of its basket over the low-edged wall of the rooftop, towards the people below. Voldemort leaned forward, excited and waiting for the chaos to ensue. Draco stood slowly, watching too with baited breath, as the potions he himself had brewed for the Dark Lord now hurtled towards the people below.

“Watch…watch, Harry,” Voldemort recited over and over, excitement building for him as the people below froze upon seeing the tiny items descending on them. “Let them try and shoot them out of the air. Should the glass break for any reason and the contents mix…” he breathed, excited.

There was a flash and various shouts from below, Voldemort looking like he would drool on himself if made to wait any longer to see the devastation.

The flash faded and the people below were left squatting, hands over their heads protectively. There were no shouts of agony, no screams of terror. A gentle shower of flowers fell on them, drifting delicately in the cold air to fall atop the snow around them. Harry was left frozen, motionless in surprise. Voldemort's snake-like red eyes contracted into slits as he rounded on Draco.

“MALFOY!” he shouted, rage making his body literally quiver.

"Finite Incantatem!" Draco shouted, pointing his wand at Harry and releasing him from the binding spell. Harry stumbled backwards, now balancing on his own weight, and Voldemort turned his attention and went for his own wand. Draco did not hesitate.

"Harry!" he shouted, tossing him his wand, Harry's having been confiscated by Voldemort.

Harry caught Draco's wand in his right hand and turned it on Voldemort immediately, blocking the curse that had been sent at him as they began a familiar duel. He had no time to thank Draco, or even ponder what his actions had meant. Was Draco on his side, or was he still standing alone against the world? He couldn't spare the thought at the moment, as Voldemort had just sent another curse at him.

Draco turned upon sensing the movement at his back. Nott, Yaxley, and Alecto were there, bearing down on him slowly.

“Clever little Draco, brewing the wrong potion. All the good it did you, all you have managed to do so far is disarm yourself for us,” Nott said, sounding amused, though his eyes were harsh.

Draco narrowed his fierce silver ones at him, and stood tall and proud.

“Go, head them off before they can reach us, and warn the others,” Nott said to the two older Death Eaters at his back. They did not argue, they left the Dark Lord to his Harry Potter and Nott to his childhood friend. Draco backed up and Nott moved forward.

“Theodore,” he tried.

“You cast your lot in with them, Draco? You disappoint me,” Nott said, he and Draco both the eldest sons of Death Eaters.

“Clearly you do not see the foolery it is to remain faithful to a leader that would kill you just as soon as look at you,” Draco said, backing up more, very honestly unarmed at that moment. “He does not serve his people like a leader should; he controls them with violence and fear. No one serves an oppressive dictator willingly.”

“You think I serve the Dark Lord out of fear?” Nott laughed.

“There was a time I too thought my desire was to serve him…” Draco said, backing up still.

“A fool you were, a werewolf you are now. I can't say you have improved much…you're still as pathetic as ever,” Nott said harshly, drawing his sword slowly with a drawn-out hiss of metal on metal. Draco looked at his childhood friend, a boy he had as a guest countless times in his home, a boy who he had shared deep secrets and desires with, a boy that looked prepared to kill him and likely enjoy it.

“You do not know me, Nott, and I clearly never knew you,” he said, backing up still, though staying tall.

“Oh, stop sounding so bloody wounded, Draco. Honestly, it's pathetic!” Nott said, lunging at him. Draco dodged the sword and rolled so that he came to stand beside the wall. He did not think or hesitate, he grabbed one of the swords that hung there on the stone and used it to glance another lunge of Nott's away.

“I have always been the better fencer, Malfoy,” Nott said, standing straight and holding his sword up to his face vertically, in a salute.

“No better time to prove it then,” Draco retorted, saluting back before engaging in a very real sword fight.

While entertaining Nott at his home, they had fenced many times, always with tipped swords, always with masks and Kevlar. Now they were fencing for real, and Draco could not afford Nott to get the better of him. There would not be a “best-two-out-of-three” this time.

As the sounds of Harry and Voldemort's battle raged on, Draco was on the defensive. Nott attacked aggressively again and again, not allowing Draco the opportunity to counter. Distant sounds of fighting below met their ears and Draco knew that the Order had reached them, and it was only a matter of time before they got up to the rooftop. He wanted to dare a glance over at Harry to see how he was doing with his wand, but he could not afford to. Nott was on him and Draco had only just managed to dodge another close call.

“You cannot beat me, Draco,” Nott laughed, stopping to hold his arms out mockingly, allowing himself to be an open target for a moment. Draco narrowed his eyes.

“There is a lot you don't know about me, Nott,” Draco said calmly, picking himself up off the floor where Nott had knocked him.

“Oh, not this again…” he said, rolling his head and eyes. “It's true; I did not realize what a disgraceful and worthless failure you are,” he said, pointing his sword at Draco confidently.

“No,” Draco said, straightening. “I'm not right-handed,” he said, tossing his sword into his left hand and then suddenly going on the attack, forcing Nott to back up and defend himself for the first time in the entire duel.

The sounds from below were drawing closer and Draco had a distinct flashback to the night Dumbledore had died, the fighting slowly working its way up to him on that rooftop. Dumbledore had died only minutes after that…Draco did not let himself get distracted by such thoughts and memories at the moment, though. He could not afford to. The sounds and shouts from Harry's and Voldemort's duel was distraction enough, even without the random deflected curse and spell shooting past.

Draco lunged at Nott but was not successful. Nott rolled and turned and caught Draco's upper left arm, slicing it.

“Ahh!” Draco shouted in pain, fighting not to hold his wound, needing his hand free to fight.

“Give up, Draco.”

“I would rather die!” Draco shouted back at him, attacking once more.

He would not die groveling, he would not die after forfeiting, and he would not die a coward.

He was not pathetic!

There was a loud bang from below, causing a tremor to run through the castle and Draco was thrown off balance. Nott was too, but he was able to utilize it more to his advantage. As Draco stumbled backwards, Nott stumbled forwards, and used the opportunity to lunge his sword at Draco and run him through.

Draco's eyes grew wide as Nott sheathed his sword into him, and gasped as it pierced through the back of him.

Nott smiled in a satisfied way that did not suggest he had just killed his childhood friend.

Draco's mouth opened and closed a few times as though he was trying to speak or breathe. Nott tore the sword backwards out of him, and Draco finally let out a scream, falling to his knees and dropping his sword with a clatter.

“I told you, Draco, you cannot beat me,” he said, staring down at him. Draco took a deep shuddering breath and shook from head to toe as blood began to flow over his hands and onto his legs.

The door at Draco's back burst open with a bang and a shower of sparks. A red jet of hot light shot over Draco's head, hitting Nott square in the chest and sending him backwards, way backwards, so that the backs of his knees hit the low wall and sent him toppling over the edge, where he fell the long distance to the ground with a scream.

Draco was unable to look up, but he knew who had come to his rescue when she knelt before him.

“Draco!” she said, her fiery red hair falling around her as she leaned toward him, looking into his face, panic clear on hers.

“Weasley?” he managed, confused and slow, thinking past the pain.

“Oh, you're hurt…we have to get you out of here, where is Harry, oh God…” she said, looking over to see Harry still dueling Voldemort.

“No,” Draco said.

“What?”

“You cannot…touch my blood,” he said, leaning back away from her while clutching his stomach protectively, nearly causing himself to fall over backwards as to prevent her from coming in contact with his tainted blood.

“Draco,” she said, trying to reach for him, but he hit her hand away with what little force he could manage at the moment.

“Please, I would not punish you in this way for helping me. Please, stay back,” he gasped, finally falling over to curl up in a ball on the rooftop, lying in a pool of his own blood. Ginny knew what he was, and knew she could not touch him. What could she do?

Draco lay there, Ginny leaning over him while muttering the charms she had been taught for an emergency such as this, trying to slow his bleeding.

She had saved his life…but for how long would he cling to that life?

Draco and Ginny locked eyes and held the gaze for a long moment, both remembering that night from their own distinct point of view.

Ginny remembered the long trek to the castle through the snowy hollows while apart from the main group. She had seen the shower of flowers from a distance, while sneaking in a hidden entrance she had been shown a day earlier by Draco. She remembered dueling with the Death Eaters upon entering the dark and ghastly castle all by herself, before being joined by the others and escaping upstairs. She remembered murdering Nott.

She had rescued Draco, killed for him. They would always have some sort of bond because of that.

It was unspoken, but it was there.

“Draco?” Narcissa asked, looking between them.

“Hello, Draco,” Ginny said, sounding breathless, remembering what she had done to save him with a plunging tightness in her stomach. She chased those thoughts and feelings away the best she could, telling herself for the thousandth time since that night that she had done what she had to save lives, including her own.

She took in Draco's appearance now that she was no longer swallowed in her memories, but still gripped by guilt. He was thin and pale, made all the more ghostly by his dark clothing and surroundings, and he was tired looking. His white hair cascaded down his curved spine as he leaned over the table slightly in poor posture. He had surely not learned from his mother who sat perfectly upright across from him.

“Hello,” Draco muttered back, looking Ginny over quickly, seeing her for the first time since he had been forcibly removed from that rooftop by the Aurors and Hermione Granger.

Ginny had changed so much, but was still instantly recognizable. Her hair was, as always, long and fiery red. It flowed in gentle waves and layers over her shoulders and down her back. She had been an attractive girl with her rich honey-brown eyes, milky skin, a light dusting of freckles, and bright grin, but now…now she looked like a woman. She had grown up while he had been away and she had curves from what he could tell through her winter robes.

Draco blushed and looked away at the realization that he was checking her out, and wondering what she looked like when she wasn't bundled up against the cold.

He was not eyeing a Weasley. Better that it was the female Weasley he supposed, but not by much in his opinion. He was sure his mother shared that opinion.

“I did not realize you were out of Azkaban,” she said softly, not noticing his blush.

“Well, now you know,” he said, still not looking at her.

“How long have you been out?” she asked, still standing in the middle of the shelves, luckily in no one's way.

“Three years,” he said quietly.

“Oh, wow, I had no idea it had been that long,” she said.

“After ten years in Azkaban, three years out is not what I would call `long,'” he said, not meaning to snap at her but unable to override his natural defenses.

“Right,” she muttered, nodding. “Hello Mrs. Malfoy,” Ginny said, inclining her head towards the woman.

“Hello,” she said simply. She did feel she owed a lot to the young woman for saving her son's life, but she could not overlook the fact that she had married Harry Potter, the lying scum that had locked her baby away for a decade.

“Am, am I interrupting something?” she asked, noticing the potion vial that sat between them, Narcissa's hand not so subtly easing over it and drawing it off the table, disappearing into her robes.

“No, no,” Draco said, standing at that. “I was actually just excusing myself,” he said, leaning over the table to leave a kiss on his mother's cheek. “I will see you tonight at home,” he said and she nodded.

“Tonight,” she said.

Ginny looked away. Though she was witnessing nothing obscene, somehow seeing Draco and his mother together in such an honestly tender way made her feel uncomfortable, like their affection was something private no one should ever witness.

While looking away, her eyes landed on the shelf beside her and they immediately fell on a book she knew Hermione had mentioned while dropping “hints” of what she wanted for Christmas.

“Look at that,” she said, plucking the book off the shelf, surprised and pleased by the coincidence. “Well,” she said, looking back over at Draco as he leaned on his cane and straightened. “I'll just have this rung up and be on my way,” she said, happy for an excuse to leave, herself. “It was unexpected, but nice to see you, Draco,” she said, smiling at him.

“Yes, well, it is always nice to be seen,” he replied, returning an awkward and unsure smile.

Ginny nodded and walked off at a hurried pace towards the front to purchase her book, and without having it wrapped she bagged it and left.

Once outside, she took a deep breath of cold air and let it out slowly.

Guilt had been eating at her for years. Draco had saved her life, and she had saved his, but by ending someone else's. She knew he was innocent and shouldn't have been sent to Azkaban, but she had been unable to do anything about that. She, along with Harry, had been swept up and carried off in the chaos that had ensued upon the fall of the Dark Lord, and subsequently, the Aurors showing up with Hermione leading them. She had not known what had become of him until later…too late.

Seeing him out now, it felt like some sort of weight had been lifted off her chest that she had not actually realized was there. Her actions had not been in vain. She could breathe better knowing that some good had come of her efforts that dark night.

Ginny took another deep breath, and then another, her eyes closed, letting herself wind down from the encounter inside.

“Trying to inhale the snowflakes from the air, Weasley?” Draco asked, his voice suddenly behind her.

Ginny let out a yelp and turned around so suddenly that her scarf nearly fell off having not been properly wound around her neck yet.

“Malfoy!” she gasped. Draco was standing behind her, looking collected and at ease while leaning on his cane.

“You know, if you are not careful, you face will get stuck that way,” he said, smiling the way he always had back in school. It was that same self-assured smirk, edged with amusement, which he had always shown.

“What are you doing?” she asked, adjusting her scarf, her eyes still a little wide.

“Attempting to leave, but finding that difficult with you blocking the way,” he said smoothly, that bored but still slightly amused drawl that matched his smirk rolling out of him. It was almost as though thirteen years had never happened and they were in one of the corridors at Hogwarts, only this time his bullying was far less adolescent and harsh.

“Oh…oh,” she said, looking around and realizing she really was blocking the doorway, having barely taken two steps out of the shop before stopping.

“Thank you,” he said as Ginny moved aside to let him pass. Though his limp was considerably lessoned, he still leaned heavily on his cane as he walked.

“You alright?” she asked, before thinking better of it. Seeing someone limp and wondering if there was something wrong or anything she could do to help was habit. It was only after she said it that she remembered it was Draco Malfoy she was talking to.

“You concerned?” he asked, amusement more than just an undertone in his voice then.

“I'm sorry. I did not mean to be nosey. I just noticed the limp and I asked without thinking. You don't have to answer,” she said.

“A Weasley, not thinking…a novel concept,” he teased and she narrowed her eyes at him slightly, fighting not to put her hands on her hips and scowl in a Mrs. Weasley fashion. “I'm quite alright,” he said flatly, turning and walking down the snowy lane. Ginny watched him go slowly before looking around and groaning. He had just gone the direction she needed to go. Would he get the wrong impression if she followed after him? She certainly hoped not, because she was about to.

Ginny started after Draco, and given his slow walk she managed to catch up with him quickly.

“Following me now, Weasley?” he asked, not having to look over his shoulder to know she was at his back.

“No,” she said firmly, before easing back her defensive tone a bit. “I mean, no, I'm just heading towards the Owl Emporium,” she said, intending on getting one of her nephews a new owl since poor little Pigwidgeon had passed away.

“Are you now?” Draco asked, laughing.

“Is that funny?” she asked, quickening her pace so she was walking beside him.

“Funny, only that it happens to be where I myself am heading,” he said, not looking over at her.

“Oh.”

“You really did not know I was out?” he asked, continuing their awkward conversation from inside.

“No, no I had no idea.”

“You married Harry Potter and you were completely unaware that I was out? I have seen Harry about, he never mentioned me? I'm hurt,” Draco said, pretending to be upset.

“Actually, Harry and I are divorced,” Ginny said, getting Draco to look over at her finally. He had not known that, somehow. “And, well, I don't read those terrible gossip publications and such, so I can't say I have read anything about you,” she said, clearly not having heard of the “altercation” he had had with Harry two nights before.

“Well, all for the best I'm sure. Those stories tend to be nothing but rubbish and poppycock anyways,” he said, walking slowly towards the Owlery where he would buy some food and such for his own owl.

“What are you doing for the Holidays?” she asked as they walked.

“Why? Are you propositioning me?”

“No, just attempting civil conversation,” she said smoothly.

“Well,” Draco began in a sarcastically putout tone, “I'll be spending the Holidays at home,” he said simply.

“Malfoy Manor?” she asked. Draco laughed a flat-out open laugh that had an edge of cutting bitterness to it. She had never heard him laugh before, and though he sounded amused, he did not sound happy.

“No. My family's Estate and all our trusts were confiscated after the war as a sort of `retribution payment.' I meant `my home' as in where I am currently living,” he said.

“Oh,” she said.

Reaching the shop, they entered together but did not speak, acting like two customers who had just happened to enter at the same time. Ginny surveyed the owls while Draco nabbed a bag of owl pellets and some treats. Ginny did not mean to, but she could not help but look over at Draco as he paid, all in Sickles and Knuts, not a Galleon in sight. Draco seemed to notice her watching him and turned his head. She quickly busied herself looking at a Fishing owl, pretending to have never glanced over in the first place. Draco looked at her for a moment before thanking the keeper and taking his bag in his left hand, supporting himself on his cane with his right.

Turning, he limped past Ginny and lingered for a moment beside her, before leaving without a word.

What was he supposed to do? Say goodbye? Thank her? Invite her out for tea? Why? Because she had saved his life? She already knew he was thankful; she did not need him getting emotional over it. Malfoys did not do that sort of thing.

Making his way down the street, however, Draco's mind lingered on the stunning redhead.

He still owed her…and he hated being indebted to anyone.

-->

4. Chapter 04

Blue Eyed Angel

Chapter Four

Draco was perched atop a ladder in the Hall of Records. A book was open across his knee as he sat there. He was feeling better than the day before; the potion his mother had given him was finally taking full effect and he was able to move about without a limp. That alone was enough to put him in a fairly decent mood.

His mood was quickly compromised though, thanks to the material he was reading. While shelving Dastardly Doers of Dark and Devious Deeds, and some old texts on some terribly Dimwitted and Delusional “Dragon Trainers,” he had come across a detestable and downright disgraceful text.

His “biography.”

Some sorry piece of garbage had written about what they thought his life had been, what his intentions were, what his beliefs were.

No one had interviewed him for the book, his mother had never spoken to anyone about him, and his father was in no state to talk to anyone. Other than them, there would be no reliable sources. Draco had the right to ponder if the book was even legal. He had not agreed to have a book written about him. It was a Ministry transcript, an “official record” so they claimed, so he supposed it wasn't a “book” and therefore not “illegal,” but that wouldn't be the first or last time the Ministry did something questionable, particularly when it came to him.

Legal or not, it didn't prevent the text from being terribly inaccurate and him being extremely irritated and insulted by it.

There were a few accredited sources; Draco noticed while reading through the acknowledgements, most of who had worked in the manor while he had grown up.

They painted, of course, a very unflattering picture of him.

Yes, he had been a spoiled little rich boy accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, while prone to a temper tantrum or two. He had been taught to think of himself better than those that served him, and of Muggles, and of “Mudbloods,” but that hardly made him the bad person the book portrayed.

It made him a git, it made him a less than nice person, it made him hard to get along with…but it did not make him a bad person.

With narrowed eyes, he slowly ripped a page out of the book, folded the paper in his hands, and slipped it into his pocket.

“Hello?” a man called. Draco looked up from the book he was in the middle of defacing and looked off in the direction of the call. He knew the voice.

“Bugger,” he said as the man from yesterday came into view. Draco remained where he was high atop the ladder, watching the man approach, suspicious of what he was doing back there. If he needed more volumes than the ones he had gotten the day before he could have just sent a note down like everyone else. No one ever walked all the way down there by choice.

“Hey,” Reamann said. Draco remained silent. “I understand it's a little odd for me to be back here, but I was hoping you would be able to help me again,” he shouted up to Draco.

“You read through all those volumes already, and none helped you?” Draco asked, his tone bored, knowing the answer was obviously no, the man had not read through all seven massive volumes. No one, not even him, could read them so quickly and expect to get any benefit out of the material.

“No…” Reamann said slowly, “but that volume you picked out for me helped the most of any I looked through, and I was hoping you could point me in the right direction again,” he said, being honest then, making his lie that much more easy to believe. He had gone home and skimmed over the texts, and the only one that gave facts more clearly than first hand accounts of extremely biased material on how “evil” the Death Eaters were, was the book that had not been on his list at all, the one Draco had given him. He wasn't even sure Death Eaters had anything to do with the attacks and so the massive volumes had proven to be most unhelpful…for the case.

Draco heaved a sigh, making it clear he was not exactly jumping at the prospect of helping the man out.

“Please?” he asked.

Draco took a deep breath and held it, snapping his book closed and climbing down. He stepped down onto the floor and turned to find himself facing the man and feeling suddenly very small. Some days he really resented being only five foot nine.

“I really appreciate this,” Reamann said, holding his hand out in the small space between them like he wanted to shake on it. Draco looked at him, not wanting to shake the man's hand and making that obvious by the cold expression on his face.

He had not yet agreed to do anything.

Réamann's hand twitched slightly and Draco pulled his arm away quickly, sensing the man was going for it but unable to escape in time.

Reamann grabbed Draco firmly around the wrist, and yanked his sleeve back in one quick motion, exposing a tattoo on the back of his right forearm. It was a serpent-like dragon twining around a long sword that bore the Malfoy family crest. It was stark black against his nearly white skin, and distinctive.

“You are Draco Malfoy,” he said with a smile, as he reached up and pulled Draco's hood back to allow his hair to tumble freely, positively identifying him further than the tattoo alone had. Draco yanked his arm away and stepped back, replacing his sleeve while glaring. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere, but I had not been able to place your face, let alone think of your name…until I read those books last night,” he said, and Draco did not let up on his glare. He had had the feeling the man would have recognized him after reading the damned books, but he had not expected him to come back to see him because of it.

“I read in one that you had that tattoo, some Malfoy family thing. If I had grabbed the other arm and pushed that sleeve back, would I have seen the Dark Mark? The books never definitively say whether or not you had one,” he said, and Draco's glare managed to intensify.

“If you have come down here to make a side-show of me, then be done with your heckling over my fall from grace, and bugger off,” Draco said coldly.

“I'm not here to mock you,” Reamann said softly, easing up after seeing Draco's offense.

“This is not a petting zoo, either,” Draco said, rubbing his hand on his jeans compulsively, while forcing his sleeve down further to cover his hand.

“I really came down here looking for your help,” he said.

“Great job at going about that, I really want to help you now,” he said harshly.

“I'm sorry…”

“Sure you are.”

“I just hoped you would be able to aid me…I let my inquisitiveness get the best of me, I'm sorry.”

“I'm just a librarian,” he said flatly.

“But you seem to know a lot about what I'm looking into…”

“Do not dare insinuate that I would know anything about the Muggle attacks,” Draco warned.

“You're a convicted Death Eater…”

“Convicted is vastly different than guilty,” Draco seethed.

“Your father was convicted of torturing Muggles,” he said, trying to show his way of connecting Draco then to the Muggle attacks.

“My father was a good man and father, but he was guilty of torturing a great many things in his time: Muggles, wizards, small animals, sons.”

“Yes, but, you seem to know these books so well…” he attempted, not missing Draco's scornful words about his own father, and not sure if he was being serious or if it was some sick joke to try and make him feel even more uncomfortable. Something told him he wouldn't really like the answer either way.

“Do you seriously believe that accused Death Eaters straight out of Azkaban, without the presence of their Dark Lord, would attack Muggles at the risk of being sent back to that hellish place?”

“Well, no…”

“Why are you here if it is not to heckle me, or accuse me of attacking said Muggles?” Draco asked, stepping back a little more.

“You have knowledge of the Dark Arts,” he said.

“Did one of your books tell you that?”

“No, you did yesterday, when you offered me that text. Even if you had only just read books on the topic, as opposed to having practiced the Dark Arts yourself, you still have more knowledge than me, knowledge that I'm in desperate need of at the moment,” he said.

“What's your name again?” Draco asked, eyeing the man carefully.

“Reamann Rossiter,” he said.

“You said you were Muggle-born?” he asked, recalling the man's friendly, and thus, terribly irritating ramblings from the day before.

“Why does that matter?” Reamann asked, eyes darkening. Draco brushed him off.

“What incentive do I have in helping you?” he asked, showing then why it “mattered” and getting Reamann to glare at him.

“Stopping the attacks, and soon possible killings, of innocent Muggles is not enough?” Reamann asked. Draco turned away and started walking.

“Not incentive enough,” he said dully, his bored drawl in place. He might no longer dress like a selectively bred, rich, wizarding aristocrat, but he was what he was despite his monetary standing at the moment. He could still speak down to people in a way that only careful breeding could produce.

“Malfoy!” Reamann shouted in outrage at his back.

“I have stuck my neck out for people before…to do good, to help the innocent, to do the right thing…and it didn't turn out so good for me in the end,” he said, nearly shouting as he spun around to face Reamann from several feet away, his hair flaring out and then settling around him, covering his face like a partially parted curtain.

Reamann was taken aback. “When have you ever done the `right thing'?” he asked. Draco looked fed up.

“You have read the damn books about me, I won't be able to make you think different of me or better of me…and I don't intend to try, but I have never been a part of the torturing or killing of Muggles. That was not one of the charges brought up against me, so I do not understand why you are here now,” he growled, walking away again.

“Because I'm offering you a chance to do the right thing,” Reamann offered.

“My only concern now is myself, my family, and my livelihood,” Draco said, still walking away. He could recall so clearly a conversation almost identical to this one, shared between him and Harry Potter thirteen years earlier, and knowing the outcome of that agreement did not make him jump at an altruistic opportunity a second time.

“You weren't a Death Eater,” Reamann suddenly said, some distance between them now. Draco paused but didn't turn. “The texts all say you were, but no one could prove anything…right? You were sent away on Attempted Murder, Conspiracy to Commit Murder, Terrorist Acts, and were implicated, but not proven responsible in the still unsolved murders of several people. You were also accused of having used more than one Unforgivable, but there was no one to testify to the fact,” he said, and Draco turned slowly.

Draco could hear in the back of his mind, “Avada Kadavra!”

He shouted the curse, pointing his wand steady despite his nerves, green light flashing over his face as the man before him fell, leaving Draco panting and shaking slightly, with the guilt of the only option he had had left.

He had had no choice…

Draco shook his head to rid himself of the dizzying memory. His wand had been destroyed in that final battle, and with it, all evidence was lost of what spells he had cast. The only thing that saved him from a lifetime stint in Azkaban was the decree that no witch or wizard could be sentenced on a confession drawn out by Veritaserum alone. It was known by some that he had cast such spells, but without any evidence, (a wand to prove what he cast) they could only incarcerate him for intent.

“You say you never were a Death Eater?” Reamann asked.

“No, I was not,” Draco answered, his back still to the man while he stood rooted in his spot.

“Then prove it,” Reamann said firmly. “Help me help others.”

“I can't,” Draco sighed, looking back at Réamann.

“Why not?”

“Because no one would trust me to,” he said.

“I trust you.”

“You say as much, only because you have a meeting with a bunch of Aurors in a little over an hour and you didn't write up a report for them. You fell asleep reading up on me rather than the case at hand, and your arse is on the line. You don't trust me, you need me,” he said. Réamann's eyes widened.

“How do you know all that?” he asked.

“Your mind is wide open. You are a very trusting person, I'll admit that. You are willing to see the good in everybody, a commendable trait. Foolish, but commendable,” Draco said, looking right into Réamann's eyes.

“Occlumency?” he asked, sounding breathless and looking a little intimidated.

“Legilimency,” Draco corrected.

“I read that you had been taught Occlumency…”

“Occlumency is the defense to Legilimency,” he said.

“And that's…?”

“The extraction of thoughts, feelings, and memories from another person's mind, typically through eye contact,” Draco said, still lock-eyed with Reamann. Reamann looked away quickly.

“I did not realize you could do that without a wand.”

“It is an ancient craft that has more to do with the mind than magic,” Draco said flatly. Legilimency was one of the few things he could still do…something he used more often than he sometimes consciously realized…but he typically did not abuse it like he was now, and he most certainly did not reveal to anybody his ability to use it. But he found great joy in intimidating Reamann with it at the moment.

“You, you can read my mind?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Draco said, that not really being true, but unsure about how to otherwise explain it to someone who had not studied it and practiced for years like he had while sitting in a cell with nothing else to do but try and see into the minds of those around him, mostly Azkaban Guards.

“Help me,” he said again.

“Why?”

“Because you know it's the right thing to do.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Draco quipped.

“You can't seriously be this cynical.”

“Oh, I think I can be,” Draco laughed bitterly, walking away.

“What if I can get you out of here?” Reamann suddenly said, sounding a little desperate for Draco not to leave. Draco didn't. He actually froze and turned again.

“What?”

“What if I offered you a way out of this dark pit?”

“You do not have the authority to.”

“I know those that do.”

“They wouldn't do me any favors.”

“I would…if you help me,” he said.

Draco looked at him for a long time, a great space between them.

The silence was heavy, and thick, and Reamann was not sure if he should plead his case more or just wait for Draco to make a decision.

Draco finally spoke.

“What do you need to know about the Dark Arts…exactly?” he asked, a smile breaking across Réamann's face.

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

“You have no idea how much this means to me,” Reamann said as Draco sat at his cluttered desk, writing down quickly a summary for Reamann to present to the Aurors. With a little information about the case, Draco was able to get a fairly decent statement out by the time Reamann needed to leave.

“Yeah, well, don't mention it. And I'm serious about that. I don't need people thinking I'm some Muggle-sympathizing goodie-good,” he said, not looking up from his writing, his words a little detached like his thoughts were focused on other things.

“Wouldn't dream of tarnishing your reputation,” Reamann said, not sure why Draco liked his bad reputation so much if he resented being called a Death Eater.

He moved around the desk so he was on Draco's right and paced for a bit, then stopped to look at Draco's left forearm. He could not stop looking at his left arm. It was like he was drawn to it. Draco's sleeves were tight and they covered his arms completely. They were long enough that they actually reached down over his hands and so they were bunched at his skinny wrists. Reamann had not fully appreciated how thin Malfoy was just from looking at him until he had grabbed his wrist and felt his fingers overlap this thumb, his hand completely encircling it.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Reamann discreetly drew his wand and silently cast the incantation that would allow him to see past Draco's long sleeve.

He needed to see if it was really there.

Slowly, like frost being rubbed away from a windowpane, he exposed Draco's forearm as Draco reached in front of him to hold a book open, his attention down on the parchment he was writing on.

Trying not to react to what he saw in any manner that would give away what he had done, Reamann laid eyes on the Dark Mark staring back at him. It was not black like it had been pictured in the books. It was pink-ish white, like scars, like new scars. The Mark did not look healed. The outline of the skull; the jagged teeth; the serpent, all looked like raised and rough scars, only a faint dark discoloration remaining from the long faded stain. It looked almost sore, painful and raw.

There were some other scars, jagged but not part of the mark, but there was one that caught his eye and drew his attention to it. A scar clearly healed…white and old looking…not part of the Dark Mark either. It was long, thin, and vertical up Draco's inner forearm, starting at his inner wrist and ending to just overlap the Mark.

Réamann, with shock and fright at the sight of such a scar and the Dark Mark, attempted to reverse the spell before Draco's attention transferred back to the book where he would see what was happening, but then felt his heart stop for a second.

Draco shifted as though about to look back at the book and Reamann panicked, flicking his wand. Draco looked at him first, the movement catching his attention, noticing the wand now as Reamann swished it, but he immediately looked over to his desk area to see what he was casting a spell on. Draco saw the last of his sweatshirt's sleeve fill itself in and his head snapped back over at Reamann to glare.

“Something got you curious, Mr. Rossiter?” Draco seethed, looking over at him from over the tops of his glasses only intensifying the glare.

“I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…”

“If you wanted to see it, you could have asked,” he said, eyes cold with fury, voice strangely calm.

“Would you have really shown it to me?” he asked timidly.

“No,” Draco said flatly. “But you would have seemed so much less of an arsehole,” he said, snapping his book closed with his left hand without looking away from Réamann.

“I'm sorry, really. I really am thankful you are doing this for me,” he said, trying to get Draco to understand his sincerity.

“I'm not doing this for you, or the damn Muggles, or because it's the right thing to do…” he fumed, “I'm doing this for me,” he said firmly and Reamann felt some sort of sagging disappointment at Draco's admission, not able to fool himself into thinking Draco's motives were anything less than selfish at that point.

Draco stood from his desk, stacking volumes with redirected aggression, tossing his quill down and taking off his glasses. He snatched the piece of parchment he had been writing on and without waiting to see if the ink had dried he rolled it up and swung his right arm over to slap it against Réamann's chest.

“There,” he said simply, fiddling at his desk in a determined fashion, not wanting to look over at Reamann for fear of what he might say in his anger upon looking at the man.

“How…” Reamann started to say, his resolve to quench his curiosity faltering for a moment. “How did you get it?” he asked, speaking of the Mark. The books he had read did not definitively say whether or not he even had it, let alone how he had gotten it. He did not, however, want to know about the other scar he had seen. The obvious cause being something he did not want to think about.

Draco froze in his fussing.

He picked himself up off the ground where he had been thrown, but two hands -one on each shoulder- immediately pushed him back down so he was kneeling with his forehead nearly resting on the ground, his knees tucked under him.

“You failed, my young Malfoy,” Lord Voldemort said, standing before Draco as he was pressed down by two masked Death Eaters in their black robes.

“I'm sorry my Lord, I tried…”

“What did I tell you of the consequences should you fail me?” Voldemort asked smoothly, calmly, his spider-like hands clasped behind his back in the dim, cold, torch-lit stone room.

“Dumbledore is dead my Lord. Your task is completed,” Draco pleaded, not allowed to raise even his head to look at the Dark Lord before him.

“Clearly you misunderstood the purpose of the exercise I had laid before you, young Malfoy,” he snapped, Draco hunching his shoulders in fright, head still down.

“My Lord,”

“If I wanted Dumbledore dead I could have killed him myself, or had Snape do it from the start. Sending you in to do it was not just because I wanted it done…oh yes, I did want Albus Dumbledore dead…but it was a test. I needed to know your loyalties…”

“They are with you my Lord, they are with you…”

“SILENCE!” Voldemort hissed and Draco fell silent with a recoiled flinch. “I needed to know you were willing to do what I asked, no matter what it was. I needed to know you were willing to kill for me,” he said.

“I couldn't my Lord. I tried. I tried! I got the Death Eaters into the school, I had the Headmaster trapped…but I…”

“You buckled under the pressure,” he finished for Draco. “You were sloppy with your attempts all throughout the year, you dawdled and wasted precious time, and you couldn't even finish off an unarmed old man, by far the easiest part of the task I assigned you!” he shouted. “You are weak, like your mother is weak. You are not a killer, you are not a man, and you are not a faithful servant. You are a dog, a pathetic dog that cannot even do the simplest of tasks,” Voldemort berated and Draco sobbed, being called a “dog” because of his condition only twisting the metaphorical blade still in his wound.

“I tried. I tried…” he sobbed. “Please, don't kill my mother. Kill me, punish me, I have wronged you, shamed you, but please…”

“I have punished you once already,” he said. “I could give you to Greyback again…this time he would kill you,” he said and Draco started to shake uncontrollably. He feared Greyback so. The Dark Lord, of course, knew that. “But what good would that do me? With so many of mine in Azkaban again after that debacle last night at the school, that worthless father of yours already there still, and you incapable of following through on orders, I am seriously lacking in suitable followers at this time. To rid myself of you, your mother, and your father, would be cleansing, but a little counterproductive at this time with the Order so weakened by Dumbledore's death.”

Draco dared a glance up at the Dark Lord and was immediately kicked in the back of the head by one of the Death Eaters, his gaze forced down to the floor again with a splitting pain.

“I will make this up to you, please, my Lord,” Draco begged.

It was only the night after Dumbledore's death.

Snape had helped him escape the grounds of Hogwarts where he had then been able to Apparate away to safety…but safety from what? Lord Voldemort's all-seeing eye and reach was extensive, he could not hide from him or his wrath. He was furious upon learning that Draco had not killed Dumbledore himself. Draco had been tracked down and brought before Lord Voldemort within hours. He did not fear death as much as he feared any other alternative punishment the Dark Lord could dispense.

The Dark Lord was cruel as well as creative.

“Make this up to me?” Voldemort laughed.

“Please, I will do anything for you. Anything,” he said, fighting not to sob while he begged and assured.

“I can't help but feel that you serve me only to protect your mother, Draco, not because of loyalty,” he said. Draco flinched. “I cannot see into your mind. You learned your Occlumency well, but what are you trying to hide from me?” he asked, stepping close enough that Draco could see the hem of his black robes.

“Nothing, my Lord! I hide nothing from you, and I wish nothing more than to serve you,” he said, using his Occlumency to block out the memory of Dumbledore offering to help him, offering him a chance to fight for the “right” side, that had popped into his head at that moment. He kept the Dark Lord from seeing the brief moment before the Death Eaters had burst in on them…when he had actually, for a moment, maybe, considered the offer.

“To serve me?” The Dark Lord repeated with a nasty smile that exposed small narrow teeth.

“Yes.”

“You are seventeen now, Draco,” the Dark Lord said and Draco started to shake. It was mid-June, he had just recently turned seventeen.

“My Lord…”

“You are a man now in the wizarding world. You are willing to serve me, to pledge yourself, your service, your life to me?” he asked. Draco dared to look up at him and he was not struck or pushed down again that time.

What was he to do?

He could refuse, and Voldemort would just kill him on the spot, but then there would be no one to protect his mother.

Becoming a Death Eater almost guaranteed his death, at someone's hands, but he would be given more time…time to come up with a plan and a way of saving his mother and maybe even himself.

Draco kept these thoughts from the dark wizard before him and swallowed hard.

He knew the Mark could not be given to the unwilling…

“I pledge myself to you, my Lord,” Draco said, swallowing again, shaking and feeling as though he were going to faint, or vomit, or both…in no particular order.

“Say the words Draco, I know you know them,” Voldemort demanded.

“I pledge my heart, mind, and soul to the service and honor of you, my Lord. My wand, my will, my body is yours to command,” he said, having to force the words out, hoping tears would not come with them. “I pledge my undying and devoted service to you, my Lord. Your will is my will, your glory is my glory, your desires my own,” he said, tears falling down his cheeks at last.

“Say the words Draco,” Voldemort encouraged.

“I give myself to you. Ask what you will of me; demand what you must of me. My heart, my service, is yours,” he said, looking up at Lord Voldemort with eyes as sincere as he could manage with the tears still brimming in them and their tracks running down his cheeks.

“Very well, young Malfoy,” the Dark Lord said with a satisfied smile, as though getting exactly what he wanted all along.

Draco was looking at Voldemort before him and missed the Death Eaters coming at him until it was too late to react. He was grabbed, one hooking an arm under each of his armpits, lifting him up.

“Hey!” he shouted, another masked Death Eater coming up to his front and looping a rope around his thin left wrist like a noose and pulling it just as tight.

“Just relax, Draco; this will only be mildly agonizing,” the Dark Lord assured with an amused smile, as Draco was practically carried over to a low wooden chopping block, like one used for beheadings. Draco started to panic as he was carried over to it.

“Wait, no!” he shouted, struggling.

“We are not going to take your head,” came the familiar voice from behind the mask of the executioner in question, the Death Eater, Walden Macnair. Draco couldn't say that he was feeling all that reassured, and he was a little surprised. Macnair had been captured the night before…hadn't he?

Being thrown against the slab his head was not what was aligned and neck stretched, it was his arm. His left armpit was crammed into the edge of the block painfully as he was pinned down by the two Death Eaters at his back. The third that had spoken to him, Macnair, pulled the rope tight so that Draco's arm was fully extended and he was actually in fear of it being dislocated. A wooden dowel was jammed into his mouth, between his teeth, to give him something to bite down on, or gag him to prevent him from screaming, likely both.

The Dark Lord was unmoving so far, but now that Draco was situated, he approached. Draco's sense of dread was ever-increasing with each step the Dark Lord took and Draco felt his stomach clench as the he withdrew his wand from his inner robe pocket.

“I'll ask you only once to remain still,” he teased, the Death Eaters all around chuckling, all having endured the pain of the Mark themselves at some point.

“Please,” Draco tried to beg with his teeth clenched around the piece of wood as the Dark Lord's wand slowly pointed down at his arm, the tip mere inches from Draco's white and smooth inner arm, marred only by the ragged scaring from Greyback's attack almost exactly one year before.

“Don't scream,” he said mockingly, suddenly jabbing the wand tip into Draco's flesh.

Draco screamed.

When Voldemort started to draw the wand down, creating a searing red line of blood Draco's scream became a shriek. The Dark Lord did not try to silence him, but instead just focused on drawing out the skull, the snake, and the gaping mouth it was crawling from, all the while reciting the incantation in his head.

Draco screamed and shrieked at the pain, his whole body involuntarily jerking and fighting the hold the Death Eaters had on him, anything to try and make the pain stop. His left wrist was bloodied from the rope as he pulled at it, so desperate to free his arm.

Voldemort withdrew his wand and then whispered something, jabbing the tip in the direct center of the bloody mess he had made of Draco's arm.

Draco's scream was high, loud, and long as the hot searing pain gripped his arm, blackening the skin, forcing him to freeze for a moment, unable to struggle.

Letting go of him all at once the Death Eaters backed up to let Draco fall sideways to the floor, clutching his left wrist, wanting to hug his forearm to his chest but the pain being too great.

Voldemort watched with terrifying red eyes, clearly enjoying the pain he was inflicting.

Draco scurried onto his knees and one hand and scrambled out of the center of the room to rip the dowel from between his teeth and then vomit on the floor near the corner. None of the Death Eaters present tried to stop him, or said anything about it. They understood the amount of pain Draco had just endured in those brief moments.

“Congratulations, Draco,” the Dark Lord said, signaling somehow silently to the rest in the room to leave them. “You are now officially one of my followers. One of my Death Eaters,” he said, smiling, though not in a proud way. Something had him pleased though.

Draco was panting, trying to breathe past the pain, his stomach contorting because of it.

“You love your mother very much,” he said and Draco looked up at him, sweat making his face slick and shining. “And she loves you so very much,” he said.

“My Lord…”

“Know this, Draco…” he then went on to say darkly, “You ever fail me again, no matter how minor the task, I will kill her, and I will make you watch,” he said in a whisper that was almost vulgar in its intimacy. Draco looked up at his Dark Lord with wide fearful eyes, knowing Voldemort was being completely honest, one of the few times in his “life.” The Dark Lord did not understand love but as an exploitable thing, a weakness…like compassion.

His arm burned and Draco looked down at it as the Dark Lord left him alone in the dungeon. Draco saw, beneath the blood, the raised scars and utter blackness the Dark Mark left on his once pure skin.

“What am I gonna do now?” he asked, no one there to hear him. “What am I gonna do now?” he repeated, sobbing now while hugging his forearm to his chest, the realization hitting him right then that any hope of getting away from the Dark Lord, any hope of taking up on Dumbledore's offer, any hope at all, were now gone.

He wanted his mother right then.

“The Dark Lord gave it to me…when I was seventeen,” Draco said simply, answering Réamann's question, blinking away the vivid memory that had swept through his mind in only a moment's time.

“You really volunteered to become one of his Death Eaters?” Reamann asked sounding shocked.

“I was foolish and misguided,” Draco said, looking over at Reamann with darkened eyes.

Reamann swallowed.

“Leave now,” Draco said.

“I will make this up to you, I swear it,” he promised.

“I'm not honestly expecting you to come back,” Draco said, and Reamann looked hurt.

“Draco,” he tried, having meant it when he said he would trade a favor for a favor, but seeing Draco did not believe him hurt somehow.

“Just go,” Draco said firmly, his renowned temper flaring to the surface. Reamann did not linger. With Draco's report in hand he left the hall without as much as a glance back.

“Draco…” Coderdale said softly, coming from around the bookshelves at the sound of Draco's raised voice.

“It's nothing, Coderdale,” Draco said, flopping down at his desk. He opened a low drawer and reached in, pulling out a bottle before kicking the drawer closed with his foot and twisting the lid off, tossing it onto his desk top. He took a deep swig of the amber-colored hard liquor and sighed.

It was not a good idea to get completely pissed while at work, but he needed to be right then. He really did.

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

“An impressive report,” the head of the Auror Committee said, reading over the parchment Reamann had handed over to him upon arriving at the meeting. He had been nearly late, caught up on the sixth floor, but able to bypass the mess to make it just in the nick of time. The sixth floor was always a mess, but some days were worse than others.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“It shows an impressive knowledge of the Dark Arts,” another very old wizard wheezed, leaning over to see the parchment from his seat. Reamann was standing at the far end of a long table. He was alone while the committee sat at the head of the table, quite a distance away.

“I did the best I could manage given the time I was allowed,” he said, careful not to say too much, something he was not exactly accomplished at. He did not want to admit he hadn't written it, but did not want to outwardly lie either.

“I say, you could have passed the written to become an Auror, given the knowledge you display here,” praised another slightly younger, but still vastly old wizard with an approving grin.

“I doubt I would have passed the practical,” Reamann said bashfully. He was not sure what to make of the complements. Surely if it were Draco Malfoy standing in his place, and them looking over his notes and theories, they would have accused him of being a practitioner of the Dark Arts, and a Death Eater, possibly the one responsible… but certainly not a good candidate for an Auror.

“Ah yes, a difficult test it is, but important. Can't have wizards who can't properly cast a Qurisfodio Hex, or something,” he laughed. Reamann returned a soft laugh and a nod but then swallowed hard.

When did Aurors need to use a spell against someone that was like a jabbing spear?

“These attacks are extremely serious, and we hope to work hand in hand with the Muggle police force and the Muggle Ministry to stop these most egregious offenses,” one of the Aurors said.

“That means we will be working with the Department of Muggle Relations and we are so far very impressed with your candidacy. You have proven a strong knowledge of the situation, and your familiarity with Muggle ways will be invaluable in this,” each wizard said, taking turns commending Réamann.

The guilt was getting to him but he would not crack. He would not. He needed this job.

“Well, I have to admit, I had a little help,” he said, trying to smile, cracking under the pressure, cursing his honest ways.

“Really? Who? Ron Weasley?” they asked, knowing the closeness he had with the Weasley family and assuming maybe he had turned to Ron, an Auror himself, for help.

“No,” Reamann said vaguely.

“Then who?” the eldest Wizard asked, looking up from the parchment.

“A source of mine. I cannot reveal their identity at this time, but I think they will prove to be an invaluable informant,” he said.

“You trust this, this uh, informant?” the youngest asked, his hair a dark grey while all the rest were white or bald.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Yes I do.” It was almost like he was trying to convince himself with that.

“Any significant information this informant gives you must be cleared by us through our channels.”

“I don't understand…”

“There is at least one witch or wizard out there attacking Muggles, Mr. Rossiter. How do we know this informant isn't the one going the attacking, or working with them?” he asked.

“He isn't,” he said, realizing he had revealed too much at that point. Closing his eyes tight for a second in dread, he tried to salvage the situation. “What I mean is, I trust my informant's general knowledge of the Dark Arts, but…if I feel, for any reason, they might know something about this case they shouldn't, I will bring them to you immediately.”

“And this informant, you have not told him about the case have you? Shared details?” the head Auror asked, eyeing Reamann in a way that reminded him of Draco down in the Hall of Records: deep and penetrating.

Was the Auror reading his mind right then? Would he know that he lied if he said no?

“I know better than to jeopardize this investigation,” Reamann said, looking away from the wizard, hoping his mind was safe from intrusion without the eye contact.

The Aurors considered him for a long moment.

“We will contact your department supervisor and let him know that you will be working on the case full time along with us until further notice,” he said and Reamann smiled wide.

“Thank you sirs. Thank you,” he said, nodding his head respectively to each of them, excited over finally getting fully assigned to the project.

“Of course, Mr. Rossiter.”

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

“A toast!” Ron said, holding up his bottle of rum. He had always been tall, now he was just massive. His freckles had not faded with time like Ginny's had and they left his face and arms a little red looking. His hair was choppy and a touch too long, but not in a way that was fashionable, in a way that suggested he just hadn't gotten a trim in a while. He had “filled out” more than anyone else had since Hogwarts, his arms strong and thick, shoulders wide, body strong and a little heavy.

“Yes, a toast to Réamann, for the promotion that is bound to come!” Harry added on happily, holding up his own drink.

“Come on, guys, stop. I got a good assignment with an awesome department,” he said inclining his head to Ron, the Auror of the group, “but it is far from any sort of promotion,” he laughed. They were in the Leaky Cauldron after work, happily drinking and conversing loudly. Tom was good enough to close off a section of the pub so that they could drink and talk in relative peace.

Ginny and Hermione made their way over to the table, talking between them excitedly before then raising their glasses as they joined the group.

“To good books and research in the Ministry!” Hermione toasted and everyone laughed at her predictability. She was still the same bushy-haired girl from Hogwarts, only now a woman. She could be so much prettier if she put more effort into the idea, but she stubbornly refused to fuss over such things, saying any man that could not see her for her mind because he was hindered by her shaggy hair, was not a man worth her time. Ginny agreed, but felt Hermione should get off her soapbox every now and then and pamper herself a little. All girls, not matter how accomplished or smart they were, liked feeling pretty and desirable. Hermione was too proud to acknowledge she had a vanity streak.

“To the opening of new doors and exciting opportunities and possibilities!” Ginny said with a grin, allowing Reamann to lean her into his side in a one armed hug.

“Cheers!” they all said together, downing their drinks. They sat with a collective, yet amused sigh and continued talking.

“I'm really, really excited for you Réamann,” Ginny said, leaning into him more.

“Couldn't have happened to a better chap,” Harry quipped.

“I heard the head Aurors talking after you left the department,” Ron said, taking a swig of his drink. “Really impressed by you they were. Why, I never heard them go on about someone like that before. The rookies get browbeat for years, then after that there is just this silent standard you have to meet. You just hope you are impressing them, as opposed to just doing well, because the only time they ever say anything is to berate you or point out your mistakes. To hear them talking about anyone in such a way…it was just amazing,” Ron said, face a little red from his drink, his hair clashing badly.

“Yeah, well, you know…” Reamann said looking down and blushing, but not from modesty. He had never thought that he would get so much recognition for a prepositional paper. He was glad he had Draco write it since, clearly, it was good and therefore should help the case and save lives, but he felt guilty for taking the credit, and a little stupid for having not read the report over completely himself before handing it in. He had run out of time before the meeting.

Would he be asked specific things about it?

Would they be disappointed in him if he couldn't give brilliant theories to their questions on the spot as they sprung them on him or would they get suspicious if he could not produce another phenomenal report?

“I have always said you were brilliant,” Ginny beamed. Reamann felt a little queasy.

“How about we talk about something else,” he said.

“Aw, we are embarrassing him,” Hermione giggled.

“He is just modest. And humble. All good qualities to have,” Harry laughed.

“Alright, alright…” he mumbled.

“You know who I ran into yesterday?” Ginny said, setting her beer down, ready to shift the conversation to ease her boyfriend's discomfort.

“Who?” Harry asked, Ron looking over and Hermione taking a sip of her drink.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said. Réamann, who had been taking a sip of his own drink, inhaled a tad of it and started coughing. Hermione set hers down too and whipped out her wand, charming Réamann's coughs away.

“You okay, chap?” Ron asked, looking over at Réamann.

“Oh yes, fine,” he croaked, blotting his chin with a napkin.

Talking about Draco Malfoy was not the change of topic he was looking for.

“Draco, huh?” Harry said, sipping his beer like he wasn't thrilled by the topic either.

“Yeah. Why didn't you tell me he was out of Azkaban?” she asked, looking around the table, but obviously talking to Harry.

“We thought you knew,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, he made the Daily Prophet a few years ago…first page,” Ron said. “There was a big stink about him making probation. He was supposed to serve a maximum of twenty, but was eligible for parole after ten. Honestly, no one thought he would ever get paroled, but he did,” he said.

“But why all the upset over him? Other people have gotten out since then, right? They all make the papers too?” Ginny asked, feeling terribly out of the loop now.

Trying so hard to ignore the fact that she was a mini-celebrity had caused her to be completely in the dark of all other things, apparently. Gossip about the “Death Eaters” had often been on the minds and tongues of those around her for years, and though she had always been curious, she had largely ignored what was whispered and muttered around her.

She felt silly for doing so now.

It wasn't her own fame she was hiding from, but guilt and shame.

She did not realize that was what she felt until after seeing Draco yesterday and having that lifted from her.

She had not realized she had closed herself off from that whole time in her life so as not to deal with it.

That wasn't fair since others, like Draco, did not have the luxury to just pretend none of it had happened.

He could not ignore the gossip and go about his life like nothing was, or ever had been, wrong.

Ginny was feeling guilty again.

“Well, no one else has gotten a real mention about their release…you know, just minor notes in the Prophet announcing their release,” Ron said.

“But why?” Ginny pressed. “Why did Draco cause such uproar?” She did not understand, why him of all of them?

“Well, none of the other prisoners were…you know, werewolves,” Ron said, swigging his drink again, becoming a little redder. “People seemed to think he was gonna get out and come after their children or something as vengeance, like the new-generation Greyback,” Ron explained. “The Ministry knows he used Unforgivables, but they couldn't prove it without his wand, so they couldn't keep him on that account, but still, everyone found out and fears him for it. Last I heard he was tucked away in some murky corner of the Ministry, poor as dirt and doing his best to be unnoticed.”

“A small blip on the radar, in Muggle terms,” Hermione added. “I haven't seen him since he got out,” she confessed, looking guilty herself. Ron mentioning Draco's struggles did not help her feel any better. “I tried contacting him, but I only got back a two-word reply that I will not repeat here,” she said, rolling her eyes just a touch at Draco's vulgarity.

“Yeah, I wonder what the little git is up to,” Ron said, obviously too drunk to remember at that point that he didn't really care what Draco Malfoy was up to.

“I need another drink,” Reamann said suddenly, excusing himself and standing like there was a bee on him. Ginny looked up at him as he moved past her and Harry was left beside her, (Reamann having been between them) looking just as puzzled. Ginny used the opportunity to scoot over to Harry in the booth and drop her voice to talk to him while Hermione and Ron chuckled at Réamann's exit.

“Harry,” she said, Harry looking over at her with very serious eyes, “why did you not tell me Draco Malfoy was out of Azkaban? You know I avoid the papers and all other publications like the plague, and I wouldn't have known otherwise,” she said.

“I didn't think it would matter…” Harry said dismissively.

“Wouldn't matter?” Ginny repeated in an outraged whisper. “Harry, he didn't deserve to go to Azkaban in the first place…”

“And thus, why I made sure he made probation,” Harry said flatly, like that was the end of the conversation. Ginny had been married to Harry for five years, she knew his tone, but she didn't put up with it anymore. He hated talking about the war and the events after it, but she wanted to discuss it. They were going to.

“You should have told me,” she said just as firmly.

“I didn't want you seeking him out,” he said.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because.”

“That's not a reason, Harry,” Ginny whispered.

“Because, though I know he shouldn't have been sent there, that doesn't mean I trust him,” he said, never having told anyone about the last conversation he and Draco had shared in private before the final battle. Doing so would have gotten Draco locked away for life. “Malfoy has always been on his side and his side alone. He is one to hold a grudge, and I think ten years in Azkaban is a long time to let a grudge stew.”

“He isn't like that…”

“You think you know him?” Harry snapped, Ginny not knowing about the conversation either, the one where Harry got the very strong impression that Draco's ambitions were not all that dissimilar to those of the young Tom Riddle's he had once met back in his second year of Hogwarts. She did not like being reminded of that incident and he was not loyal to Draco in any way, but he felt he owed Draco enough to not divulge such details out of spite.

“A right bit better than you do, I should think,” she barked back just as harshly.

There was much left unsaid between them in regards to that last night before the final battle of the war.

Harry wouldn't talk about what he and Draco had spoken of those years ago, and Ginny refused to talk about what Harry had seen the night before the final battle in regards to Draco and her. Harry liked to bring that up in their rows, but they were not going to talk about that right now, not if Ginny had any say in the matter.

“Azkaban does things to people, Ginny,” Harry said, giving up on the argument, knowing he could not say all he needed to get Ginny to understand, knowing he would not win the argument, and not wanting to fight while out with their friends. “Some make it out able to deal with life, only those hollow eyes as evidence of their time there. But some can't handle it. Some go crazy. Draco had hollow eyes going into that place. I have seen him since he got out; I was there when he was released. I wouldn't say he is raving mad, but he is not right in the head, Ginny,” he said.

“How would you know?” Ginny asked angrily, having seen Draco herself now and feeling he was perfectly sane and relatively well-adjusted.

“He saw a lot of terrible things during the war…we all did, but Draco then got sent to that place with nothing to do but dwell on those terrible things, a place that makes you relive those terrible things over and over again. Few wouldn't go mad from that,” he said, again not mentioning anything he had sworn to keep to himself. Ginny wanted to think Draco was just some poor lost soul, he was not about to invalidate that by telling her that he was pretty sure Draco had been insane long before entering Azkaban.

Reamann returned with a round of drinks and Ron smiled greedily.

“Ron is completely pissed,” Hermione laughed as Ron took another drink.

“I am not!” Ron laughed, nearly sloshing his drink across the table in attempt to set it down.

Ginny and Harry's conversation had to stop there, and she scooted back over for Reamann to sit between them again. They would talk more later, if either of them was up for another throw down fight. At the moment, they would cool it. They were there for Réamann, it was his night and they would not ruin it by having a row.

“Well, a new topic then?” Reamann said, grabbing a drink for himself before Ron spilled them all.

“I think Ron is gonna need help getting home tonight,” Harry chuckled.

“Don't drink and Floo, that's what mum always used to say,” Ginny said a little dully, still angry, the whole table laughing at her joke, Ron joining in who then spilled his drink across the table with his elbow.

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

Author's Note:

There was a Pirates of the Caribbean reference in this chapter, even though I wrote the scene in question a year before I ever saw said movie. It is really just a coincidence that the scenes resemble each other, but I don't want anyone getting in a tizzy over it, so I acknowledge the similarity here and now.

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5. Chapter 05

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Five

It was unusually cold that early June night.

The street was quiet, unusually quiet, like something greater than the night itself had silenced the city.

Narcissa Malfoy, barely twenty years old, was wrapped in a headscarf trying to disguise her easily recognizable hair, while dressed in common Muggle clothing in hopes of blending in. Her red dress was knee-length and lightweight, offering no warmth on that cool night.

“Shh,” she soothed, looking around in panic, knowing the wailing of her newborn would compromise her to those she was trying so hard to hide from.

Her heart hammered in her chest, threatening to bruise her ribs. Her whole body ached from her never ceasing terrified tremors.

“Hush little one, please, please...” she begged the infant as she moved through the Muggle city.

Why was it so quiet?

Where were the people?

The Muggle traffic lights still shifted despite the absence of the vehicles.

Lights shone from inside businesses, but no people were inside.

She was in Frankfurt, a city in Hessen Germany, and it was a large city.

She had stuck to large cities for the safety large numbers of people offered. She wanted to get lost in the crowds, her tracks covered by the traffic, the ambiguity of Muggle cities offered exactly what she was looking for…but where were the people now?

The tall glass buildings loomed over her, but there wasn't a soul to be seen or heard anywhere.

“Please, God, no,” she breathed, knowing he had found her. He was the only one powerful enough to put to sleep an entire city as large as Frankfurt.

Narcissa held her son tight to her chest as she took off running, knowing that she was not alone on the street, despite what she had first assumed. Death Eaters were suddenly apparent, appearing as out of an illusion, having been there watching her the entire time she had believed she was being so careful.

Running as fast as her tired and sore body could, Narcissa fled the street in hopes of disappearing into the winding alleys and side streets. She hoped to get lost in the darkness, but knew he would find her.

He knew where she was every minute of every day.

There was no escaping his power over her.

There was no hiding anything from him.

Stepping out from a building as Narcissa passed, a Death Eater became evident in her eyes on the sidewalk, and she screamed, stopping dead in her tracks to stare at him, shaking.

“Narcissa, come with me. You are in enough trouble as it is. Give up before he kills you,” the man said. She knew the man as a friend, and he was helping him? He was helping him find her?

“No, Severus, I won't let him kill my son!” she cried.

“That cannot be helped now. You have guaranteed it, even only as punishment for your actions,” Severus Snape said sadly, sad because what he spoke was true, holding his gloved hand out to her.

Narcissa sobbed in hopeless despair.

She turned and ran from the man in the direction she had come, only to be startled backwards by a horrific black beast, loudly bursting forth from between the two buildings on her right. It reared back, feet from where it had appeared out of the illusion and she shrieked while stumbling.

It was a skeletal horse, its lipless mouth laid bare its gauntly teeth on a face that resembled a dragon. Red eyes rolled in wet, open sockets and bat-like wings spread from its bony back where a figure sat.

“Lord Voldemort,” she gasped, looking up at her Dark Lord atop the Thestral.

Narcissa did not wait for his response. She turned left and ran from him, her son silent for that moment as though knowing the danger he was amidst.

Panting as her lungs clenched in her struggle to breathe, her legs burning like acid, Narcissa did not slow. She refused to, and with good reason; Voldemort was catching up to her easily enough as he was on the back of his Thestral.

Riding up along side her, he reached down and grabbed at her but missed. She stumbled and that only gave him opportunity to grab at something else, something far more precious.

He used his magic to rip the baby from her arms as he passed. Narcissa screamed and tried grab at the long ends of the cloak her child was wrapped in, but Voldemort turned his Thestral and kicked her in the ribs, causing her to fall and clutch her side, now crumpled on the ground.

Slowly, Death Eaters started to appear in the street, little by little encircling the scene. They were like shadows; their white masks all that stood out in the dark so that it almost seemed at though they were bodiless, heads just floating in the air weightlessly.

“Narcissa, how you disappoint me so,” Voldemort said, certainly sounding disappointed, holding the once again wailing infant in his left arm while looking down at Narcissa as she gasped for breath and clutched her side. He was acting as though the baby was not even there screaming and crying.

“Please, my Lord, forgive me. Please…” she begged from the sidewalk.

“I always excused your tentativeness to my orders and desires due to your age, but oh how you surprised me, Narcissa, with this disgraceful turn. It's not fitting for a Pureblood to act this way. Look at you, dressed as a Muggle,” he said in disgust.

“My Lord, I meant no disrespect…you have to understand…”

“SILENCE!” he screamed, his words so harsh they practically cut at her, making Narcissa flinch while on the ground. The baby's crying doubled.

“One would think, that upon hearing of a prophecy that depicts the possible downfall of their Great Lord, a faithful supporter would do all in their power to prevent it,” he seethed.

“He's my son…he's my son…” Narcissa sobbed over and over again, rocking slightly as she sat herself up from the ground.

“A child born this July will rise against me. Do you understand that? I must do all in my power to prevent such…”

“My son was not born in July!” Narcissa cried, daring to cut the Dark Lord's words off. “Please, he came early; he is not the one of which the prophecy speaks. Please,” Narcissa begged.

She had been just recently eight months pregnant. Learning of the prophecy she feared the Dark Lord's actions. He did not even exempt the Pureblood child of two of his followers from the perceived threat the prophecy foretold.

The Dark Lord's paranoia was great, and his ruthlessness greater.

He would kill an innocent child, a newborn infant, without batting an eye.

How could she stand by and bear him doing that to her baby?

Narcissa had fled, knowing the Dark Lord's intentions, knowing he planned to kill her child.

She could not allow that.

She served her Lord faithfully, she was an obedient wife to a Death Eater and supporter of the Dark Lord's ideals…but she could not let him kill her child…her son.

She had taken off in the middle of the night while very pregnant, foolishly hoping beyond hope that she could hide from the Dark Lord.

Though his reach was great, his influence vast, she had slipped by him on several occasions, evading him for nearly two weeks, but the stress and the strain of travel had gotten to her. She delivered her son alone, in a pub on the outskirts of that damned Muggle city just the night prior, a month earlier than was expected.

She never wanted, or imagined, her son to be born in the back of some dirty Muggle establishment, wrapped in nothing but her cloak, tiny, hungry, and cold…but what choice did she have?

“Yes, this child of yours…his birth falls short of the prophecy. He is clearly not the one I am looking for, leaving only two other possibilities,” he said, looking over to two of his Death Eaters and without a word, sending them off to deal with the continued search for the other expecting families. He would not let this prophesied child elude him.

“Please, please don't hurt him. Please!” Narcissa begged, crying and pleading with the Dark lord to spare her son.

“This child, so new, so strange to you still…yet he means so much to you?”

“He is my son…” she sobbed, the Dark Lord not able to understand a mother's instant bond with her child, not able to understand how she could feel so strongly for the little stranger she had only met the night before.

He did not understand love, it was a mystery to him, something he saw as a weakness and an exploitable thing; something used to manipulate others.

“You are young still. You have time and opportunity to try again,” Voldemort said with a cruel smile. Narcissa fell forward so it looked as though she was bowing to the Dark Lord, her forehead to the backs of her hands, but then she just cried loudly, helplessly trapped.

“Killing this child because of the prophecy is no longer necessary, but the matter of your punishment is, however, still at hand,” he said, speaking calmly as though he were not talking about murdering an infant and possibly the mother, too. “Your utter lack of faith in me…tisk-tisk. I find it disturbing, Narcissa,” he said, his voice light despite the dark seriousness of his words. “All I ask of you, of anyone, is that you serve me, and what do you do? You desert me…you insult me…you embarrass me… you disrespect me. You force me to seek you out, wasting precious days of my time, using up my resources.”

“Please,” she begged.

“I can only see one fit punishment, and that is to remove from you what has brought about this disgraceful turn,” he said, drawing out his long wand from his robes and pointing it down at the baby that wailed in his outstretched arm, finally seeming to acknowledge it was even there despite its constant and frantic cries that had yet to cease since he had laid hands on it. He held the baby up awkwardly, like he had never held something like it before.

“No, PLEASE! Punish me, punish me for how I have wronged you, my Lord, but please…my son…please,” she begged, heavy tears flowing down her face rapidly as she crawled on the ground, hands clasped in front of her and held up to him.

“My Lord,” a Death Eater suddenly said, stepping forth but waiting for permission to speak more. Voldemort looked over at him and the Death Eater took a deep breath.

“Please, my Lord. Narcissa is young, and foolish. She deserves to be punished for what she has done, but please, sir, please leave the child,” he said.

“Ah yes, Lucius…” Voldemort said with a twisted smile, his wand still pointed at the infant. “You wish me to spare your child, your heir,” he said.

“My Lord, the child will one day be a faithful servant of yours, you know this. He is my heir and son,” he said calmly, careful not to look down at his young sobbing wife.

They had been married less than a year and though he had grown to feel great affection for her in that time, he did not love her yet.

Arranged marriages were like that; difficult at first.

Expecting a baby so soon had been what he thought would bring them together, not drive them so very, very far apart.

He had opted for Narcissa Black over her older sister Bellatrix simply because he had found Narcissa more attractive…but now he was feeling regret for having chosen a wife as young as her. She was but two years out of Hogwarts.

He had selected the youngest of the Black daughters because he had hoped that she, with her pale features, would complement his own and produce a fitting and fair son and heir. It was a terribly superficial thing to base your decision for your future wife over, he knew that, but both girls had been near-strangers to him and Bella just was not as attractive to him.

Narcissa's shame, however, was made his shame now that they were married, and he could not bear to look at her.

Her actions had brought dishonor and embarrassment to his family name.

“You would have me punish your wife? You do not stand before me in defense of her?” Voldemort asked, sounding amused. Lucius looked down at Narcissa for the first time through his cold and emotionless Death Eater's mask and then up at the Dark Lord again. He pitied her, and felt her pain, and longed for his tiny son he had yet to properly meet to be spaired, but that was not enough for him to forgive her for this scandal.

“She is foolish and needs to be reminded of her place,” he said flatly, already intent on punishing her himself for the embarrassment she had brought him in front of the other followers. Oh how they all must laugh at him because of his foolish wife. There were very few times when hitting a woman was acceptable. He was a gentleman that respected women, but Narcissa needed to be reminded what it meant to be a wife…and a servant of the Dark Lord.

“Lucius, please,” Narcissa begged.

“Silence!” Voldemort shouted again, Narcissa visibly recoiling.

“This child will serve me,” Voldemort said, now speaking to Lucius Malfoy again, his tone utterly calm in an instant.

“Yes, my Lord, he will.”

“That was not a question, Lucius,” Voldemort snapped. Lucius bowed slightly in his apology. “Your wife's tretchury has enseeded in me some doubts, however. As such, I need a little, how you say, insurance…a guarantee if you will…that it will be so. I can't have Narcissa doing something foolish again in regards to him, though, I doubt she will want to ever cross me again once I'm through with her,” he said.

“What will you have me do?” he asked, eager to prove at least his faithful and willingness to the Dark Lord.

“An Unbreakable Vow, done on your son's behalf,” Voldemort said simply, a smile pulling at his slit of a mouth again.

“My Lord?” Lucius asked.

“You will make an oath of loyalty on your son's behalf, on your son's head, that he will serve me.”

Lucius swallowed.

If his son should, for any reason, choose not to serve the Dark Lord, the vow would be then broken and he, Lucius, would die.

He could not allow that.

But he could not deny the Dark Lord his request.

He was in a very precarious position.

He would have to raise his son to believe all the Dark Lord believed, to desire the same the Dark Lord desired, so that he would be a faithful and unquestioning follower and servant of the Dark Lord.

If he failed in that, he would die.

“Do you not want to make the vow, Lucius? Do you not want your son, your heir, to serve me?” Voldemort asked, voice teasing despite the threat.

“My Lord, nothing would bring me greater honor than to have my son serve you,” Lucius assured, his voice smooth, falling to one knee before the man on the black beast. He would have raised his son to uphold such ideals that he himself supported regardless of this proposed vow, but now, now he really had to make sure his son believed. “But, my son, he has no name. We cannot make a vow over him without a name to speak,” he said.

Voldemort looked down at the crying infant in his left arm.

It was such a tiny creature, so fragile. He had a desire to crush it in his hand, just to see how delicate it really was. It cried; its arms curled up under its chin, its face red from so much fussing. It was so innocent…pure…untouched by the world. The baby…the boy…he could be anything, he was a blank slate.

He could kill it, him, and it would serve Narcissa right, but he felt something odd deep within his cold heart. For the first time in years he felt something, fleeting but powerful, stir deep within him. Voldemort felt a pang of compassion for the tiny soul he held in his hand. He had not known that was still possible with his own soul in so many pieces.

“Draco,” Voldemort said after a moment.

“My Lord?” Lucius asked.

“I wish for him to be named Draco,” he repeated, looking up at the sky, “after the constellation…my favorite constellation. The stars are so bright tonight,” he said, his voice distant.

The Death Eaters shifted with a murmur and Voldemort's attention was snapped back down to earth.

“It is my will that he be named Draco and my will is LAW,” he said, suddenly harsh and biting with his words, his Thestral shifting in fright of its master.

“Of course, my Lord. The name suits him, suits a Death Eater,” Lucius said, bowing with his right fist over his heart while still on his one knee, thankful that his son would live, even with such a name as Draco.

An Unbreakable Vow was made that night, and Narcissa was punished for many nights following. She would never cross the Dark Lord again.

She was able to keep her son. Though she hated that she had not been able to name him herself, a year later the Dark Lord was gone…and though that did not make her happy…she was finally able to call her son by the name of her choosing.

Though it was officially documented as his middle name, he would always be Angelus -Angel- to her.

Draco shot upright in bed with a gasp, his face slicked with sweat. His body was shaking as he tried to orient himself. He reached over and clicked on his bedside lamp. Its golden yellow light made his skin look the color of old parchment as his face shone.

“Shit,” he said, pulling his legs up while still under his covers as he buried his face in his hands and knees.

Still plagued by memories, it looked like they were not limited to merely his own.

He regretted now the day (for many different reasons) he had used his Legilimency to see into his mother's mind, to see her past and try to comprehend her loyalty to the Dark Lord. He had been seventeen and unable understand her continued servitude to the Dark Lord…after all he had done to the both of them, and Lucius.

Why would she serve someone as cruel and duplicitous as him?

He found out why, he then understood; once he saw that night.

She served him out of fear, not loyalty.

His mother was a Pureblood supremacist…still was, though she had toned it down some for the sake of appearances and getting by in this world after the war…but that attitude alone was not enough to ever make anyone want to serve an insane tyrant hell-bent on taking over the world by any means necessary.

He had taken that memory from his mother, and by doing so he had made it one of his own. Now it haunted him, like so many other of his memories did, chasing away sleep from him when his body so desperately ached for it.

Draco rolled onto his mattress that rested directly on the floor and stared at the base of his lamp that too sat on the floor, along with his round clock. His alarm clock was the kind that he had to wind every night and it ticked softly in the otherwise silent room. He found it soothing, that's why he had it.

Draco shivered at the memory that was not even his own to begin with.

Would his mother appreciate a call from him in the middle of the night?

She was not aware that he was conscious of the events of that night. How was he supposed to find comfort in her, while trying to comfort her at the same time for what he knew she had been through, without explanation of what the late night call was about in the first place?

Draco felt someone shift beside him and he felt a calm flow over him and his thoughts shifted to another female entirely.

Smiling softly to himself, he rolled over and planted a kiss on her forehead, stroking her curling blonde hair affectionately, calmness now chasing away his anxiety that had woken him.

He supposed he could wait and talk to his mother in the morning. He needed to turn off the light before he woke his young guest.

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

Draco entered the Ministry of Magic by the same means he did every day, but almost two hours later than usual.

He had had a rough night's sleep.

Upon entering the Atrium through the street entrance, and passing through the golden gates, he joined the masses of moving and jostling witches and wizards to the lifts. It was crowded and uncomfortable, and Draco was shoved into the back of the car while every inch of space was used to its full advantage as people packed in.

There was a reason why he came to work at five in the morning. Missing the experience of the morning rush was no loss in his opinion.

The lift ascended. Level Seven: Department of Magical Games and Sports, Level Six: Department of Magical Transport, Level Five: Department of International Magic Cooperation and where his little friend Reamann worked. Level Four: Department for the Regulation of and Control of Magical Creatures, Level Three: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

Witches and wizards got on and off at every stop and Draco paid them no mind and was unmoving until they reached Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That was his stop.

As people piled on, Draco pushed his way through and passed the golden lift gates. A few people that had also gotten off the lift looked at him for a long moment as he made his way past them. He was not of the department, and he did not have a visitor's badge, so they were curious.

They saw him heading off towards the Hit Wizards Department, and their unasked questions were answered.

He did not work there; he was a criminal.

The Magical Law Enforcement Department was the largest department in the Ministry. It was divided up into two major offices: the Auror Headquarters, which handled major crimes and the tracking of Dark Wizards, and the Hit Wizards, who handled criminals and minor incidents. One could take a wager on which of the two got the better funding.

Draco was on his way to the Hit Wizards Offices. He was a criminal on probation, and like Muggles, wizards too had probation officers…er…wizards.

He was on his way to see his now.

Draco passed through the busy halls, hood up, head down, hands deep in his pockets. His shoulders were bumped as he moved against traffic in the hallway. That was how it always was in the Ministry. It always felt like you were the only one going in a particular direction and everyone else was flowing against you.

Draco turned and walked down a slightly less-busy hallway, offices lining the walls on either side as purple paper airplanes containing messages to other Ministry workers flew overhead. They did not use owls much anymore. The droppings were a mess and the birds tended to fight or get confused. The mess on level seven from birds coming into the Ministry from elsewhere was evidence enough to that fact.

There was a bustling noise, a noise that only busy offices had. Shuffling papers, buzzing pagers, footsteps, low talking…it sounded productive, but all too often it was only wishful thinking that work was actually getting done.

On the left was the office he was looking for. It was small and divided in two by a semi-permanent wall so that the office could be shared. It was one step up from a cubical, one step below an actual office. On that floor, that's about the best anyone got; it was just too crowded.

Draco moved to the desk on the right of the wall and flopped down in the chair set before it. He slouched, with his knees apart, hands between his legs so that his forearms were resting on his inner thighs.

“Morning, Draco,” his probation witch said with a bright smile. She was far too pleasant to be working with criminals on a daily basis in Draco's opinion, but then again, he was one of those criminals.

“Good morning, Laura,” Draco said, not looking as though his morning was all that “good” but he was being polite, even if his tone suggested otherwise.

“I was worried you were going to miss our appointment,” she said, noting the time.

“The lifts were crowded and busy. I told you that this is a terrible time.”

“I am not about to come in at the butt-crack of dawn to accommodate you, Draco. Next time, come on time, or I will be forced to issue a warning,” she said, not looking like she wanted to, but was held to the requirements of her job.

Laura Madley was three years younger than Draco. He vaguely remembered her from Hogwarts. She had been sorted into Hufflepuff; that's all he remembered. She remembered him too, or remembered him like everyone else did: as a pompous git. She however did not seem to hold that against him. Her Hufflepuff ways seemed to draw out her helpful demeanor and forgiveness.

“Yes, ma'am,” Draco said softly, knowing he could not argue on the matter.

Laura opened up Draco's thick file and flipped through the pages until she reached the one she was looking for. She started filling out the same-old paper work, and Draco sat there, saying nothing, letting Ms. Madley do her job.

Her mousy blonde hair was cut in a pixie style with a curling lock against either side of her face, pasted to her cheek. Her hair as a whole looked rather immovable in its careful styling and Draco did not like it much, but it was not his place to say anything. He just happened to like his women with soft flowing hair. Long was preferred, but if he could run his fingers through it, it was acceptable.

The vision of long, red hair drifted into his thoughts. Its silken feeling known to him, as he had run his fingers through it before…years before…as he held her close to him and…

Draco shook his head. He was not going to think about that.

“I heard you had a run-in with Harry Potter the other night,” Laura said, not looking up from her desktop and paperwork, still writing. She was trying to make it sound conversational, but Draco knew it was not. It had everything to do with her job…

“Oh-no, please, don't lecture me…” Draco begged, letting his head fall back to rest on the back of the chair, his neck at an almost painful angle.

“You want to tell me about it?” she asked softly.

“Not really,” Draco answered honestly, looking up at the ceiling still.

“Draco,” she said in a tone that reminded him of his mother as she now looked at him.

“I just happened to be at a pub first where Potter chanced to stop in,” he said, lifting his head to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose, a headache starting.

“That's not the story I heard.”

“Potter clobbered Blaise Zabini in the face with an Infligo Charm,” he said.

“Why would he do a thing like that?”

“Because he is a pretentious, self-righteous git,” he said harshly.

“Draco…” Laura sighed.

“He thought Blaise was going for his wand -or so he claimed afterwards- and thusly, felt the need to `defend' himself,” Draco answered harshly.

“Harry Potter would not think that, he was the one who helped pass the laws that prevent…”

“I'm only repeating what he told me,” Draco snapped.

“Well, the incident normally would be overlooked as just tabloid fodder, but I'm being asked to submit a report on the matter,” she said, looking apologetic.

“Do your job,” Draco said flatly, waving the fingers on his right hand at her dismissively.

“Draco, stop with the attitude. I'm not your enemy here.”

“Just my probation officer,” he said darkly.

“All the more reason you should treat me nice. I'm the one writing up the reports on you,” she said with a smile. Draco rolled his eyes. “So, you have not left the country?” she asked, looking back at her paperwork.

“No.”

“Purchased any magical items such as wands, potions, or amulets?”

“No.”

“Exercised any magic such as charms, hexes, or curses?”

“No.”

“Brewed any potions?”

“No.”

“Attempted to do any of the above?”

“No.”

“Asked anyone or had anyone do any of the above for you?” she asked.

“No,” he said just a dully as he had his other answers.

“You know, I'm supposed to be doing this after you have taken some Veritaserum.”

“I know…thank you,” he said, looking up at her with a soft face, a face he did not bare in front of many people. It made him look vulnerable, and he hated seeming vulnerable. In front of Laura it made him look sincere and appreciative, which he was, and he trusted her not to exploit moments like this.

“I trust you to be honest with me, Draco.”

“I appreciate your faith in me,” he said with a sigh, slouching more. He was lying to her, not mentioning to her that his mother had given him a potion.

“Have you been to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures yet?” she asked.

“No, not yet…”

“Draco…”

“Next. That is next. I came to see you first,” he said, crossing his arms, looking and sounding a little huffy.

“I'm flattered.”

“Don't be, I'm just putting that off for as long as I can manage,” he scathed. She laughed.

“The Werewolf Support Services was put in place for people like you…”

“Yet it is run by the same wizards that are head of the Werewolf Capture Unit and Registry.”

“Well, yes…naturally.”

“That place is a malicious joke and a prison…punishment for those unfortunate enough to have contracted this disease, not a place for support.”

“They just want to keep an eye on you.”

“So I don't go beastie and gobble up some children?” he seethed.

“So you don't wind up at the wrong end of a nasty jinx one day because someone gets the impression that you are threatening them.”

“Would I ever do a thing like that?” Draco asked mockingly innocent.

“Draco, a year after you were probated, you got dragged in here on the accusation that you threatened a Ministry worker, saying you would bite him.”

“It was a figure of speech, and I told him to bite me,” he said in an exasperated tone like they had gone over this already a hundred times.

“Nevertheless, the man was so upset over the perceived threat that he came here, saying you were going to hurt his family.”

“And I thank you for clearing that up for me,” he said with an inclined head.

“Draco, you need to behave yourself, and you need to stop making people hate you and want to mistrust you.”

“I don't try to do anything…”

“Yes you do, because you like to be the victim, because it makes you feel justified in your bitterness and anger,” she said, and Draco huffed as he looked away. He wanted to disagree, but she wouldn't believe him if he did…because it would be a lie and they both knew it, which made him grumpy. “I really think you need counseling.”

“You mean a shrink,” he said flatly.

“You just need someone to talk to…”

“I have you.”

“I'm just your probation officer,” she said, stamping his sheet with a thump and then holding his paper out to him. “I just handle your case. As your caseworker, however, I suggest you find someone who can give you better guidance and support than me,” she said with a kind but sad smile. She really did worry about him.

“Yes, mother,” he said, taking the paper from her without a smile and walking out of the office.

Draco left the Hit Wizards Offices, on his way back to the lifts where he stood and waited amidst some queer looks. He managed not to fidget under their gaze while waiting for the lift to come.

Malfoys never fidget.

With a clattering and then a screech, the lift's gates eased open and Draco found himself face to face with his new friend Reamann.

“Draco,” he said, looking surprised to say the very least. Draco wanted to groan as the witches at his back gasped and started whispering to each other, passing him to dare a glance before jumping on the lift.

“Thank you for that. Next time, shout my name a little louder, so that way everyone in the general vicinity will hear,” he said, glaring as the lift left without him.

“I'm, I'm sorry. What are you doing up here?” Reamann asked, caught completely off guard by seeing Draco out of the Hall of Records.

“I could ask you the same. This isn't your department,” Draco quipped, reaching past Reamann to hit the button again and making it light up, now waiting again for the lift to come back.

“I asked first,” Reamann said, watching Draco.

“I'm here to talk to my Probation Witch. You?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Getting some more information on the case,” he said, licking his lips nervously.

“Yeah? How's that coming along for you?” he asked, his tone bored and annoyed, and clearly uninterested.

“Good. Things seem to be going well. That report was excellent. I got a lot of good remarks on it,” he said, fidgeting. Draco knew the guy was restless to begin with -having spent an afternoon or two with him in the library, watching him pace and fuss and talk constantly- but he seemed downright nervous now.

“Congratulations,” Draco drawled.

“And I was thinking, I kind'a owe you now…so why don't I take you out to lunch or something,” he said.

“That wasn't the agreement,” Draco said with cool eyes.

“Yes, well, things are a little complicated now,” he said, smoothing his hair flat, out of what looked like nerves.

“Really?” Draco asked flatly.

“Let me take you out to lunch and I will explain it all to you,” he said.

Draco considered him for a brief moment. The lift would be back soon; he could not grill the twitchy Reamann for much longer.

“I have lunch at half noon,” he finally said. Reamann visibly relaxed.

“That's good. I can take my lunch then,” he said.

“Awright then.”

“Yeah…”

Reamann did not seem too excited, even though the lunch had been his idea.

Draco kind of had that effect on most people.

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

Draco was standing at the back of the lift again; it was less crowded, but no more comfortable than it had been an hour before. The morning rush had passed and now there was just the steady traffic between the offices that Draco was now a part of.

The lift descended slowly, past level three, stopping at level four. That was his stop.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, pushing past a witch that stood in his way as he jumped off the lift. He got some stares from those on the lift, possibly recognizing Draco Malfoy: the Werewolf, before the gates closed to his back, taking the lift and all its wide-eyed passengers with it.

Draco hated this.

He shuffled off in the direction of the Being Division Offices where the Werewolf Support Services were located. It was better than having to stop at the Beast Division where the Werewolf Capture Unit and Registry were located…but not by much.

Somehow, fifteen years after being infected, it still irked him that he was not considered a human being anymore. He was a beastie. He was not human, but many did not even think him a person anymore. It was kind of harsh.

It was one of the many things in life that made him grumpy.

Passing offices like he had on the level above, he made his way to his support officer, his wizard that offered “support” and kind words…and Wolfsbane.

It was a potion concocted to offer relief for a werewolf during the night of the full moon. It was no cure, and it only allowed for the werewolf to retain his or her mind after transforming while relieving some of the symptoms, but it was better than nothing and all that could really be offered for “support.” There was no “cure.”

The potion was so complicated that it had its own taskforce at the Ministry to prepare it.

“Morning, Draco,” his officer said, not standing from his desk.

“Morning,” he said softly.

Marcus Belby was his “Support Wizard.” Draco also knew him from Hogwarts, but Marcus was older than him and had been in Ravenclaw. He had been a member of Professor Slughorn's Slug Club. His Uncle Damocles, so it happened, had invented the Wolfsbane potion back in 1990. He was also related to Flavius Belby, the only Wizard to ever survive a Lethifold attack.

His whole family seemed to have a fascination…to the point of unhealthy obsession…with magical beasties. Seemingly, it was nothing short of pre-destiny that Marcus should end up working in an office that dealt with such beasties.

Draco sat there, as one of said beasties.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked.

“Right bit worse than death warmed over,” he said, sitting in the chair before the wizard's desk like he had an hour before in another office.

“Still dealing with the pains?” he asked.

“Every moment, of every day. Will I be issued a prescription for a potion that will help?” he asked, sounding as grumpy as he looked but still stubbornly hopeful.

“You know I can't do that…”

“It is not Dark Magic, it is not part of some evil plot to overthrow the Ministry…it's just me wanting some relief! A simple Doleolevo Potion would…”

“Draco, we go through this every week. I cannot give you anything without a Healer's consent.”

“But they won't give me anything!” he said exasperatedly. Him and Marcus did not share niceties with each other like he and Laura did. There was no polite conversation or smiles, it was right to business and right into Draco complaining.

“Then you clearly don't need it.”

“My family donated a substantial amount of money to build that damn hospital! I have a ward named after me for God's sake! The least they could do is fix me up with a potion that will sooth my pains,” he said, outrage readable, and honestly understandable. Marcus understood Draco's feelings but was also able to understand the reasons he was denied such things.

“Draco, you're a pill-popping addict to anything that makes you feel a little better for however short a time. They won't give you anything now, not without you dying on the table in front of them, and even then that's debatable,” he said. Draco pushed his hood back in his frustration, letting his hair tumble down out of the hood where it had been gathered to hang around him limply. He then let his face fall into his hands. He needed a potion, a pill, something to make him feel better, and no one would supply him and he had no means to go about it himself. He was too poor and lacking manipulative influence.

“Speaking of which, you seem to be moving about alright. Who supplied your fix?” he asked, knowing Draco too well.

“Don't,” he warned darkly, voice muffled by his hands.

“You know, your mother could face criminal charges if she were caught slipping you potions and such,” he said warningly.

“My mother, and this is not an admission, has nothing to do with it,” he said, looking very intently into Marcus' eyes.

“Very well, Draco,” he said with a sigh. He was not about to go out of his way to bust Draco for anything. That was what Draco's probation officer was for. “I have your Wolfsbane for the week, and your instructions for the coming moon,” he said, getting right to business.

He held out an envelope to Draco which he took and pocketed immediately. It gave details on where he was to report on the eve of the full moon. He would be under the Ministry's watch and care during his transformation, as always. Draco hated it, but honestly, even with the Wolfsbane helping him remain in control, he would find it difficult to explain the ruckus to his Muggle neighbors.

Draco then accepted the large flask of potion. It had a Ministry seal and emblem on it, making it official. Draco, if caught with any potion other than that, in any container other than that, would be looking at Azkaban again. They were that serious about it.

“Thank you,” Draco said, looping the strap attached to the large flask over his head so that it cut across his chest and hung at his side.

“You take care of yourself,” Marcus said softly.

“It's what I'm best at,” Draco said as he stood; signing his paperwork, glad to leave, even if that meant it was time to head down to the Hall and work.

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Author's Note:

Narcissa Black was born in 1955 according to the Black Family Tree JKR wrote up in 2006. I wrote this fic/scene, having not seen that previously, so her age does not follow canon. In this fic Narcissa was born in 1960, (her father having died in 1979 so that still manages to work out) making her 5 years younger than she is in the book series.

Also, there was some reference to Disney's The Hunchback of Norte Dame in the opening flashback scene as well as a borrowed line of dialog. It is not meant to influence the whole scene, just the one specific portion of it where something inarguably similar happens. It's what I get for listening to The Bells of Notre Dame while writing.

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6. Chapter 06

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Six

“Everyone thinks I wrote it, and if I were to fess up to the truth that I didn't, I would lose this opportunity,” Reamann said, talking of the summary Draco had written for him, while rubbing his face in frustration. Understandable, given his dilemma.

He and Draco sat in a London restaurant, Muggle no less, lunching amongst business suits and skirts. Briefcases littered the floor at their owners' feet, and the clanking of cutlery on dishware was steady as the low murmur of many low conversations lingered in the air.

The two of them looked more than slightly out of place, Reamann in his business robes, Draco in his jeans with the torn out knee and black sweatshirt. The hood was down at least, as he practically lounged in his seat, but his extremely long white hair was more eye catching than the conspicuous hood would have been.

“So you can't talk to them about getting me out of the Hall of Records in exchange for my help without first having to admit to them that I, of all people, helped you. But, you fear losing your position on the case if you do, so you want me to continue to help you, because you need me to help you, without credit or reward?” he asked, making sure his understanding was accurate.

“Yeah,” Reamann sighed, “that's about it.”

“How terribly dishonest and manipulative of you. Tell me, what house were you sorted into at Hogwarts?”

“Gryffindor,” he said quietly.

“Oh, noble Gryffindor,” he said as though “noble” were some sort of insult to be thrown in Reamann's face. “The guilt must be eating you up inside, either that, or you were sorted improperly,” he said with a smile, his perfectly straight white teeth exposed in a grin. His fingers were laced together with his chin resting on them, with his elbows on the table. It would have been cute, if his eyes did not look terribly unhappy.

“I feel awful about this, Draco, I really do, but you too would get in trouble for helping me.”

“Oh, so you are playing this off like you are doing me a favor by taking advantage of my graciousness, not like you are just covering your own arse?”

“I didn't mean it like that,” Reamann answered.

“Then tell me, what exactly did you mean by it? You want me to continue to help you, while you take all the credit and look clever, while I remain in that pit of a Ministry office?” Draco asked. He leaned forward a little, to be up in Reamann's personal space.

“I will make it up to you in the end, I swear. I just can't be exposed at the moment. I don't intend on taking all the credit in the end…”

“I have heard that one before,” Draco said, falling backwards to thump his back against his chair while taking a sip of his drink. He propped his feet up on the edge of their table and got some looks from those around him, but he seemed indifferent over everyone's silent objections to his manners.

“Please, Draco, I'm appealing to your sense of right and justice. Help me because you know it's the right thing to do.”

“Is it the `right thing to do,' to lie and deceive the Ministry for one's own personal gain?” he asked smoothly. “And here I thought I was being upstanding by not doing such things anymore,” he said with a mockingly enlightened tone and an innocent smile.

“Don't complicate a clever scheme with morality, Draco,” Reamann said with a glare. “We will all do well in the end. Muggles will be saved, you will get credit for your assistance and thusly, rewarded, and I…”

“And you will be hailed and promoted, and the history books will talk of your cleverness…while conveniently excluding me,” Draco finished for him flatly. “I have heard this all before. It bears a disturbing resemblance to a conversation I had with one Harry Potter some fourteen years ago. Frankly, I can say I learned my lesson a long time ago, the hard way, when it comes to helping anyone but myself,” he said.

“Draco,”

“No good Deed goes unpunished.”

“Draco, please.”

Draco took a deep breath and looked away, staring out the front window of the establishment from across the room for a long moment.

“I need more than just your word that I will get credit in the end,” he finally said, setting his drink down slowly. He folded his legs down off the table and placed his feet on the floor, while leaning on his elbows again, intently.

“Anything,” Reamann assured.

“How are you at potions?”

“I got an E on my OWLS and continued onto Advanced Level after that to get another E on my NEWTS,” he said, not quite sure where Draco's questioning would lead.

“I need you -in exchange for my continued assistance in this matter- to brew me potions…on a regular basis,” he said.

“What? I can't do that…” Reamann said, looking taken aback.

“Are you able to write another impressive report without my aid?” Draco asked with a smirk, his cold eyes somehow managing to look dark.

“It's illegal,” he said, feeling outraged at such a request.

“Oh, now who's cluttering up a clever scheme with morality?” Draco quipped. “Come on. The potions would be neither terrible nor nefarious. I just need some to ease pain.”

“Ease pain?” Reamann repeated as a question.

“Is that an echo I hear?” Draco retorted. “Yes,” he then said flatly, “the potions are not difficult nor time consuming but I cannot purchase potions ingredients, otherwise I would brew them myself.”

“So you will help me, if I help you with this,” Reamann said.

“You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours,” Draco answered, leaning back.

“You can't just do this because helping people brings you some sort of inner gratification?” Reamann sighed, hopeful to the last that he would be able to continue on with his deceit without breaking any laws.

“None in the least.” Draco smiled.

“I can't believe I'm doing this.”

“You're agreeing then?”

“How do I know you will maintain your end of the bargain?”

“How will I know you will maintain yours?”

“You are the convicted Death Eater and a Slytherin,” Reamann said flatly.

“And yet, of the two of us, I'm not the one who is deceiving the Ministry and taking advantage of a sick little werewolf,” he said complacently.

“Taking advantage?”

“There's that echo again,” Draco said, sounding bored. Draco was being a pain in the ass, and it was more than what would likely be considered “usual” even for him.

“I really don't think you are the type to be taken advantage of, Malfoy.”

“Shows how little you really know about me then,” Draco said, leaning forward to grab his drink. “We agree to help each other, for the greater good, and puppies and rainbows, and for Christmas and all that is good and fluffy in the world?” Draco drawled, holding up his drink in a sort of toast or proposition. Reamann looked at him for a long moment before sighing and grabbing his drink.

“I could end up in jail for this.”

“You and me both…but it's the right thing to do,” Draco mocked and Reamann smiled despite himself.

“Yeah, sure. Agreed,” he said, holding his drink up also. Draco threw back his drink while Reamann took only a respectable gulp.

“So,” Draco sighed, leaning back and tilting his chair so it was balanced on its back two legs, feet once again on the table as they waited for their order to be up.

“So,” Reamann said too.

“Where do we go from here?”

“I will need to get you a copy of the case file for you to look over.”

“You sure that's wise? You trusting a convicted Death Eater with materials connected to a case where other Death Eaters are being implicated?” Draco drawled.

“I honestly don't think this has anything to do with Death Eaters.”

“So you don't trust me, you simply think I'm not a part of this particular circumstance.”

Reamann sighed.

“I don't think you are secretly working for whoever it is that's doing this, and leading me on with false claims of innocence,” he said, eyeing Draco wearily.

“Read about that did you?” he asked, leaning his chair back and forth a little in a rocking motion.

“Yeah,” he said, knowing Draco had fooled both sides during the war, a spy for one, or the other, or both. Could Draco really blame him for having a little trouble trusting him? “In the end, whose side were you on?” he asked.

“I was on my side,” Draco said simply, honestly. Reamann sighed and ran his hand down the side of his face.

“Alright, fine. Be aloof,” he said, finishing his drink. Draco looked pleased with himself. After a long moment of silence between them Reamann felt a question escape him.

“How did you become a werewolf, Malfoy?”

Draco's eyes widened and he nearly toppled over backwards. His chair, which had been precariously balanced, had swayed with his surprise at the sudden bluntness of the question. Draco grabbed the edge of the table while curling his legs down to the floor again, steadying himself as several Muggles looked on.

“Just spring a question like that on me? Bleeding Christ!” he said, settling in his chair again, and running his left hand through his hair to get it out of his face.

He needed a drink.

“I'm sorry,” Reamann said, having almost laughed at Draco's -what he assumed to be- uncharacteristic jump and twitch before seeing how genuinely upset he was over it. He supposed it was a sensitive subject and the question had been rather frank and unexpected. Ginny was always telling him that it was bad form to ask questions that just popped into his head without thinking, and that it came across as ill-mannered. “You don't have to tell me; that was rude…” he said, smoothing his own hair flat.

“Yeah, well,” Draco wheezed, nodding and wishing their food would come so he could order another bevvy. Reamann was paying after all.

He did not want to think about that night…

He groaned as he rolled over in his bed. Draco's bedroom was still in shambles and there were downy white feathers drifting across the floor in the warm summer air as it came through his open windows. He had managed to repair his bed, and some of the pillows, but the curtains still hung in tatters and his belongings were everywhere. It would take him hours to get everything back in order. And that was only his bedroom; there were 34 other rooms in the house.

He had lain down to rest for the night, refusing to cry even though his mother had left. He just hugged his bunny tight and prayed that in the morning he would wake to find himself in his Hogwarts bed, the past day having just been a bad dream. He would be preparing for his trip home on the Hogwarts Express, and looking forward to his birthday celebration.

His mother had left just after the Ministry Officials had. She said she needed to see her family, to deal with things, to contact some people…leaving Draco at the house alone, but for a handful of servants still employed, and the House-elves, the later of which not really fantastic for emotional support and the servents prefering (for the most part) to maintain a certain amount of professionality.

“Damn it all to hell,” he grumbled.

His bedside table was not only toppled over, but the glass and water pitcher that had always sat atop it were shattered on the floor. That meant he would have to get up and out of bed if he wanted something to drink.

Draco threw off his covers in a huff and reached for his robe out of habit, only to find the robe misplaced as well as the rack it was supposed to be hanging from.

“Damn it,” Draco muttered, looking around in the semi-darkness for his robe. It was no where in sight. Neither were his slippers.

Sighing angrily, Draco threw his arms up in the air and walked out of his room barefoot and robe-less. His mother would have been appalled, but she wasn't there to fret over his lack of propriety. He had nothing on but his silken green pajama trousers, and it was warm enough that it did not matter, although rather uncultured, in such a state of undress.

Walking down the hall, Draco had to make his way to the kitchens where he would find a glass. He kept an eye out for a House-elf to order about, but he hadn't seen one since the Ministry Wizards had left after the raid.

Draco was sure the little creatures were gathered somewhere in a collective and commune panic attack over the state of their beloved house. The mess in every room was extensive and the state of some things was irreversible. He was sure it was something close to an apocalypse for the tidy little creatures whose only sense of purpose was driven by their pride in strict up-keeping.

It was a long walk down to the kitchen. Lanterns burst to life as he walked past, and upon reaching the stone room, the lights there too flared to life to show yet more devastation.

“Bugger,” he grumbled, looking around. He stepped carefully over broken glass and upturned chairs. The Ministry had certainly gotten their point across.

The raid had been bullshit.

The real reason behind the incursion had been quite clear: intimidation. The Malfoy Patriarch was in Azkaban, and they should think twice before doing anything even remotely reprehensible at that point.

Draco was able to find an un-shattered glass and held it up to the broken faucet. It looked like someone had swung something at it and ruptured the seal on the pipe. A gentle stream shot out like a fountain and Draco slowly let his glass fill from that.

It was going to take effort -and money- to get the house right again, and he knew his mother expected it done by the time she got back.

Draco couldn't say he was excited at the prospect of taking charge and seeing it done.

He really hated the Ministry at that moment.

Draco took a long gulp from his glass and then a breath.

Yeah, he was pretty sure he hated the Ministry more than Harry Potter at that moment…but then, thinking on that, it was Harry Potter's fault that his father was in jail and thusly, the reason behind the raid in the first place.

Draco withdrew that first thought, he still hated Harry Potter more than anything else in the world. He hated Potter with every fiber of his being.

Taking a step, Draco hissed and cursed, lifting his foot and balancing carefully. Despite his carefulness, he still wound up with a piece of glass in his heel.

“Fan-bloody-tastic,” he said, plucking the bloodied shard of glass out of his foot and hopping a little to remain balanced. He tossed the shard away angrily, hopped over the mess on the floor, and limped back towards his bedroom.

Lanterns flared to life again as he passed; the warmness of the firelight complemented the warmness of the night perfectly. It sometimes got hot in the house because of all the fire (often cold in the winter because of the drafts) but right then it was perfect. It was a wonderful night.

There was a sudden crash and it interrupted Draco's disgruntled thoughts of how much he wanted to stomp on Potter's face.

He spun around to look in the direction of the sound, the crash coming from down stairs -where he had just come from- and he took a careful step back the way he had come.

“Hello?” he called, not sure who or what had made the sound. The House-elves were silent in all that they did by nature, the few remaining human servants were surely in bed at that late hour, and he doubted something downstairs would choose that exact moment in time to topple over on its own…though that was a very real possibility given the mess of things.

Draco walked back to the top of the stairs and leaned over the railing of the balcony that overlooked the grand entrance hall. The chandelier was directly in front of him now, rather than above.

He looked around with narrowed eyes, but heard nothing more, saw nothing move, and he was left feeling tired and drained from that moment of heart-pounding apprehension.

He sighed, too tired to investigate further.

Draco turned around to head to bed, only to come face to face with a very large, snarling beast. He didn't have a chance to do more than gasp in surprise, and drop his glass of water to the floor where it shattered at his feet, before being attacked.

Draco was shoved backwards, large clawed fingers digging into his upper left arm. He screamed as he hit the railing and kept falling backwards.

The thing did not have a good hold on him, its hands clearly not intended for grasping, and Draco found himself falling, falling from the balcony, the marble grand hall floor below him.

Luckily for Draco, a partially tipped over grandfather clock broke his fall…and nearly his back.

He landed on it, causing it to fall the rest of the way over and smash loudy on the floor, facedown, Draco atop of it. He was left dazed, stunned from the fall, without air in his lungs, and his vision blackened out.

“Urr,” he groaned in pain as it shot through his body, no longer numb from the impact, and hurting sharply. Whimpering, he rolled off the broken clock to expose red discoloration on his pale and naked back, the start of a very nasty bruise and undoubtedly some broken ribs underneath. He couldn't breathe, as if there were a belt strapped tight around his chest.

Draco crawled on his hands and knees for a moment, trying to get his head to stop spinning and his vision from fading in and out. He felt like he was going to be sick and he couldn't seem to catch a proper breath. He could hear a tremendous thump, a distant sound in his ringing ears, and he looked up to see the dark beast round on him again from only feet away. It had leapt from the balcony and landed with grace, grace Draco had landed without.

Scrambling to his feet in a sudden burst of adrenaline that seemed to numb his pain for a moment, Draco flung himself around an archway, leading into the sitting room. He climbed over upturned furniture as the beast was in fast pursuit. His body screamed in protest, and tripping slightly he bashed his knee painfully into the wooden frame of his ornate settee, but his brain could not properly register that right then. The pain was there, but all his mind was telling him was to “run…run away!”

“Get away!” Draco yelled, running around the couch to have something between him and the beast. The room was dark and he could barely see. Apparently the lanterns were broken in that room because the commotion hadn't awoken them.

The beast, a massive black shadow, tried rounding on Draco from the right and Draco moved to the left to keep the red velvet settee between them. He dared a glance over his shoulder towards the way he had come -where it was light- and in that moment, the beast attacked. Draco screamed and ducked as the thing overshot him slightly, missing him thanks to his fast Quidditch reflexes. Draco scurried on his hands and feet for a moment towards the other side of the room, away from the light but also the beast. There was a door there; he just had to reach it.

Draco slammed into the door and groped for the handle. He was panting for air; his heart hammering in his chest like it was going to explode.

His hand found and twisted the doorknob just as the beast slammed into his back. Draco went crashing through the door as it swung open, the side of his head hitting the marbled floor hard, the beast rolling over him and onto the floor in front of him. Draco, despite seeing white spots in his otherwise blacked out vision, turned to try and escape back into the sitting room, but the thing reached up and planted its claws deep into his back overtop his shoulder blades as he scurried on his hands and knees close to the ground. Draco screamed loud and long as he was dragged on his belly into the equally dark room by his hooked back, his own hands clawing at the smooth floor and doorjamb, trying to get away, trying not to get pulled into the room with that thing.

Draco felt himself get flipped over and he struck out with his left arm, hitting something very hard and solid, a snout maybe. Moments later he felt teeth clamp down onto his extended forearm and he screamed again as he was shaken by the thing, like it was trying to tear him apart. Its claws scraped at Draco's left side, cutting down over his collarbone in long raking gashes, ripping at his shoulder and ribs with what seemed like every intention to take his left arm.

“Draco?” a man shouted urgently over Draco's screams and the beast's roars and growls.

“Help me!” Draco screamed, still struggling, the thing releasing his left arm. Draco sagged to the floor, legs and body pinned beneath the beast, still in a puddle of his own blood, and thought maybe it was over, until he felt his left shoulder, nearly his neck, get bitten next.

Draco screamed louder than before, voice cracking as the beast lifted him up off the floor, blood oozing from its mouth as it bit down like a vise. It had attempted to go for a death-bite but had missed in the darkness.

“Draco? Where are you? Draco?” the man called in panic as Draco was released again with a gasp of pain, his eyes wide and unfocused. The beast reared back to look over at the man that entered the room, the tip of his wand alight causing the thing to shade its eyes with its forearm in a very human-like gesture, though the growl was as inhuman as possible.

“Oh dear God, DRACO!” the man shouted, throwing a spell without hesitation at the creature. The spell caused a loud booming noise that chased the beast away from Draco's body. It gave a roar and bared its bloody teeth before it turned and crashed through the dark windows, allowing moonlight to cast its shadow into the room then, the beast escaping onto the grounds with a long howl.

Draco was left laying there, a smeared puddle of his own blood coating the pale marble floor where he lay, twitching and gasping for air.

“Draco? Draco? Oh God...” he said, falling to his knees beside him, afraid to even reach out and touch him for fear of hurting him. He looked out the window and saw very plainly in the night sky the very full moon.

“Holy shit…” he said, and then, “Dear God, no.” Looking over Draco, his whole body shaking with dread and the helplessness he felt while at a loss of what to do to help his young master. “I have you,” he said, finally deciding to move him.

It was a long and slow trek back up to Draco's bedroom, carrying Draco's nearly limp and thankfully, relatively petite body up the stairs, but once there, Draco was coming down off his shock enough to talk.

“It hurts, it hurts…it hurts,” he whimpered over and over again, swallowing convulsively, shaking uncontrollably as though on the edge of a fit.

The man that had rescued him was Paul Nanette -affectionately referred to as “Butler Paul” by Draco- Draco's personal manservant. A sort of tutor, aide, father figure, and servant all in one, he was a man that had been a very large part of Draco's life since he had been small. Butler Paul was the acception to the rule that the servents of the house wanted little to do with him, and he had been awoken by the same crash Draco had heard, and was roused from bed at the commotion that quickly followed.

“No, no,” Draco moaned repeatedly, pushing Butler Paul's hands away with his right arm -the only arm that would work- as he tried to have a look at Draco's bleeding wounds.

“Draco, let me look. Please. There is blood everywhere, I need to see where you are hurt,” he said, his voice a forced calm, panic so near to the surface.

“What was it? What…what was it?” Draco asked breathlessly, face ghostly white, lips bloodless, eyes wide. Blood splattered his face, on his forehead a knot was developing where he had hit the floor, and his skin was starting to shine with sweat and deep bruises.

The lights were on, but askew as most of the lamps had been knocked over or on the floor.

Butler Paul looked out Draco's open window and again saw the full moon. He knew the answer but he could not bear to say it. He could not break it to Draco, not right then, not while Draco was struggling so hard just to live.

“I don't know…probably a dog, or, or something,” he said.

“A dog,” Draco gasped, “that was no dog…that was no fucking dog…there's no way a dog could even get in here,” Draco said, forcing his words out through his pain.

“Lay still, lay still!” Butler Paul said, holding Draco down as the boy sobbed and shook.

“What did I do? What…what did I do?” he started repeating, blood soaking through his bedding. Butler Paul's heart sank at Draco's barely coherent ramblings.

Draco had done nothing, he was sure of that.

The boy was barely sixteen and Butler Paul was no fool. He knew a werewolf would not just break into a home as guarded as the Malfoy Manor by accident or chance. That werewolf had to have been on the grounds before transforming to even have been capable of getting past the home's defensive spells and wards. It had come there with a purpose, sent there by someone. He had a good idea who, too.

He did not know why though, Draco had yet to meet him in person, but the Dark Lord had sent a werewolf to his home. He was willing to bet his life on it.

“Shit, I need the Healer up here,” he said, looking around. “Where are those damned House-elves?” he shouted, wanting to rub his forehead but finding his hands covered in blood. “Mickey! Mickey!” he shouted, hoping for the House-elf to come to his urgent calls. It took a moment but a House-elf appeared, looking tentative and anxious.

“Mickey is here, sir,” it said, wringing its bandaged hands together.

“Go, wake the Healer. Have him come here immediately!” he shouted.

“Yes sir, anything for young Master Draco, sir,” it said, disappearing from that spot with a pop.

“Draco, Draco? Look at me, stay awake,” he said.

“It hurts, it burns…” he sobbed, shaking, his left arm twitching at his side.

“I know. The Healer is on his way, just stay with me. Just stay with me,” he said, repeating that last phrase a dozen times while waiting for the Healer. He took that moment to also draw the curtains closed, lest Draco should glance out the window and see the moon.

The boy had had enough trauma for one night…best save possible grave news for another.

Draco snapped back to the present upon the arrival of his meal at the table. He had fallen silent and his eyes had drifted to be distant and hallow, and Réamann had not the heart (after the abrupt question he had posed) to try and engage him in some sort of conversation. Draco wished he had chosen that time to talk insesently, and saved him the tramatizing trip down memory lane.

e had fallen silent, eyes distant and Réamann had not the heart (after the question he had so abrubtly posed) to attempt and steal his attention back He and Reamann were silent while their food was served, Draco only mentioning his desperate need for another bevvy to the waitress quietly. Once they were alone again, Draco took a deep breath.

“The Dark Lord sent the werewolf Greyback to my home one night, the night I had gotten home from Hogwarts no less, right after finishing my fifth year. I had just turned sixteen,” he said softly, looking down at his fish and chips and finding he had no appetite. Reamann looked at Draco, having expected him not to say anything as he had been quiet for so long after he had asked the question in so blunt a manner.

“Why?” Reamann asked, trying to be sympathetic and encouraging while trying to quench his ferocious curiosity.

“The Dark Lord had to promise Greyback a lot to get him to serve him, in hopes of having the werewolves side with him for the battle and such. Greyback was not a Death Eater, but he served the Dark Lord,” he explained. “Well…you see, the Dark Lord was very angry that my father had failed him and gotten himself locked up in Azkaban, taking along with him several others. He blamed my father, because he had been in charge that night, but he could not punish my father by any of his typical methods while he was locked away, safe, as irony would have it. The Dark Lord decided he would punish my father the way Greyback favored, which was to go after the children of those that had wrong him in some perceived way,” he said dully, almost like he was not even talking about himself.

“You mean, you were attacked and infected as your father's punishment for failing the Dark Lord?” he asked in disbelief.

“Infected? He damn near killed me,” Draco said, eyes just a little wide as he looked at the table edge near Reamann's hands. “I had shattered ribs, a broken collarbone and arm, torn muscles and ligaments in my left arm when he just about ripped it off…I had horrendous gashes and wounds from his claws and teeth, a concussion, extensive bruising, a torn and bruised liver, and extreme blood loss. My Healer did all he could for me, but werewolf bites and scratches…if you want to call them scratches…cannot be healed by magic. You can't heal too much at once or you risk sending the person into shock, so I was left in agony for days as I was healed a little at a time. My Healer was able to mend my bones and repair my muscles enough in my arm so that I would regain full use of it in time, and he gave me Blood-Replenishing Potion so that I would not bleed to death. It restored the blood I had lost, and continued to lose, but he could do nothing for the wounds, and nothing for the…scarring,” he finished softly.

“Wow,” Reamann said, leaning back against his seat, away from his food. He did not know what to say to Draco other than, “That's really messed up.”

Draco just nodded while looking down at his food.

“I was not a Death Eater while at Hogwarts, regardless of what the texts may claim. I was a werewolf,” he said, dropping his voice.

None of the Muggles around were listening in, but incase their words carried, he did not want the word “werewolf” catching their ears. He pulled back his left sleeve with his arm palm down on the table to expose the back of his forearm. The scaring there was horrific, worse than it had been on the inside where the Dark Mark dominated. It really did look like a dog had chewed Draco up and spit him out.

Draco pulled his sleeve back down and chewed his bottom lip.

Would Reamann believe him now?

Would he trust him?

He doubted it.

People did not trust “Death Eaters,” and they rarely trusted werewolves.

“But, then, how did you keep that hidden? I mean, surely someone would have figured it out…” Reamann asked, still looking at Draco's arm that was covered again.

“Oh, someone did,” he said.

“Who?” Reamann asked, leaning forward, his food just as forgotten as Draco's for the moment.

“Dumbledore knew. The old codger knew from the moment I stepped into the school my sixth year what I was. He also knew I was working for the Dark Lord. He did not know what my assignment was, but he knew…he watched over me the whole year, suspecting me but never stopping me, even after students had gotten…hurt,” he said softly, feeling awkward and, a little guilty…maybe. “He even dragged me up into his office and offered me help a few times. Said he knew I was `sick' and that he could help me,” he said bitterly. Reamann said nothing in hopes Draco would continue on his own. “I did not need his help,” he said forcefully. “You familiar with the Room of Requirement?” he asked.

“Yeah…that's where you plotted to kill Dumbledore and fixed the cupboard, that being the way you snuck the Death Eaters in that night.”

“Good to know those texts got something right,” Draco grumbled. “Well, never mind that. I did not kill Dumbledore,” he said fiercely, “and the Room of Requirement is whatever one requires,” Draco said, looking to Reamann to make sense of that. Reamann's eyes lit up with the answer and he took a breath.

“You used the room, on the full moon. It became what you required, that being a safe place to transform where you wouldn't hurt anyone or yourself,” he said.

“Precisely,” Draco answered, pointing his finger at Reamann.

“Did you have Wolfsbane to help? You know, to make it easier…”

“No,” Draco said, flustered slightly, still frustrated so many years later that he had been unable to successfully brew the potion at the time. It really was a complicated potion.

“Wow,” he said.

“Yeah,” Draco mumbled, not sure what more could be said between them.

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Author's Note:

A line of dialog in this chapter is based off of a line of dialog from the movie DragonHeart, one of my all time favorite movies.

“Don't try and clutter up a clever scheme with morality.”

The whole sort of tone and some of the dialog in the flashback scene was loosely inspired by my favorite B-movie werewolf flick Gingersnaps. I had tried my scene a few different ways, but I feel the end result I have now is most realistic and best.

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7. Chapter 07

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Seven

“You're coming down to see me throughout your day, we're lunching privately together, and now you're sneaking me into your home after work? Be careful, Reamann, people might think we are secretly lovers,” Draco teased as he walked into Reamann's house. Reamann closed and locked his front door behind them.

“Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy, and we could have done this at your place,” Reamann grumbled as he turned from his door.

“No we couldn't have,” Draco said dismissively, looking around Reamann's living room with mild interest. “Nice pad,” he commented.

“We can't dawdle; I'll give you the grand tour some other time. My girlfriend will be home soon enough and we have a lot of work to get through before that,” he said.

“Girlfriend, huh? She pretty?” Draco asked, teasing still as he eyed Reamann slyly.

“I don't think that is any concern of yours.”

“We Malfoys are a good judge of aesthetic attractiveness, particularly when it comes to the opposite sex. Care for me to weigh in on the matter?” he offered with a devious smile that was sure to make any girl flush. There was a strong and striking man underneath Draco's worn and tired exterior and the glint in his eyes showed he was still a shadow of the young man he had been back in Hogwarts, before Azkaban robbed him of his youth.

“Stay away from my girlfriend,” Reamann warned.

“Afraid my devastatingly good looks and charm will lure her away should we chance meet?”

“You are not charming, you're conceited.”

“What would you know about charm? You couldn't charm the warts off a skinned toad,” Draco quipped. “I would have you know there is actually very little difference between charm and arrogance.”

“And of the two of us, which is the one with a girlfriend, Malfoy? Now here,” he said, holding out a relatively thin file to Draco. Draco just looked at it, then at Reamann. “This is the file on the case; it's magically preserved so I can't make copies, so don't mess up the original,” he warned. “I think it would be best that you read it over first, before anything else.”

“You have any peanut butter?” Draco asked, not taking the file from Reamann, just leaving Reamann to stand there with his arm extended and file presented.

“What?” he asked completely caught off guard by Draco's sudden and odd question.

“Do you have any peanut butter? I'm hungry,” he said, expanding on that a little more but still leaving little explanation.

“Oh,” Reamann said, dropping his arm to his side, no longer offering the file out to Malfoy.

“I think there is a jar out in the kitchen…I could go have a look,” he offered, trying to be helpful while still feeling Draco's request was more than a little odd.

“You go get changed like you want to,” Draco said, knowing exactly what Reamann was thinking and letting that fact be known between them. “I know my way around a kitchen,” he said, walking into the adjoining room where there was a tidy little kitchen. Draco flicked on the switch, knowing exactly where it was on the wall like he had been there before.

Reamann watched Draco open a drawer and pull out a spoon and then search for the peanut butter in the cupboards. Shaking his head with a shrug he did as Draco had suggested and what he himself wanted: he headed off to his bedroom to change out of his robes, dropping the file on the coffee table as he passed.

He hung his robes up to be worn again tomorrow, and dressed in comfortable black slacks and a red sweater. He quickly slicked his hair back with a comb with only a glance in the mirror before heading back out into his living room. There he found Draco curled up in one of his soft chairs, legs tucked up to his chest and feet to the side, file open atop his knees, a spoon full of peanut butter held in his mouth, both hands busy with the paperwork.

“Comfortable?” Reamann asked, noticing the jar of peanut butter sitting open on the coffee table.

“Mmhm,” Draco muttered indistinctly through his occupied mouth, looking over the paperwork with fast moving silver eyes behind black glasses.

Reamann sat on his couch and watched Draco as he withdrew the spoon from his mouth to hold in his right hand, a smooth lump of peanut butter still clinging to it, his mouth swallowing the sticky peanut butter slowly as he rolled his tongue around in his mouth behind his tightly closed lips.

“As you can see, there isn't much to work with at the moment. Now that I'm working on the case I will be going to the Muggles and getting their information while the Aurors review the attacks again from our side of things. Hopefully we will find some common ground and discover facts we don't know yet, thanks to better communication,” he explained as Draco absentmindedly put his spoon back in his mouth and continued to read.

“Mmhm,” he muttered again.

“You even listening to me?” he asked, eyeing Draco. Draco just shook his head, his mouth stuck with peanut butter and the spoon that held it.

Reamann sighed while leaning his back into the couch and let Draco read on. He supposed they could talk after he was done.

Draco read in silence, sucking on his spoon, eyes moving rapidly over the paper. Reamann could see great calculating intelligence behind Draco's eyes as he read the material, despite the otherwise ridiculous peanut butter. Draco's eyes were what was the most alive about him. They could sparkle with mischief, darken with understanding, and flicker with thought.

Reamann understood that being a werewolf was “degenerative,” and over time one would eventually succumb to it and die, but he had not fully appreciated that knowledge until he had met Draco; someone he knew to only be thirty years old. That meant Draco was only six years older than him.

It was a shame in his opinion that he had not known Draco in his prime, before his eyes were all that remained of his true self. If Draco were even half as good looking as he was intelligent, he would have made sure his girlfriend Ginny never came within a hundred paces of him.

“What is in Manchester?” Draco finally asked after swallowing his peanut butter.

“What?”

“All the attacks were in Manchester. What's in Manchester?” he asked, still looking at the file.

“Um, it's a metropolitan area, was the world's first industrialized city, and key in the Muggle Industrial Revolution. It's a center for arts and literature now…” he said, thinking of what he could.

“Is there anything that would attract a dark witch or wizard there and then entice them to want to attack the wee Muggles?” Draco asked, finally looking up from the file over his glasses that had slipped down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“If I knew, I wouldn't need you and this case would be solved now, wouldn't it?” Reamann sighed. Draco shrugged in a “fair enough” gesture.

“The city is the third largest conurbation in England and has a large populous of homosexuals,” Draco muttered and Reamann looked at him. “Hey, do not look at me like that with your back to the wall. I'm not a jobby jabber, that's not my scene,” he snapped defensively, glaring. “Manchester just happens to be commonly referred to as `Gaychester,' awright?” he said with narrowed eyes. Reamann held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, urging Draco to back down a little.

“I said nothing,” he laughed.

“There is great magical influence there.” Draco continued on, still glaring but looking at the helpless and innocent file now. “If these attacks were meant to go unnoticed the one or ones responsible certainly picked one of the worst places imaginable to carry on their deviously dark deeds.”

“You think someone is trying to get our attention?” Reamann asked, leaning forward to place his forearms on his knees, glad to finally hear what Draco had to say on the matter.

“Look at the five attacks. None of them were covered up, not even from the Muggle police. They were all on people with no hope of vanishing and it going unnoticed, and they were all attacked by different means…either by curse, or spell, or jinx, or artifact. There has been no connection found between the Muggles other than they were attacked by magical force and were held in high regard in their Muggle community,” he said, then looked down at the file and read from it aloud. “Maggie was always such a wonderful woman; I can't imagine why anyone would hurt her.” He flipped the page over and read more. “Mr. Otto was always so friendly even though he lived all alone. He always chatted with me over the hedge with a smile on his face and was so gracious,” he read, stopping and looking up and Reamann. “The interviews of the Muggle neighbors are worthless but for telling us that the ones attacked were clearly not the type to fall into bad company with a witch or wizard of any caliber, and were likely not asking for it or part of some underground Dark Arts scheme.”

“So, you're saying there is no pattern?” Reamann asked sounding a little disappointed. He had been sure if anyone could find one it would have been Draco.

“Look at who was attacked. We have an elderly man, a young woman, a mother of three, a gay male, and a single school teacher. The law of averages says there should be coincidences…same hair color, same job, same car dealer…something. The victims here all are so different with no discernable similarity to one another, that it seems like whoever did this went out of their way to make it so there would be no pattern,” he said while looking down at the file and sticking the spoon back in his mouth.

“So what do you think?” he asked, Draco swallowing hard again.

“I think this is just the beginning of something much bigger than just a few nasty attacks on some unsuspecting Muggles. No deaths so far, but given the increasing viciousness of the attacks…” he said trailing off.

“You think there will be a killing next?” Reamann asked.

“Expect your first crime scene on this case to be a murder,” Draco said darkly, looking up at him from the file.

Draco and Reamann spent the next hour reviewing the file, possible motives, and the means of each attack, (all while Draco helped himself to a few more spoonfuls of Reamann's peanut butter) but in the end coming to no satisfactory conclusions and not really being any closer to solving the case than they had that morning. Draco looked a little frustrated. He seemed putout by the fact that he could not come in and single-handedly solve the case with his brilliance.

At the sound of a key being inserted into the front door they looked up in unison from their rereading of the file.

“Shit,” Reamann hissed, standing. Draco looked at him while he continued to sit in the armchair, leaning over the file that was on the coffee table. “My girlfriend is home,” he said, walking over to the front door in hopes of heading her off.

“Don't act as though I'm some terribly reprehensible and shameful company or my feelings will be hurt, Reamann,” Draco drawled.

“Get out of here,” he hissed over his shoulder and Draco stood slowly with a roll of his eyes as he removed his glasses and pocketed them.

“Caught by his other, unsuspecting lover in the act…oh the fates are cruel,” Draco mocked, grabbing his crumpled cloak from the seat of his chair in no state of haste.

“Oh, hey, Reamann,” Ginny said, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Why did you lock me out if you were home, baby?” she asked, pulling away to see Draco over Reamann's shoulder. Draco was frozen in place, staring at Ginny with wide eyes of surprise. He hadn't known Ginny Weasley was Reamann's girlfriend…how had he not known that?

“Draco?” she asked in just as measurable disbelief. Reamann turned and sighed.

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

Draco walked briskly down the cement front steps that lead to the sidewalk. Already on his way down the street, Ginny stepped outside while calling after him.

“Draco, Draco!” she called.

Draco said nothing, his hands deep in his pockets, acting like he hadn't heard her.

Ginny jogged down the street and grabbed his shoulder to try and stop him.

“Draco, wait up,” she said, turning him around.

“What is it, Weasley?” he asked in his usual unfriendly tone.

“There's no need to run off,” she said.

“Reamann made it clear he wanted me gone. I know when I'm not welcome and I don't inflict my company on those who don't appreciate it,” he grumbled.

“It's not like that, I'm sure,” she urged. “But, what were you doing here?” she asked, wondering what was going on that her boyfriend would not mention his association with Draco Malfoy to her when she had just been asking about Malfoy the night before.

“Just helping Mr. Rossiter with his case,” he said, rolling his shoulder out of Ginny's grip.

“You, you are his informant?” she asked and Draco blinked at her. “He mentioned he was working with some sort of `secret informant' on the case. I had no idea it was you.”

“Obviously,” he drawled

“Draco…” she said with a sigh.

“Is there something you want from me, Weasley, or am I free to go?” he drawled.

“Does one always have to want something from you when they try and talk to you, Draco?” she asked, hands on hips.

“That has been my experience, yes,” he answered coldly.

“I think we need to talk…” she said, ignoring his retort, not about to argue with him, not feeling it was her place.

“About what, Weasley? The weather…Quidditch stats for this new season…stock options…?” he scathed.

“About, you know…it,” she said, crossing her arms then, looking uncomfortable. She did not have to say what “it” was for Draco to know. It was obviously on his mind too whenever they were near each other. His unusually severe coldness and desire to get away at the moment was evidence enough to that. He was usually unflappable…unless Ginny was nearby.

“There is nothing to talk about, Weasley,” Draco said dismissively harsh, while turning to walk away.

“We kissed, Draco,” she said, saying it aloud only making it seem so much more significant and intense than it already was while bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Draco must have felt it too because he froze and visibly sighed, turning slowly to look back at her.

“That was thirteen years ago,” he sighed, looking at her, angry that she would announce it aloud for the whole world to overhear, even if they were alone on the street. He was a Malfoy, she was a Weasley; Malfoys and Weasleys do not kiss…yes, it had been the female Weasley he had snogged, but that only barely made it slightly more acceptable.

“Yet there is this awkwardness between us still, and don't tell me you don't feel it because I know you do,” she said, pointing at him in an intimidating fashion that would have made Molly Weasley proud.

The darkness was pressing down on them like a physical weight. The solidity of that feeling was only intensified by the dread of tomorrow. The impending fight, the people that would undoubtedly die…it was difficult to try and sleep with that hanging over one's head.

It was the night before that final battle, no one yet knowing what the outcome would be, no one knowing what would become of them, no one knowing who would live and who would die and by what means.

Ginny was kneeling on the cold frozen ground, folding out a blanket in front of her, going through the motions as though she were intending to sleep, but knowing that she would never be able to rest her body without first finding a way to ease her mind.

She flung the blanket out into the air with a snap and directed it towards the ground as it drifted down slowly. She was also trying very hard to distract herself from the boy that sat just three feet from her, very still and quiet, staring at her.

Draco's legs were pulled up to his chest and they were held there by his arms. He watched Ginny set out her bed, and eventually rested his chin atop his knees, his eyes still following her every movement.

“Draco,” she finally said softly, attempting to break their awkward silence and unable to deal with his eyes boring into her any longer.

“You honestly think you will get any sleep tonight, knowing what comes tomorrow?” he asked, his voice very throaty and deeper than usual. His voice always dropped when he whispered.

“There is no harm in at least trying,” she said, fussing with her bedding some more, as an excuse to not look at him. “I don't want to think about tomorrow,” she said, not wanting to talk about it any more than she wanted to think about it, but maybe speaking it out loud would help her mind relax. Maybe Draco would even offer some comforting words.

“We are all going to die tomorrow,” he said darkly, hugging his legs tighter. Ginny took a deep but shuddering breath. Those had not been the “comforting words” she had hoped for from him.

“You can't be thinking like that. You have to stay strong and mindful and positive. Otherwise you'll compromise your wit and you will be guaranteed to fail,” she said, Draco not being the only one she was trying to convince with her little motivational speech.

“I'm scared too,” he said, knowing she was trying to find comfort in him, tilting his head while his chin still rested on his knees. Ginny looked over at him at that most honest confession and stared.

“Draco…” she attempted.

She had been captured, along with Hermione, by the Death Eaters because of a trap Draco had led them into…but then he had turned around and saved her, Hermione getting away on her own.

Ginny had thought for a brief moment that he had turned to the other side again because of that trap…everyone else still believed him to be a double-crosser, even Hermione who now believed Ginny dead because of Draco's betrayal, having not seen him make another turn and help her. Ginny had to admit, Draco seemed to switch sides as frequently as a shuttlecock in a game of badminton, and that made him hard to trust and even harder to predict…but he had saved her life, she could not deny that.

Draco had risked everything including his life by almost exposing himself to the Dark Side as being a double agent to save her, and he had swept her away from the scene, which is how they found themselves together now…alone, in the cold, him staring at her with those inhuman silver eyes.

She was to return to the Order in the morning and reveal that she was in fact alive, when there was light and it was safe to travel. Now in the dark, however, it was so cold and they were camping together, both dreading the coming day.

“If this was to be your last night on earth, you were positively going to die tomorrow, would you be content with your life? Would you be able to pass on knowing you did all that you could, and have no regrets about anything?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, thinking about that for a moment, really considering her answer. “Yes. I believe I would,” she answered with a nod.

“I wish I could say the same,” he said darkly, looking away from her to stare off into the cold night air, their small self-burning and waterproof blue fire all that gave them light and warmth, the blue light giving Draco an almost silver glow about him, like illuminated ice, or a ghost. “If I were to die tomorrow there would be so much I would regret, so much I would leave unfinished, unsaid…”

“Draco…” she said, feeling her heart sink for him. She had been so ready to believe the worst in him like everyone else, and yet he had saved her. She did not know what to make of him, but knew he was so much more than he had ever let anyone know. She knew she was seeing something in him few had ever had the opportunity to see.

“I'm only telling you this so you understand what I have to do,” he said, looking right at her then, eyes instantly staring deep into hers.

“What…what is it you have to do?” she asked, swallowing forcibly as her stomach clenched and heart sped up, fearing him still, not convinced he was one-hundred-percent good guy. Was he going to hurt her?

Draco released his knees from his hug and rolled up onto them with the grace of a cat unfolding. On his hands and knees now he had closed the small space between them, only needing to stretch his neck out slowly to lean in.

Ginny's eyes widened as Draco planted a kiss on her lips. His were so soft, so unsure, like he was waiting for her to pull back and slap him or to say something, to reject him in some way. When she didn't, he pulled away, their lips only having brushed so tenderly for a moment. He stayed stretched out on his hands and knees, looking at her from inches away, considering her for a long moment in the cold light.

Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed pink, lips still slightly pouted.

Ginny did not say anything, she did not pull away or look angry, so Draco tilted his head slightly, leaning in to give her a proper kiss that time, gentle still like before but a passion there behind his nervousness.

Ginny's arms wound around Draco's neck and she pulled him close, sending him off balance to collapse on top of her as she fell backwards, him now pinning her to the half-made makeshift bed she had been fussing with only moments before as a means of distraction. Their passionate and deep kiss now successfully cleared her mind of worry and doubt for that blissful moment in a way the blankets never could have.

The kiss had that calming effect on him too as his hands roamed, making it a little more than just a kiss.

“There is nothing to be said or done about it,” Draco said, looking away, feeling angry, not at Ginny, and not at what she had brought up, but because he was embarrassed. He was angry because he felt uncomfortable and because he was blushing. “You have a boyfriend now, and I…well, I'm not the same person I was back then,” he muttered, shifting in his discomfort and hugging himself in a pouting and protective gesture as they stood in the middle of the snowy sidewalk.

“I don't understand,” she said while furrowing her brow at him. “The Draco Malfoy I saw that night was kind and gentle, misunderstood, and intelligent…he had nearly sacrificed everything and risked exposure and his own life to save me,” she said, getting Draco to look at her. “A little shy and very unsure of himself maybe…” she nearly whispered as she took a step closer, “you know, underneath that pompous and conceited façade you threw around to keep people away…there was an actual person, someone that felt remorse and was scared,” she said, Draco staring at her. “What has changed about you if you are not that same kind and insightful person?”

“Who says it was a `façade'?” he said, narrowing his eyes and closing himself off, using his anger as a shield as well as a wedge to drive her back and away from him. He had opened up to Ginny so much that night, he was feeling vulnerable and exposed at the moment. Feeling so insecure made him angry, which made him mean and harsh, which made him feel better but not in a satisfying way.

“I know you guard yourself…you are doing it right now. So few people would see it as a lie, Draco, but I know you are not as big of a git as you try to be because I saw something in you that night that you had never shown anyone before and maybe since,” she said, eyes soft and warm as she looked at him, seemingly unbothered by his harshness towards her so far.

“You don't know me, Weasley, and you never did. Do not mistake one night of fretful confession and foolish fraternization as a glimpse as to who I `secretly' am. I thought I was going to die; I was not myself.”

“Was that all it was to you, a `foolish fraternization'?” she demanded, her face finally flushing in anger. She had been open and honest with him that night and she had thought he had been too. She was being just as open now and he was using that as a means to attack her, to hurt her. She was outraged.

“It was just a kiss, Weasley. We both knew that could have been our very last night alive, period. We took advantage of that, each respectively. Don't mistake my actions as being anything less than opportunistic snogging,” he said harshly, something inside him hurting with those words, seeing the pain on Ginny's face only intensifying it.

“So then I guess I have had the wrong impression of you all these years. You saved my life because you felt you had to, not because you wanted to,” she said in a huff.

“Must have,” he said flatly, closed off and hiding behind his cold Malfoy mask.

“Goodnight then, Draco Malfoy,” she said firmly, turning and walking back towards her and Reamann's home. Draco looked after her for a long moment, watching her hair swish back and forth, looking almost as annoyed as her. He closed his eyes tight and groaned quietly to himself. He was not going to buckle, he was not going to buckle, he was not!

Ginny was almost to her front steps when he called to her almost against his will, buckling in a way that brought shame to all Malfoys before him.

“Ginny,” he called softly, her first name escaping his lips. Ginny turned to look at him, noting the use of her first name with as much surprise as him. She waited silently for him to say more and for a moment they just stood in silence. Draco opened and closed his mouth once and then took a deep breath. “Goodnight, Ginny,” he said softly.

Ginny gazed at him penetratingly for a long moment.

“Good night, Draco,” she said again, this time as softly as he had, all the harshness she had used on him drained away just like that as she looked into his apologetic and sad eyes.

Draco turned on his heels and quickly moved down the street, fighting not to blush and fighting not to break out into a run. Malfoys did not run away from girls…not even when said girls were chasing after them in mad lust like they had been known to do. Malfoys did not blush. Malfoys did not blush and run away from girls, while embarrassed.

Ginny was a Weasley, and she had a boyfriend. Not that he cared…but flirting with her was not acceptable, not by any means, not on any level.

Had he been flirting with her? Draco groaned. He had hadn't he? He had tried to be harsh but in the end couldn't do it. What was wrong with him? When did he ever struggle to be a git? It was practically genetically-encoded in him to be a prat. When did it ever bother him to be so harsh?

Was it because of the kiss?

No. It wasn't.

That had been thirteen years ago and just an innocent kiss.

A passionate- rolling around on the ground, deep and penetrating- desperate and unrestrained…innocent kiss.

Just an innocent kiss…

So why was he blushing?

“Shit,” Draco sighed, rubbing his face with his right hand while trying not to think of that night and what he and Ginny had almost done.

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Working with Muggles had never been hard until Reamann was working as a wizard. Suddenly everything was so much more difficult to understand or make meaningful.

The crime scene was taped off and the security around it was tight. The newest attack had been, unfortunately, discovered by Muggles, meaning the Aurors had to work with the Metropolitan Police rather than the other way around. That meant it would be nearly impossible to get information without manipulating those in power, naturally with spells and charms.

Wizards knew Muggles existed, but Muggles (for the most part) did not know wizards existed, and there inlay the problem.

The reasons why Muggles would question a bunch of odd strangers intruding on their crime scenes were not difficult to grasp, but that just meant his job was most important and he was about to see if he would sink or float.

Reamann had a shiny little plastic identification tag clipped to the collar of his Muggle coat. It was supposed to grant him access to the crime scene. It was official; Muggle Ministry approved. Unfortunately, even the smallest of things when it came to wizards and witches working with Muggles, had to be cleared through the highest of channels on both ends. It was Scotland Yard that knew about wizards, and they kept that information on a need to know basis, so requests were slow to go through. The fact that he had the badge alone was progress.

Working with Muggles, while keeping the wizarding world secret, was more than just a little difficult.

Waiting at the line of tape while his ID was taken from him to be cleared with the Chief Constable in charge of the scene, Reamann caught a glimpse of Muggle news crews on the other side of the barricade he had already passed through. They had not been cleared to get as far as him, so as he waited to get more access, he watched them shout and hold out microphones and record what they could, all asking details about the case they knew no one would, or could answer.

This was not how Reamann wanted to spend his Saturday morning.

“Chief Constable says you are cleared but he wants to see you,” the deputy said, handing back the plastic badge he had taken from Reamann.

“Aright,” he said graciously, nodding and ducking under the tape as it was lifted up a bit for him. “Wondering what we would need a specialist for on a scene this fresh,” he said and Reamann's eyes shifted a little uncomfortably as he clipped his tag onto the coat's lapel.

Reamann walked right past the body, laid out on the ground, a sheet pulled over it to keep anyone from seeing it, particularly the new crews so desperate for a shot for the morning broadcast.

“Chief Constable,” the man said, presenting his superior with Reamann.

“Oh, excellent. Leave us,” the Constable said, waving his gloved hand dismissively. Reamann felt a little uncomfortable watching the other man dismissed like that, but managed a very professional smile once he was gone while extending his hand to the Constable.

“Let's get one thing straight,” the Constable said flatly, ignoring Reamann's hand. “I don't like it that you are here and I don't like having specialists forced into my scenes by the powers-that-be without any sort of explanation. I do not know why you are here, or who sent you, but you let me do my job and things will be just fine between us,” he said firmly, his aggression very apparent. Reamann let his hand drop and repressed a sigh.

“Sure,” he said while reaching into his messenger bag at his side and pulling out a full sized notebook and pen. “I need to talk to the first men on the scene, the woman that found the victim, and then I need to examine the body…”

“What exactly do you specialize in?” the Constable asked, cutting Reamann off. Reamann looked up from his notebook and frowned.

“I'm from SCD11,” he said.

“Intelligence?” the Constable asked, knowing the department.

“Yes sir.” Reamann nodded, clearing his throat nervously. “So, after I view the body and look over the secured scene, I need a summary written up,” he said, looking at the Constable with firm eyes, not letting his hopefulness show through that the man would do all he asked without much complaint or ball busting.

“Sure,” he said gruffly, “have a look at the body if you like. Never sleep again after seeing it though.” He lit a cigarette and took a long drag from it. Reamann looked at him, hugging his notebook to his chest and feeling uneasy.

“Alright,” he breathed, not to be called a coward for not having a look at the body right away, knowing he was being measured and scrutinized by the man who was watching him intently.

Turning around, Reamann looked at the sheet on the ground.

It couldn't be that bad, right?

Squatting down at the edge of the sheet and lifting it up Reamann's eyes widened and he had to quickly drop it and turn away before throwing up.

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

“I don't know what the hell I was thinking!” Reamann rambled on later that day. He had spent his entire morning at the crime scene and was now back at the Ministry, in the Hall of Records to be exact, pacing around in the dimly lit cavern.

“Not exactly the glamorous opportunity you had imagined?” Draco asked, atop a ladder, shelving massive volumes on the dusty shelves, sounding less than slightly uninterested in Reamann's minor meltdown. Reamann apparently did not normally work on Saturdays, but Draco did.

“Oh, God, the body. I…I have never seen something so terrible,” he said as Draco climbed down. He took the photographs Reamann offered him and flipped through them quickly like they weren't of a horribly disfigured corpse.

“You have lived a terribly sheltered life,” Draco said indifferently, handing the pictures back to Reamann over his shoulder as he walked away.

“You are not bothered by…by it?” he asked, unable to even look at them as he closed the large glossy photographs back in his folder.

“I told you there would be a killing next,” Draco said as though not understanding why Reamann was so upset or surprised.

“Gee, Malfoy, try not to sound so happy about it,” he said, a little annoyed at Draco's complete indifference and lack of sympathy. “And can you really blame me for wishing you would be wrong?” he asked, following after Draco.

“Malfoys are rarely wrong,” Draco stated in an unconcerned tone.

“Before this, the biggest case I had worked on was with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, some dodgy wizard selling Muggles pipe hoses that had a penchant for acting like snakes and attacking gardeners,” he muttered. “Nearly strangled one man…but I mostly worked on petty incidents that overlapped Muggle jurisdiction or when things needed to be cleared with the Muggle Ministry.”

“Do you know what did that?” Draco asked, referring to the photographs, tired of Reamann's incessant rambling already and hoping to get back on the case at hand.

“No, I think the Aurors will be figuring all that out won't they, I am just the middle man. I collect the evidence and present it in reports and work with the Muggles…” he started on one of his endless explanations again and Draco cut him off.

“It was a Pertorqueodole Hex,” he said. Reamann blinked at him.

“A what?” he asked.

“Honestly, if you knew a little Latin you would have a pretty decent idea,” Draco snapped, sounding annoyed at last. “Basically it is a disfiguring spell, extremely painful. It agonizingly distorts parts of the body and it is often lethal because if the internal damage it inflicts,” he said, sounding as calm as though he were talking about Cheering Charms.

“You knew that just from looking at the pictures?” Reamann asked, almost daring to look at the pictures again himself, to see what Draco had seen.

“Like I said, the one or ones doing this aren't exactly being subtle here. That is a very distinct Dark Spell and any Auror worth his wand would be able to tell you what killed that man the instant he looks at the photographs,” Draco said as he wrote something down on the paper work at his desk. He gathered up some more texts and headed back into the endless rows and towers of bookshelves, Reamann following at his heels like a yapping puppy.

“We have a week before the next attack to figure out who is responsible,” Draco said.

“A week? What?”

“Look at the file Reamann,” Draco sighed. “There have been six attacks in as many weeks. That is called a pattern, and it is the only one we have to work with at the moment. Again, this victim fits no logical sequential string, and now this one is dead, a major distinction from the first attacks. There was an attack last night, so be prepared for another one in about a week's time,” he said flatly. “That is, unless the death is some indication that they are stepping up the pace, in which case we could be looking at less than a week,” he said, thinking aloud to himself.

“I bet you would make a decent Auror,” Reamann commented, interrupting Draco's thoughts. Draco snorted a laugh at that.

“An Auror? Me? Don't be ridiculous,” he said dismissively.

“Why not? You seem clever enough.”

“And what would you have me do in a duel? Throw my shoe at them?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, I suppose being able to use magic is a key part of being an Auror…” he mumbled. “But I bet you could work in the department, not as a field Auror, but in the investigative division with the older Aurors that are retired from the field,” he said, folder still in hand.

“Not gonna happen. So get to work, you have a report due within the hour,” Draco said, climbing a ladder and completely dismissing him from their conversation. Reamann would have liked to argue more, but Draco was right about one thing, they were on a tight schedule. He needed to tell Draco all he could before writing up a report and organizing the facts from the scene in the file to be handed into the Aurors for review.

He could handle the organization, but Draco would write up the report after learning all the facts. That was, after all, why he put up with Malfoy.

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

“Checking my work for grammatical mistakes, Reamann?” Draco asked as Reamann read over Draco's newly finished report with hungry and furiously moving eyes.

“I need to see what you wrote, incase I am asked about it,” he muttered, looking over the parchment still.

“Well, be on your way. I'm taking my lunch and you are holding me up,” Draco said, handing some of his thick files of paperwork to Coderdale.

“Thank you, Draco,” Reamann said.

“No thanks are necessary. Potions are required though,” he said, his body aching again.

“I can have a draught for you tomorrow…”

“Sooner the better, now shove off. Don't want to be late now, Reamann,” Draco said, making a “shoo”ing motion with his hands.

“It's very kind of you, Draco to help that young man,” Coderdale said after Reamann had left, adding more files to the stack Draco had handed him.

“Kindness has nothing to do with it; I'm simply using him for my own personal gain.”

Coderdale shook his head with a smile. “You are just saying that, but I know deep down inside you are enjoying this.”

“Enjoying what?”

“Enjoying the opportunity to be clever and help people.”

“Well, I do enjoy showing off how clever I am,” Draco said, pulling his cloak on.

“It's not a bad thing to show compassion Draco. No one thinks less of you for it, or considers it as a weakness.”

“Empathy only leads to the inevitable feeling of helplessness when you realize you cannot help everyone, not even yourself,” Draco said, pulling his long hair out the back of his robe and pulling the robe straight on his shoulders.

“You are so jaded, Draco. You are far too young to have such a bleak outlook on life.”

“I'm wise beyond my years.” Draco smirked, heading out the door for his lunch.

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

“Harry saw us that night,” Ginny said, sitting across from Draco in the very same restaurant he and Reamann had dined in the day before. Their meals were before them and Draco was chewing a respectable bite of his turkey sandwich while Ginny shoved her roast beef and gravy around her plate. She had invited Draco out to lunch that morning, by note. Draco, expecting a list of texts and volumes needed from the Department of Magical Transport, had been surprised to see a personal message from Ginny on the purple paper airplane that had landed on his desk.

“Did he now?” Draco drawled, elbows propped up on the table, sandwich in hand. He had agreed to meet her by RSVP paper airplane, not sure why and not sure what the meeting would entail. So far it had been all pleasantries.

“He told me as much after, well, after everything. He had been so distant up until then; I thought it had to do with the war so I didn't press. I didn't realize he was upset over seeing you kissing me.”

“I recall you kissing me right back, Weasley,” he said, politely shielding his mouth with his hand as he not-so-politely spoke through a mouthful of sandwich. His mother would have gotten a nosebleed at such a show of poor manners, even in the company of a Weasley.

“Well, yes, Harry saw it that way too, I think that's what bothered him so. If you had simply kissed me, he wouldn't have thrown such a benny.”

“Is this why you asked me out to lunch? To talk about Potter? Ouch, my feelings. I thought you genuinely liked me. I told all my friends that this was a hot date,” Draco teased.

She smiled. “Oh, can the sarcasm, Draco, you know I only wanted to catch up.” She paused. “Did you really tell people that…?” she asked, a little worried.

“I lied,” he chuckled softly, “I don't have any friends.” Draco sounded amused as though the very idea was ridiculous. “I still owe you for saving my life, and letting you treat me to lunch is certainly no skin off my back.” He smiled oh-so-perfectly and Ginny shook her head, not minding that he was sticking her with the bill.

“So anyways,” he said, back to what Ginny had been talking about, “I thought you and Potter had broken it off months before that…night. What was his eppy about?” he asked, finding some dark satisfaction in knowing he had seriously irked Harry Potter without having tried, for once.

“We were…and really, it was none of his business what I did…but he still cared about me, and I know he had only ended our relationship after Dumbledore…” she froze and Draco sat very quietly. Ginny pressed on, careful what she said from then on. “He ended it to protect me, fully intending on being with my again after the war should everything happen according to plan and we both made it out on the other side,” she explained. “Seeing us together, me with you -you of all people- really jarred him it seems. He apparently thought I wanted nothing to do with him, was over him, and that I was with you-”

“Oh please, we were hardly `together,' we shared a bloody kiss,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. “If his pathetic ego is that easily wounded by something as insignificant as that, then he deserves his misery,” Draco said while shaking his head. “And what do you mean me `of all people'? Ouch, my feelings, Weasley,” he added on to the end, sounding indignant but Ginny knowing he was teasing her again. Pretty sure at least.

“I didn't mean it like that and you know it. I just meant it from Harry's point of view I couldn't have found a more, well, odious person -in his opinion- to kiss…but Harry is a wonderful guy,” she insisted in Harry's defense.

“ Such a wonderful guy that you divorced him?” Draco quipped.

“Draco, that's not nice,” she said firmly.

“Sorry,” he nodded, knowing he could get away with attacking Potter but not her, and since the divorce involved both of them, that was sort of off limits for his smarmy comments and sharp remarks.

“There were a lot of reasons why we got divorced,” she then confessed like she needed to talk to someone about this, someone that would maybe understand since her family and friends certainly hadn't. “Mostly the whole marriage had just been a mistake and it took us five years to swallow our respective prides and admit that,” she moped, forking at her food. “We care about each other, but we got married for all the wrong reasons.”

“Let me guess, the war was over, things were a mess, people were dead, and you two found comfort in each other. You got married because everyone else expected it,” he said and Ginny blinked at him.

“Yeah,” she said, amazed by Draco's total understanding of the situation with so little explenation on her part.

“Happened at the end of the first war too,” Draco said with a shrug and Ginny nodded, not quite losing her faith that Draco was more intuitive than he let on.

“Yeah, well, Harry and I tried to make it work for years, and it did, but he…I don't know, he's a jealous kind of boyfriend and after the war he was just so guarded and protective. Protective of himself, protective of his privacy, protective of anything he held close to him,” she sighed. “I couldn't even innocently glance at a guy walking by without him biting my head off over it and acting all accusatory. I never cheated on him but the way he went on about things he made me out to be the Whore of Babylon,” she said, looking very angry right then.

“Sorry,” Draco said, setting his half eaten sandwich down, feeling full.

“In the end of every row, every accusation, he always seemed to bring you up…” she said, thinking on that hard and Draco blinked at her.

“Me?” he asked. She nodded. “Oh, please don't tell me I had some backward hand in your divorce,” he said, fighting not to smile.

“Go ahead, laugh it up, I know you want to.”

“I would never laugh at another's misfortune…” he said resentfully but Ginny just eyed him with a very bored expression. “With the acceptation of Potter's pain that is,” Draco said, a smile breaking across his face. He tossed his head back and laughed, shaking it once looking back at Ginny. “He was really that upset that I stole a kiss from you?” he giggled with mirth.

“It was more than an innocent little kiss,” she said and Draco sobered a little, having spent the better half of the night before convincing himself that the kiss had been completely chaste and innocent when it really hadn't been.

“It's not like we shagged,” he said, looking very intently at his sandwich. In all actuality, they almost had.

“I know, I know.” Ginny said, pushing her hair back. “Harry and I were just not meant to be and he brought you up only because he was looking for an excuse to break it off at that point.”

“I have always been his favorite scapegoat,” he grumbled, a lot of humor draining out of his face then.

“He didn't use you as a scapegoat, Draco, the Ministry did,” Ginny said solemnly, no longer talking about her relationship right then and how Draco had figured into that.

“Harry could have prevented it,” he said bitterly.

“Harry was in no fit state to help anyone for months after the war. He did not know you were in Azkaban until months after you were sent there and Hermione told him. She felt awful leaning the truth at that point, having not known that you hand made another turn before the end, helping Harry defeat the Dark Lord. She saw you hurt on that rooftop with the Death Eaters but believed it was caused by a member of the Order, not Nott, still believing you had caused my death,” she explained, them both knowing she had run off from his side to help Harry, leaving Draco hurt and at the mercy of the Aurors and Hermione when they made it to the rooftop.

Draco looked grumpy.

Ginny looked guilt ridden

Draco did not blame Ginny, not in the least…she had saved his life and that was a lot…she been concerned over Harry once the Dark lord was gone, he couldn't expect her to have stayed with him with Harry in so much need at that moment.

He hated the Ministry, the Order, McGonagall, Granger, and Potter for having not come to his aid like he had promised.

He had been promised and assured that he would be forgiven his past trespasses for helping the Order, but when it had come to his trial everyone seemed to come down with a bout of amnesia and no one had helped him, not even Minerva McGonagall, a woman that had promised him so much.

“By the time Harry knew what had happened to you, and Hermione saw me alive and I told her what really happened, and Harry was told how no one else had jumped in to defend you in his absence, there was nothing he could do…so he went and started to reform the Ministry, to help others and prevent them from sharing your fate,” she explained.

“Saint Potter,” Draco grumbled. Harry had done it, done what he told him, Draco, he would never do: he used his influence over the Ministry to take control. He had not taken it as far as Draco himself would have, he did not become a new Minister, and New Lord, but Harry's “high ground” he liked peering down at him from was becoming more and more level with his by the second.

Draco did not care what Ginny said: Granger had handed him over to the Ministry and Harry along with the Order had abandoned him. He did not care if it was through their maliciousness or incompetence, it did not change what had happened to him. It was their fault.

“Well, he and I are still friends, Draco. I can tell you he feels guilty for not being able to help you.”

“Oh, I know he does,” Draco said while glaring at his sandwich for something to glare at. He liked to remind Harry Potter, and any other member of the Order, every chance he got, exactly what they had done. Legilimency had its uses, spreading guilty feelings around, pounding un-pleasantries into other's minds, and reminding them of inconvenient truths was just one of them.

He was not bitter…much.

“So do you believe that I cursed Potter at the conclusion of my horseshit trial and, thusly, why he had had such bad luck in the years following, too?” he asked, picking at his sandwich.

“No, I don't think so,” she said. “Harry has always had the sort of luck that was double-edged. For every good thing in his life there was a cutting edge of bad that came around and hit him in the back.”

Draco nodded, exhausted by the topic now. He did not want to spend his lunch talking about Potter of all people, or the war, or his perturbed and resentful feelings towards the Order. It was making him feel grumpy, even though being around Ginny -for some reason- made him feel kind of happy. A little bit. Not much. Not enough that he was willing to admit it, even to himself.

“So how does it feel to be an independent woman? Or, well, semi-independent. You're living with your boyfriend I see,” he said conversationally, moving on.

“Err, well…Reamann,” she said, her face suddenly looking a tad sour.

“Oh, oh, that's no good,” Draco said with a smile that showed he was just a little too pleased about something. “A bint is not supposed to have such a reaction to the mention of her inamorato,” he teased.

“No, you misunderstand. Reamann is so wonderful,” she said, realizing her reaction and seemingly horrified by it.

“Mmhm,” Draco said, looking at her like he was waiting for the “but.”

“But,” she said, only making Draco that much more satisfied. “My family likes him so much…”

“And that is a bad thing,” Draco said simply, knowing Ginny's explanation would follow.

“My family adored Harry too. From when Harry was practically eleven years old my mother has thought of him as a son. I cared about him, but I did not love him…not in that way, or not enough in that way…but I married him because that's what everyone else wanted.” She pushed at her now cold roast beef with her fork. “Now my family is in love with Reamann,” she said with an exasperated tone.

“And you feel like you are being pushed into marrying again, marrying Reamann, because your family expects and wants it?” he asked. Ginny looked at him for a long moment and then nodded. “That's really unfortunate,” he said, leaning back.

“It totally sucks,” she said with feeling, leaning back too.

“My family was like that too, with the whole trying to force marriage upon the disinclined,” he confessed as though offering some comfort. “Though we were never officially promised to each other, Pansy Parkinson and I were sort of raised into believing we would be together. I went along with it for a long time because I didn't know any better or anything different and I wasn't interested in anyone else. But in the end I realized that I felt nothing for her. She was just there, a part of my life but not special to me. It certainly didn't help that she had a face like a dropped pie,” he said with a smile, implying Pansy was less than attractive. “I realized I couldn't be with someone I did not love, and I ended it just like that. Pansy, my mother, her mother, they all acted like I had done some terrible unfairness and insult to Pansy, but I did not care. They got over it,” he said with a shrug.

“Just like that you were able to end it, and just like that your family got over it?” She sounded skeptical.

“Yup, mind you Pansy has not spoken to me since and her mother cursed my name on her deathbed,” Draco said casually.

“Oh God,” Ginny said, dropping her face into her hands.

“You care about Reamann though, so you said.”

“I do, I really do.”

Draco waited for his “but,” again.

“But,” she continued, “I'm not sure about marrying him. I had such a bad experience the first time; I don't want to make the same mistake, so I want to be more careful, take things slow.”

“But you are living with him. Would marriage be all that different?” he asked.

“Oh, it is so much different. Marriage does things to people. I can't explain it really, but when you are just dating someone, and living with them they act so much more casual. And you can cling to this idea that if it were to just not work one day, that you could pack up and leave, or kick him out, or take a break from each other. Marriage is permanent,” she said.

“Now that's not true, there's always divorce,” he joked.

“It just doesn't work that way,” she sighed. Draco let his shoulders fall. It seemed he couldn't even joke at the moment with her.

“So you like dating Reamann, but not the idea of marrying him?” he asked, hoping to sum up what she was saying that simply.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod.

“And this is not just you trying to sabotage a good thing because you are too insecure to handle it in case it was to fall apart on its own or even worse, work out perfectly?” he asked and Ginny looked at him.

“I wouldn't do that.”

“Sure you would, a lot of people do it. They are intimidated by the idea that something in their life going well. They wait for it to go wrong and when it doesn't they get more anxious, feeling that the longer it goes on the worse it will be when it all comes crashing down around their ears. They then sabotage what they have to try and preempt what they are sure is coming, but in reality they just can't handle the thought of anything being perfect,” he said. Ginny looked a little shocked.

“You believe that?” she asked.

“Oh sure, I do it all the time,” he said with a shrug and Ginny couldn't help but smile, even if it was a little bit of a sad one. “And you know, I was married once,” he confessed nonchalantly.

“What? Really?” she asked, surprised by that sudden confession.

“Mmhm,” he nodded.

“I take it you're not anymore,” she said and he shook his head. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Well, I was in Azkaban, she was not. We worked well that way, but honestly, if we had made it to the end of my term, we wouldn't have worked. I'm not an easy person to live with, so I'm told,” he said with a glance at her to show the amusement in his eyes before continuing, “and I'm not sure what we would have done with each other if we were constantly around one another as opposed to our visits that felt so special because they were limited and something to look forward to while we were apart.”

“Absence makes they heart grow fonder,” she said.

“Something like that,” he muttered.

“So you ended up getting divorced because you didn't want to see it end badly on its own? Sabotaging it?” she asked.

“Oh, no. I'm a widower,” he said simply and Ginny was left speechless and breathless for a moment.

“Oh,” she said, not sure what she could say without babbling on about how sorry she was.

“About the reaction I was expecting. And it's awright, Weasley, I'm not about to break down and start crying right here in front of you over it,” he assured. “We were only married for about two years.”

“When?”

“From September of my second year in Azkaban to March of my fifth. I was nineteen when we married and not yet twenty-two when she died.”

“You are still wearing your wedding band,” she noticed, actually paying attention to the simple ring on his left hand for the first time. Somehow she had completely overlooked it all this time.

“Yes, well,” he said, sounding a little uncomfortable all of a sudden and spinning the ring around his thin finger with his right hand. “I have not dated since getting out, so I never saw any need to take it off, and all that,” he mumbled and Ginny smiled sadly at him.

“You loved her,” she said, making it a simple statement.

“It was a difficult love; the worst kind.”

“What kind is that?”

“Unrequited love,” he sighed and Ginny's eyes only grew softer in sympathy. “I loved her so much more than she loved me, and that made her seriously uncomfortable,” he confessed, looking sad at last. He had hoped to just be blasé about the whole affair and make it out to just be some loving but tragic story, but somehow Ginny always managed to encourage the truth out of him. He wanted a topic change before he confessed too much about his disastrous marriage.

“I doubt that, who couldn't love a uy like you,” she tried to tease but he just looked more depressed as he stared at the table top. “I mean, she married you, right?”

“You married Harry Potter,” he said, looking directly at her then.

“Oh,” she mumbled.

“Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk more about you. What are you going to do with this Reamann of yours?” he asked, making a fast transition into another topic rather smoothly if he could say so himself.

“What do you think of Reamann?” she asked right back, glad to be off such a depressing subject, though not exactly thrilled with being back to her pathetic love life. It was depressing all on its own but for different reasons.

“I like his hair,” Draco said simply.

“Draco,” Ginny laughed, nudging him under the table with a friendly kick. “You work with him right? What is he like around you?”

“He talks too much,” Draco said and Ginny laughed while shaking her head.

“Come on, Draco, I'm serious.”

“Are you asking me to ogle my male partner? Because honestly, Weasley, I don't swing that way. I might be a little squirrelly at times, but even a Malfoy needs to draw the line somewhere.” He smirked.

“Are Weasleys on the other side of that line?” she asked.

“Naturally. Why would you ask, Weasley?” he teased, eyes heavy as he stared into her.

Ginny fought not to smile or blush, or do anything else that could be considered embarrassing or be misconstrued in some way.

Draco looked at her and did notice her blush ever so lightly.

He smiled at that and leaned his elbows on the table.

Ginny did not look up at him so he leaned over the table a bit.

Ginny still didn't look up.

He lifted his bum from his chair just a bit to lean completely across the table and then she finally looked up at him.

Her eyes gave away her surprise, but he was too close to see the rest of her reaction because he kissed her right then.

Ginny's eyes were wide for a moment after Draco's lips pressed against hers, but she then relaxed enough to lean into the kiss. He sat back down while she leaned forward, never breaking the simple kiss so that they were then sitting, equally leaning over the table to meet in the middle. Draco attempted to turn the kiss into something a little deeper by running his tongue along her bottom lip and Ginny then pulled away.

She took a shuddering breath, her eyes heavy lidded, but hands in the air and making a cutting motion in front of her chest.

“No, no, we can't do that,” she managed to say, her breath stolen by the kiss.

“Why not?” Draco asked while reaching up to hold her hand, not caring if the Muggle businessmen looked over at him to see them kiss. It was their own problem if they didn't have anyone to snog with over lunch.

“Because I'm with Reamann, and you are Reamann's partner…this is not right.”

“What if I was not Reamann's partner or you were not Reamann's girlfriend?” he asked.

“Reamann needs you.”

“Does he need you?” Draco asked and Ginny closed her mouth with a snap.

“He loves me,” she said after a moment.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

“That is not a fair question,” she snapped a little indignant at his audacity.

“I can't imagine why not. It's fair-ly simple. Do you love Reamann?” he asked again.

“Yes,” she said.

“Liar,” Draco smiled, tapping the side of his nose with his finger and knowing how she truly felt. Ginny flushed in embarrassment but covered it with anger.

“So what, you want me to break things off with Reamann, a man I have been dating for three years, to be with you, someone I don't even know?” she asked in a huff.

“I got the impression you were only looking for an excuse at this point. I don't mind being used as an excuse,” he said with a sly smile.

“I don't want to dump him.”

“But you don't want to marry him,” Draco pointed out.

“Is life so black and white that you have to be one or the other?”

“I don't know. Why don't you ask your family?” Draco quipped and Ginny blinked at him before dropping her face into her hands.

“Oh God, you're right. I'm miserable, and trapped.”

“Then dump him,” Draco said simply with a shrug. “I am not in any way saying you should date me or anything at that point, but just dump him if you are not happy, it seems like the most simple and logical thing to do.”

“I can't, I can't…it, it wouldn't be fair.”

“Fair?” Draco inquired, this being the second time Ginny had used that word.

“Reamann didn't do anything wrong. In fact, he has been perfect.”

“A man who's only crime is not that he loved none too wisely, but too well,” Draco said in a mock decree, his voice lowered in a serious tone.

“Draco, you're terrible,” Ginny said, kicking him under the table again, getting a smile out of Draco then, too. She appreciated that he could make her laugh, even when she didn't even feel like smiling.

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Author's Note:

I have never in my life had any desire to be a lump of peanut butter until this chapter. This is my Valentine's Day Update, I hope you liked!

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8. Chapter 8

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Eight

A week had passed since the last murder and everyone was on edge while waiting for the next that was sure to come. Reamann had managed to secure the case files from the Muggles on the first five attacks, so now the Aurors could review them and look for details and patterns they hadn't known before, while anxiously waiting, hoping to somehow solve the case before another Muggle was hurt…or worse.

But there had been no luck so far.

Now they all waited, knowing the attacks were not going to simply stop after six, and after a week everyone felt they were no longer waiting for an attack but for someone to discover it, no one holding out any hope that one had not happened on schedule.

Draco had reviewed the Muggle files time and time again, and he had sat with his fingers fisted in his hair, staring down at the papers for hours, frustrated to wit's end at the “Muggles' incompetence” and that he could not figure the case.

Every bird in the sky that caught Reamann's eye now caused his stomach to clench, a brief moment of him thinking it was an owl bringing him news of another attack and another terrible scene to report to.

He was on edge like everyone else, and he was at his girlfriend's family house that night in hopes of easing his mind and nerves with a Sunday family dinner. His nerves were anything but relaxed though thanks to the topic of choice.

“So, you gonna ask her to marry you or what?” Ron asked as he, Harry, and Reamann stood in the kitchen at the Burrow. The women, aka: Hermione and Ginny, were in the living room while everyone else was in the backyard where a fire pit was set up for the children to roast marshmallows that cold night. Ron, Reamann, and Harry were on dish duty after dinner, and taking the opportunity to talk without Mrs. Weasley there to bud in like she tended to do.

“Oh, I don't know,” Reamann muttered, flicking his wand at the sink as the dishes washed themselves.

“She is arse over teacup for you, mate,” Harry said, drinking his coffee.

“You really think so?”

“Don't you?” Ron asked. Ron was the tallest in the room. Reamann and Harry were both a respectable six foot even, but Ron was just over six foot four and had filled into a pair of strong shoulders. It was hard for most in the family to think of him as “massive” having known Hagrid, but he certainly was big and took up a lot of space.

“Well, she is sometimes really distant.”

“That's just women for you. They need their space one moment, claim you don't pay enough attention to them the next,” Ron said with a shrug.

“This coming from the bachelor among us,” Harry teased.

“Hey, I have chosen to put my career first thank you very much, Mr. twice-divorced-by-thirty,” Ron said down his nose but not in a harsh tone, bickering good naturedly over who was better qualified to give advice on women to Reamann.

“Right,” Harry and Reamann said, both rolling their eyes, clearly not believeing Ron simply did not want a bint of his own.

“How is the case going? I hear your first day was, well, rough,” Harry asked as Ron chuckled.

“Heard you puked on the body,” Ron sniggered. They had been unable to talk about such things over dinner itself.

“I did not. I puked near the body,” Reamann huffed indignantly while blushing. He had hardly made a good impression on the Constable at the scene, nearly “compromising the scene's integrity” and getting yelled at a lot while others on the scene that hadn't puked, guffawed quietly at him behind their hands. He hadn't been the only one that puked, however, so he was able to save face to a certain extent.

“I heard you couldn't get the Aurors on the scene,” Harry said, not of the department but very interested in the case nonetheless.

“No, I tried. Unfortunately, Scotland Yard was backed up, and there was no one on the scene that day I could talk with about getting a bunch of witches and wizards on the case,” he said with a sigh. “I had to man it all by myself. I've gotten the information from the other scenes since then, so hopefully by the time…” he paused for a second before dropping his voice in a defeated tone, “the next scene comes up, I will have the clearance I need and I can go back to what I'm good at: being the translator.”

“You think there will be another attack before you are able to make a break?” Harry asked, looking at Ron.

“Things look rather bleak. An attack a week for over a month and we still have nothing to work with. Now it's a week later,” he said, looking a bit downhearted himself. “I just got cleared to join the case given the increased pressure the Ministry is putting on the department for us to solve this,” he said, Reamann looking at him. “I'll have full access to all the scenes and evidence, and Reamann here will do all the talking so I don't have to deal with the ruddy Muggles,” he explained, slapping Reamann around the shoulder.

“You can enter any scene?” he asked. Ron nodded.

“You think it's Death Eaters behind it?” Harry asked.

“Could be,” Ron said. Reamann bit his tongue a little.

“Wouldn't surprise me if they were,” Harry said, taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes darkening behind his glasses.

“I can't see that as a possibility myself,” Reamann said, Harry and Ron looking over at him. “I mean, seems like a silly thing to risk everything on. Is attacking some Muggles really worth going back to Azkaban over?”

“They have nothing, so they have nothing to lose,” Ron said while Harry nodded in agreement, both the men having fought the Death Eaters, Reamann having been too young to be a part of the fighting so he seemed to lack a certain amount of fear…and prejudice.

“I think a life outside of Azkaban is a lot to lose,” Reamann muttered, flicking his wand at the sink, pocketing a hair he had pulled off of Ron's collar for safe keeping. He needed to talk to Draco.

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

Ginny and Hermione sat in the living room, talking casually. The fireplace was roaring and warm in the otherwise dark room. The men were in the kitchen and the rest of the family was in the back. It was girl time, and it was usually a fun experience filled with giggles and hand grabbing in excitement. Ginny wasn't so much in the mood for that today.

“So, tell me, you think Reamann will propose for Christmas?” she asked, Christmas being just nine days away. Ginny looked awkward.

“I'm not sure.”

“Oh, you must be excited,” she said with a girlish giggle that she dared never use in the vicinity of the boys lest she be taunted mercilessly.

“Oh, oh I am,” Ginny said in an only mildly convincing tone while nodding her head.

“Then why don't you look it?” Hermione asked, voice dropping a little, face sad. Ginny just shook her head then.

“It's nothing. Just, you know, the anniversary coming up, has me a bit down this year.”

“Why this year more than others?” Hermione asked softly, talking of the war.

Ginny shrugged.

“Come on, Gin. I know you better than this. You have always been good at talking about what's bothering you. What's got you so down and silent about it?” she pressed, holding her friend's hand.

“I had lunch with Draco Malfoy, last week,” she said almost suddenly and Hermione visibly recoiled in her shock. Ginny had not told anyone about her lunch with Draco the Saturday before, and really why would she? But she trusted Hermione.

“Did you now?” she asked, her tone not giving away her tension like her grip on Ginny's hand did. Ginny had not been lying when she had told Draco that Hermione felt terrible about the whole ordeal and him being sent to Azkaban.

“Yeah. I sent him a note at the Ministry from my office asking him to join me, and he actually did,” she said, having half expected Draco to RSVP her back with the same “two-worded reply” he had sent back to Hermione some years before when she had owled him to meet her.

“He actually agreed to meet you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess you weren't the one that handed him off to the Aurors, so I guess he holds less of a grudge against you,” she said with a sad smile. She had a pound of guilt over the “Malfoy situation” just like Harry.

“He didn't mention you if that's what you're wondering…I brought you up but he seemed rather disinclined to talk much on the subject. Really, he was quite civil and courteous, and actually easy to talk to,” she said and Hermione stared at her like Ginny had just grown a second evil-head that resembled a slightly less unattractive Goyle. “Don't look at me like that,” Ginny laughed.

“No, no, it's just…you just had a mental moment where you mistakenly implied that Draco was a pleasant person to sit and chat with over lunch,” she said, eyes still wide and staring.

“I did say that, and I meant it because it's true. I mean, he's defensive and a bit of a stuck-up prat still, but he really is quite smart, and nice when he lets himself be. I think he just guards himself,” she said, glancing away, tired of watching Hermione gawp at her.

“You're serious,” she said, blinking a few times. “And you had a lunch date with him?”

“It was just a lunch, no date. It was just us catching up since I hadn't known he was out…that's all.”

“Catch up on what? You weren't exactly chums at Hogwarts.”

“We saved each other's lives during the war, `Mione. That creates a bond between two people, even if they choose not to acknowledge it. We talked a lot that night before the final battle when we were camped out together,” she said. What Ginny didn't mention was the passionate kiss they had shared on that cold December night they spent wrapped up in each other's arms in hopes of staying warm with only meager Warming Charms, their robes, and flimsy blanket to keep the bite of the cold at bay.

Harry had never mentioned what he had seen that night (that he had seen them kissing) to anyone but Ginny herself, it bothered him too much, and she wasn't about to spread the fact around that she had snogged Draco Malfoy. She could only imagine her mother's horror, and what Ron would do to Draco after tracking him down. She might have felt there was something redeemable within him that no one else saw, but everyone else in the world seemed to think very low of him.

She also didn't mention to Hermione that Draco had kissed her during their lunch date…their lunch…but a slight flush crept across her cheeks at the vivid memory of his lips on hers, his soft tongue against her bottom lip...

“You've never mentioned that part, you two talking before,” Hermione said, never having been able to ask Ginny about the time she had spent with Draco. Ginny had been very brief in her defense of Draco, telling her about how he had saved her life, hidden her for a night, and sent her off to return to the Order in the morning when it was “safe”…but Ginny had never mentioned them talking during that time they shared, Hermione has always assumed it was a heavily weighted and silent affair.

“I didn't want to think about it for a long time after the war, then I didn't want to talk about it, then I just sort'a forgot about it. Well, not really, but I filed it away in the part of my brain where I put everything I don't want to think about,” she said, knowing the sorts of memories buried in there were what her nightmares were made of. Her first year at Hogwarts with the Diary was deep in there, under all the fighting and death she had seen thirteen years ago.

“So, you had a pleasant lunch with Draco Malfoy, and everything else is well, so the only thing that's got you down is the time of year?” Hermione asked. Still sounding skeptical.

Ginny pressed her lips together and looked away, unable to come up with a better lie at that moment. She could not confess her lukewarm feelings for Reamann, and she could not mention her faintly warm feelings for Draco…what could she say except that the end of the war memories were haunting her particularly bad that year?

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

Reamann checked the address twice before he approached the door. He had the right place, but the state of it was so sad, so poor, it did not look like someone should be allowed to live there. It looked like it should be condemned and torn down before it hurt someone. He was in the middle of a rundown Muggle neighborhood in the East End of London, where some of the poorest districts in all of London resided. This was not what he imagined…but thinking on it, he was not terribly surprised either.

Shaking his head, Reamann knocked on the front door firmly, waiting quietly on the metal stairs that groaned ever so slightly if he stepped too far to the left. To his right was a second battered door, Draco's block tightly packed so there were two decrepit apartments in every space one normally would be in any other neighborhood. There was no answer right away, so Reamann looked up at the apartment above that belonged to the second door, and considered knocking again. He heard someone on the inside move, however, so he looked back down and took a step back, and moments later the door opened.

“Hello?” they asked, Reamann's eyes widening so that he could not respond immediately.

The boy's face was shockingly familiar. Reamann found himself looking right into Draco Malfoy's pale eyes and pointed features…but the hair was wrong, as was the age. The boy at the door could not have been more than ten or eleven years old.

His hair was a pale-blond mess of long, heavily-curled locks that hung down over his eyes and covered his ears and was probably past his chin when pulled straight.

Reamann had no idea who was before him, and he feared he had the wrong door, but the resemblance to Draco was unmistakable and so Reamann was at a loss.

“Um, hello,” Reamann finally managed, swallowing the lump in his throat that had formed while he had stared openmouthed for a moment at the boy. The boy continued to look at him with slightly confused and intensely suspicious eyes, waiting for him to say more without verbal encouragement. “I…I'm looking for Draco Malfoy. I work with him and I got his address…” he said, stammering off into a mumble as he stared at the boy before him. The boy had a strong gaze full of thought and consideration. It was so much like Draco's that Reamann wanted to cast some Disillusion Spells at the boy. It had to be a trick, had to be. Right?

There were footsteps from inside indicating that someone was coming up behind the boy and the boy finally spoke.

“Dad, you have company,” he called as he stepped backwards from the door. Draco appeared there behind the boy, and the boy disappeared around him while Draco's face froze in surprise and mortification, his eyes wide with astonishment and shock that rivaled Reamann's.

“Reamann, what…what are you doing here?” he managed, stepping out into the cold so that he could close the door behind him with a snap, his hands latched to the handle as he leaned his back against the door like he was barricading Reamann out, looking panicked.

“Dad?” Reamann managed while still staring at Draco. Draco's eyes remained wide. “Draco, you are a father?” he asked, in disbelief. The boy was clearly a Malfoy, the strong resemblance there, but Draco's son? That had not been an option that had crossed his mind. Little brother maybe, cousin, nephew…anything but a son.

“How did you know where I live?” Draco asked, disregarding Reamann's question, voice a little higher than usual.

“Your address is on file at the Ministry, I just had to ask for it,” he said, not intending on letting Draco ignore his question. “What the hell is going on?” he asked. Draco looked over his shoulder -though all he saw was the door at his back- and then back at Reamann.

“This really is not a good time,” he tried.

“Please, it's important that I talk to you,” Reamann pressed, wanting to tell Draco of the idea he had come up with after having spoken to Ron. He had come straight from the Burrow with much apology to everyone for his abrupt exit, saying it was Ministry business that had come up suddenly; no one prepared to argue with that. He had requested Draco's address as part of his “investigation into the Muggle attacks” days before, thinking it would be useful if he ever needed to send him an owl. He hadn't really planed on using the address to visit Draco, but he felt his plan needed a face to face explanation that couldn't wait until morning.

Draco looked torn as he continued to press himself backwards against the door and stare at Reamann.

“Daddy? Is everything alright?” a second voice, a young girl's voice, called out to them, drifting through the closed door so that it was slightly muffled. Draco's eyes remained locked with Reamann's, color draining out of his face -if that were even possible for someone so pale- so that he went from an embarrassed flush to a white look of horror.

“Draco?” Reamann asked, wanting an explanation.

“The house is a right mess at the moment and…”

“Draco,” he said flatly then, showing he was not buying into any of Draco's excuses. He wanted an exlanation, and he wanted a chance to explain why he was there. Draco took a deep breath and seemed to hold it.

“Yeah, sure, come in,” he said, sounding defeated, turning and opening the door and holding it for Reamann as he half hid behind it half leaned on it. Closing it after Reamann walked by, his face looked pained.

Reamann walked in to find himself in the living room, seeing that the flat was just as dilapidated on the inside as it appeared on the outside.

What was worse was the state of everything inside.

Battered and frayed furniture, and a ripped and stained carpet of a horrid burnt orange color, surrounded him on all sides. The place was not messy -there was no rubbish or clutter and the amount of downright filth was minimal; it mostly looked like permanent dingy stains- but everything just simply looked abused, shabby, ruined. It was as though someone had attempted to tidy up after a foul-tempered Manticore had had its way with the place.

The furnature was tattered: the couch beige and the armchair dark brown, and the walls sky-blue and cracked, a few claw marks raking pale plaster gashes into its fractured surface. It looked possitively horrid with the burnt orange -once probably shag- carpet, and olive green accents on the wood molding in the room, yet those colors had been so popular years ago. Years and years ago. The ceiling had a brown stain near the corner where a pot half-filled with slightly discolored water sat on the floor collecting the drips as they fell slowly. The whole place was dimly lighted by battered table lamps with yellow lampshades, and it was kind of chilly.

A small Christmas tree stood next to the closed-curtain windows to his right, in the corner that shared the wall with the front door. The tree was multicolored and blinking merrily in the rather despondent room. A ghost-faced Barn Owl sat on a stand next to it, swiveling its head and blinking at him in suspicion and curiosity.

Standing there near the middle of the room were two children. They looked close enough that they could have been twins, both so shockingly Malfoy that there was no mistaking their relation to Draco. The boy stood on the left, the girl on the right. The girl was a tad shorter than the boy, with the same, unruly, curling platinum hair, but hers was much longer, so long it must have reached past her lower back. The children both had that telltale Malfoy smirk, but her lips were clearly not Malfoy like the boy's were, and the freckles they both bore were something they couldn't have gotten from daddy. They were dressed much like Draco was, in clothing that looked like it had seen better days, but clothing that had been repaired and tended to with much attention so that it was acceptable.

Draco walked passed Reamann after closing the door while rubbing his arms from the cold, to stand behind the two children, placing a hand on each other their shoulders, looking painfully uncomfortable.

“Um, children, this is a colleague of mine from the Ministry, Reamann Rossiter,” he said, giving their shoulders a gentle squeeze as he pulled them together against him and they each bobbed their heads.

“Hello,” they chimed politely.

“Reamann, these are…my children,” Draco confessed, looking like it pained him something to admit that to the other man. “This is my son Michelangelo, he is eleven - well, twelve- and we call him Michael,” he said, seemingly fumbling over his son's age. “And this is my daughter Clarissa, she is eleven and we call her Claire,” he said, looking at Reamann as though waiting…waiting for his opinion, waiting for him to say something unkind.

“It's very nice to meet you. Um, your father has said nice things about you,” Reamann attempted, inclining his head toward each other the children in greeting, trying not to let his shock show through as he addressed the children with a friendly smile.

“I find that hard to believe,” Michelangelo said in a tone that was very confident and skeptical.

“Daddy never talks about us,” Clarissa said as though that fact was not something that bothered her in any way. Reamann just looked up at Draco.

“Children, could you runoff to the kitchen and have a start on supper? I will be in shortly to help, I just need to discuss boring Ministry business with Mr. Rossiter here for a few moments,” Draco said lovingly, giving his children another affectionate shoulder squeeze before giving them both a little push in the direction of the kitchen.

“Sure,” Michelangelo said as Clarissa ran off ahead to start dinner.

Draco and Reamann waited for a moment, until the sounds of the children getting pans and plates out could be heard coming from the kitchen. Clarissa also apparently started humming.

“Draco…”

“You have to excuse the mess and the state of this place,” he said quickly, sounding nervous more than ever with the children no longer in the room and Reamann's interrogation pending. He ran his fingers through his long hair as an excuse to fuss over something and sort of wrung the ends in his hands. “I work a lot of hours and I like to spend my evenings with the children rather than on chores. I'm not exactly high on the Ministry's payroll,” he said while letting out something like a breathy laugh that hinted at bitterness, “and so this is the best I…”

“Draco,” Reamann said firmly, not caring at the moment of the state of Draco's living and income. Draco was rambling, and that was not like him. He knew that much, even if he apparently knew even less about the man than he originally thought.

“Reamann-”

“You did not tell me you had children. How is it I was not somehow aware of this?” he asked, keeping his voice down in an urgent whisper.

“It really wasn't imperative to our work for you to know,” Draco retorted, now sounding defensive.

“Draco, we been working together for nearly two weeks and you never mentioned them, or a woman?” he asked and Draco just looked down. “I honestly, kind of got the impression by how you avoided the topic of relationships, that you were not in one, not with a woman at least,” he said and Draco blinked at him, caught between astonishment, embarrassment, and anger.

“You thought I was gay?” he asked, somehow not have picked up on this little detail even though he made habit of reading the people around him, never trusting anyone's motives. He supposed his attempts at ignoring Reamann's obnoxiousness, and his persistent mistrust, left Draco to be blindsided by this assumption of Reamann's.

Reamann shrugged uncomfortably, understanding his mistake now. He had gotten the impression that Draco just kept it private, and joked about being irresistible to women despite his tattered appearance, and got curiously flustered at being implicated as homosexual, all as a means of cover. He had clearly been wrong. Draco was never really keen on talking about himself, and came across as terribly private, but Reamann had been sure Draco would have mentioned children at the very least, even if he had been unwilling to discuss relationships.

“I am not gay, Reamann,” Draco fumed a little.

“I can see that,” he mumbled.

Draco glared.

“Well…the children in the other room didn't spring from your loins without the help of another -a woman obviously- that much is clear…” he said as though that in of itself was part of his apology, “so, uh…you in a relationship, or are you divorced?” he asked, wondering what else Draco was hiding. Maybe he was a married family man and he had been totally unaware of this. Maybe there was a woman in the other room he hadn't been introduced to yet.

“Widower,” Draco said fiercely, keeping his eyes locked with Reamann's and almost challenging him to break the eye contact first. Reamann looked a little green but didn't look away either so Draco elaborated, feeling Reamann had earned that much by not cowering like he had expected him to. “My wife died, eight years ago,” he said, somehow able to admit such a thing to Ginny casually, while practically spitting it in Reamann's face. He supposed it had a lot to do with Ginny not knowing about his children and not having barged in on him while at his home unexpectedly. That and she hadn't just admitted to thinking he was homosexual, and he liked her a right bit more than he did Reamann, particularly at that moment.

He turned his embarrassment into anger and protected himself with it. It was common procedure with him and any Malfoy.

“Oh,” Reamann said, that being all he could say. He was feeling like an arse. Draco always somehow made him feel like an arse. Whenever he thought he would be able to catch Draco being deceitful or dishonest, he always seemed to uncover instead some rather shamed or wounded secret that Draco would have much rather kept hidden for personal reasons, not because he was being particularly nefarious.

There was a very awkward silence between them.

Draco said nothing while Reamann wrapped his still numb with shock mind around what he had just learned of Draco, and what he had seen. Draco was not gay, (which was a mild relief) a father, and a widower. That was an astounding revelation to say the least, a total 180 of what he had thought Draco to be. He understood then why Draco was reluctant to work late and why he had refused to have him over to his place to review the case.

Seeing now though where Draco lived was like a jinx to the gut. Draco had once had everything, now he was living on means so clearly dismal that the Weasleys Draco had once tormented so fiercely for being “poor” now looked positively prosperous in comparison.

Reamann knew Draco was painfully aware of all that he was thinking, because he was back to looking terribly uncomfortable and wouldn't make eye contact again after flushing and looking away. Apparently his unease could overpower even his anger.

“This is awkward.”

“Look at it from my end,” Draco muttered. Reamann nodded, wishing he could enquire but feeling it was not his place.

There was a silence so heavy with things unsaid it was almost difficult to breath. Draco was dreading what was sure to come, and it eventually did, as was his luck.

“Draco…forgive me…but I just did this sum in my head, and if your wife died eight years ago, and your son is twelve, and the war is only on it's thirtieth anniversary…you would have to of met your wife while in Azkaban,” he said and Draco sighed.

“That's right,” he said, wishing Reamann had let this go, but knew he wouldn't have, knew he would try to delve deeper. That was his luck.

“How…”

“You are not going to let this go until I give you some kind of longwinded explanation of how she and I met, in ramblings befitting you, to satisfy that unquenchable curiosity of yours, are you?” he asked and Reamann flushed. “It is none of your damn business, and I don't talk of her. Just know that I met her when I was seventeen in Azkaban because she was on my block, a cell apart, and during a permitted excursion from our cells we managed a moment of privacy that resulted in us getting pregnant. While she finished her term before Michelangelo was born, I was left there to finish up my ten years,” he said.

“But what of your daughter?”

“What of her?”

“Where does she fit in then, if you were in Azkaban and your wife was not…and when did you actually marry her?”

Draco sighed and grumbled.

“She and I wed while I was incarcerated, when we discovered that one of our visitations just after Michael's birth had led to her getting pregnant again. She and I were only married for a short time, because she died when Claire was two and Michael three,” he explained and Reamann nodded, chewing on his bottom lip in a very uncomfortable way.

“You want to know who she was,” Draco said and Reamann just looked up at him and dared to shake his head. “You can't lie to me,” Draco said, shaking his head at that point, looking annoyed.

“Fine, alright, I'm curious as to whom she was, but you have to give me credit for not asking,” he snapped back a little irritably. Draco just smirked.

“You familiar with Christina McGucken?”

Reamann's eyes widened. “The witch who-”

“Killed werewolves?” Draco finished for him. “Yeah.”

“You married McGucken, a woman who kidnapped and tortured werewolves?” Reamann repeated, his voice raising some and Draco shushing him harshly.

“Quiet. My children do not know of their mother, and I would like to keep it that way if I can, thank you.”

“But, Draco, you're a werewolf.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Draco replied quite blandly.

“But…but…how could you get involved with a woman who had been locked away for, like, killing your people?”

“My people?” Draco chuckled. “What, am I part of a religion now or something?” Reamann felt awkward. “Yes, Reamann, she was imprisoned for harming werewolves, but who's to say she was guilty?”

“The courts.”

“Then by all accounts, I am guilty of all my crimes too,” Draco challenged and Reamann withdrew, not about to accuse Draco of being a murderous Death Eater by extension that he believed his wife to be guilty of her crimes.

“Then, then she was innocent?” Reamann asked, remembering reading about her, knowing she had done things comparable to Josef Mengele.

“She never harmed me,” Draco said with a shrug, not answering Reamann's question. “She took good care of our children,” he said, looking beyond Reamann, as though he could see through the wall to his children in the other room.

“Are they…”

“Are they what?”

“Like-”

“Like me?” Draco asked for him, his tone as unfriendly as Reamann had ever heard it. “Meaning, are they wolves?”

“Draco…I'm sorry. I don't mean to stand here and rifle through your life…I just stumbled across all this and am just trying to understand it. You have to admit this is a bit…shocking,” he said and Draco had to give him that much.

“Your reaction is polite -as you can manage- but it is exactly what I fear would be anyone's reaction, and thus why I prefer to keep his fatherhood on a need to know basis,” Draco sighed and Reamann nodded.

“I won't say a word, but would you humor me with some more answers?”

“You blackmailing me?” Draco huffed.

“Sure, we'll call it that if you like,” Reamann said, almost challenging Draco, and Draco backed down, almost physically assuming a submissive posture and looking down. His eyes looked suddenly very weary and sorrowful. “You said your wife took care of your children, implying it was more of an undertaking than a mother would typically assume,” Reamann tried to explain, so he felt less like a bully.

“Yes, both my children are werewolves, like me…because of me,” Draco mumbled, his tone drawling, but not due to arrogance, but defeat, and guilt? “I passed it on to them, unknowingly. Christina was familiar with werewolves, she studied them, understood them. She cared for Michael when he was born and was so sick, and did the same for Claire even though she was born stronger, healthier, because Wolfsbane had been administered to Christina throughout her Clarissa's pregnancy, rather than just at the end of Michael's.”

“Studied them? More like kidnapped and tortured them. Draco, I have read about her. She did terrible things to werewolves, tortured them with her `studies'…”

“Are you quite finished?” Draco snapped.

“Sorry,” Reamann muttered as he looked down and shuffled his feet a little. He supposed insulting or accusing Draco's wife of such things was rude, as well as insulting to Draco.

“The case was groundbreaking,” Draco admitted. “No one thought -no matter how `grotesque' the crimes- that someone would be convicted of cruelty to werewolves. The public then didn't think we were people, and today is not really any different,” Draco said bitterly, glaring at the carpet beyond Reamann's feet some.

“That, that is not true. Harry Potter has-”

“Harry Potter has made amends to laws and restrictions, so that in theory we wolves have more rights, but that is only so in paper, not practice. You can change laws, but you can't change public opinion. I had to work damn hard to keep my children while in Azkaban, I had to make deals and sacrifice a lot -including my dignity- to give them a decent life.”

“What would have happened to them?” Reamann swallowed, Draco's barking tones dripping so heavily with distain and hurt that it was stomach churning.

“Lycanthropy is not typically hereditary, but lucky me, I'm in that 24 percentile who can pass it on. Without the relief Wolfsbane offers, infants born with the syndrome never survived before, so there was never a real precedent for infant werewolves but older children who were attacked and infected young. Because of that, there was a real lack of procedure in treatment, and lack of understanding. Children due to be born with the condition would normally have been terminated, forcibly. Christina knew that, and had kept her condition a secret -even from me- until she was too far along to be administered an abortion. Still, they would have taken my children from me, but I gave up something very dear to me to save Michael's life, and I continue to sacrifice everything I have for them, so that they may have a normal life, and have things human children would have…like an education.”

“Can the Ministry, ethically, really force a woman to have an abortion?” Reamann asked, astounded, baffled, appalled.

“Werewolves are one step up from animals, but liked far less. Few think twice about neutering animals or putting down the unwanted. Werewolves are not treated any different, the same spin that it is for the “greater good” used as justification.”

“Merlin,” Reamann sighed. “But you kept them both,” he said, as though that was comfort, even though he dared not ask what it took for Draco to keep his children. “I see you sacrificed a lot, but what I can't understand still is that with all this hoopla over you having children, and the Ministry clearly being so firmly against it, how is it no one knows about it?”

“Oh, plenty `know' about it, just not the public. The Ministry seems humiliated by it, and few outside of those in charge of Azkaban, and those working in the Beast Division of the Ministry know. The idea of a story getting out that their newly applied security at the prison in the absence of the Dementors was so insufficient that two inmates were able to procreate, the fact that they were basically blackmailed and manipulated by my wife so that I could keep the children, the fact that both my wife and I had front-page reputations, was embarrassing. They on their own kept things quiet,” Draco explained. “It was hard getting Michelangelo accepted to Hogwarts, however, I had to manage that on my own and the Ministry wasn't exactly keen on the idea. No one really wants a werewolf attending school with their precious little babies, and there would be no way of keeping his condition a secret from the faculty, since they would have to look after and help him.”

“How did you manage?” Reamann asked, surprised. Few werewolves had ever attended Hogwarts. Though, then again, Draco had managed for a year by himself.

“Guilt is a powerful and manipulative tool if used correctly,” he said sounding detached. “I needed someone who had weight to throw around on my side. I wouldn't go to Potter for shit, but I was thrown into Azkaban after being promised a pardon from one Minerva McGonagall, who just so happens to be the current headmistress. She made it possible, and attending under his mother's more common surname, his true identity and condition only known by McGonagall, Michael is in his first year and currently home on Christmas break,” Draco explained, feeling a little proud of this, but also that he had said more than enough already this night.

“They look wonderful, Draco, they really do. Healthy and bright,” Reamann praised and Draco managed to look, if possible, more depressed at the complement. Reamann really did not want Draco to get all emotional at that point. He knew it was terribly selfish, but he just couldn't handle Draco getting emotional. He liked the pompous and detached Draco Malfoy he had come to mildly resent yet respect.

“It's not fair to them,” he said softly.

“Being a werewolf is never fair to anyone, but they have you to look after them, right?”

Draco said nothing.

“You have only been out of Azkaban for three years,” Reamann said and Draco didn't even bother to look back up at him. “If your wife died eight years ago, who…”

“My mother. She raised them, brought them to see me every other week, and is actually still their legal primary caregiver. She was really all that saved me. She took care of me, and my babies, and supported me, even with how disappointed she was with me at becoming a father to two illegitimate children so young, with a woman she didn't particularly like,” he said, the barest of smiles pulling at his lips, so subtle but not missed by Reamann.

“So they have you, and their grandmother looking out for them. Forgive me, but that seems rather formidable to me,” Reamann offered, Draco looking up at him though his head was still tilted down, and Reamann saw for the first time appreciation seep into those silver eyes.

“Dad,” Michelangelo called from the kitched.

“Come on, we cannot use the cooker without you out here with us,” Clarissa chimed, appearing in the doorway.

“Awright,” Draco said, rewarding his daughter with a kind smile, showing no signs of any of the dark emotions he had expressed to Reamann, a bright, warm, strong mask in place for his daughter. Reamann could sense the love and affection wafting off of Draco like a warm breeze, and it was almost infectious the bubbly joy the girl brought with her that filled Draco, and overflowed into Reamann.

“I…I should go…let you get to your…”

“Would you like to join us for supper?” Draco offered, no hint of bitterness, anger, or depression in his voice now. He was actually sounding friendly, for once. Reamann had to wonder if that last bit of praise and consolation had really had that big of a positive effect on Draco. He liked to think so, but still, he felt out of place, and awkward.

“I couldn't intrude any further than I already have, and I had…”

“Nonsense, we rarely have company,” Draco said, sounding amused while walking towards the kitchen, “the children will enjoy it. Besides, you had something important to tell me?” he asked, still walking, looking over his shoulder. Reamann blinked. The reason for his visit had been completely driven out of his mind by all he had learned about Draco.

“Oh, oh yes…” he mumbled, following after him.

The dinner was simple, chicken and rice and canned corn. Reamann, having come from the Burrow, was already rather full and thankful for that because it seemed like it was small portions all the way around as it was without him added to the mix.

Reamann mostly listened as the two children recapped their day to their father. Apparently Michelangelo had gotten home earlier that day, but since Draco had seemingly not been feeling well after coming back from the platform, he had not been up to going out into the cold again, so the children had spent some hours with their grandmother.

“The kids at the park started a snowball fight, and Nana joined in a little though she denied it all later,” Michelangelo said with a roll of his silver eyes, Draco smiling with a laugh.

“That sounds like my mother. Did you two win?” he asked, looking over at Clarissa with a good-natured leer.

“Of course we did,” she said with a grin, fork in hand.

“And why is that children?” Draco cued them to chime in.

“Because Malfoys never fail, never surrender,” the children said with much enthusiasm. Reamann laughed as Draco smiled.

“Quite right you are,” he said approvingly. Reamann meanwhile was trying to hide his laugh so as not to come across rude at the table.

“So, Michael,” he said after gaining control of himself, deciding to get to know these remarkable children a tad better while he had the opportunity. “I hear you are a first year at Hogwarts,” he said and Michelangelo beamed in a sophisticated way that caused Draco to smile down at the chicken he was cutting into respectable bite size pieces.

“I'm in Slytherin, like the rest of my family before me,” he said proudly, clearly pleased with himself that he had lived up to the Malfoy standard and lineage, even if he wasn't a “Malfoy” while at Hogwarts, not as far as anyone there was concerned at least.

“My cunning little Slytherin,” Draco said affectionately, Michelangelo looking positively radiant in his pride.

“I want to be in Slytherin, but Daddy teases me, saying I'll end up in Hufflepuff,” Clarissa said, making a face.

“Because you're so darn sweet,” Draco taunted and Clarissa stuck her tongue out, causing a chuckle in Draco before he said “mind your manners at the table,” discreetly to her.

“So you are eleven then, or twelve?” Reamann asked, looking back at the boy. Michelangelo looked over at his father and Draco snapped his attention from Clarissa.

“Oh, he's turning twelve actually. Clarissa is ten and a half months younger. Michelangelo would have liked to have started classes last year but his birthday is in late December and the cut-off is August 31st, so he had to wait. Clarissa had to as well. Even though she is eleven now, she couldn't start this year because her birthday is November 13th,” he explained. “But really, it was for the best. Easier to be a little older than everyone else than younger,” he said speaking from experience, being one of the youngest in his year.

“Yeah, so he says,” Michelangelo said with a roll of his eyes as he pushed his rice around on his plate in what looked like a moping way. Clarissa giggled and made a face at her brother from across the table.

“I also enjoyed him home for the extra year so we could continue to have quality time since I missed a lot the first ten years of his life,” Draco said through a clenched tooth smile and kicked Michelangelo under the table, and the boy smiled abashed and sat up straight where he had been slouching down like he was about to duck under the table and escape just moments before.

“Yeah, well, that was nice, too,” he said, making a face back at his sister. Draco reprimanded them both under his breath to demonstrate their good manners while a guest was present. Then he called them a pair of Boomslangs with a sigh.

Reamann actually enjoyed the dinner with the little family and Draco tucked the children off into the living room to watch the telly before bed while he cleaned up, giving Reamann the opportunity to talk business, that being the reason why he had come to Draco's home that night to begin with.

Draco cleared the table and stood at the sink, washing the dishes -by hand no less- listening to Reamann.

“I had a thought,” he said as he leaned against the counter. “The department is not breaking the case on the files alone, and since you can't make anything of the files yourself, I think getting you on the scene firsthand would be greatly beneficial. I mean, you can pick things out of photographs that I missed, that half the Aurors overlooked, just think of what you would notice if you were right there, full color and in person.”

“And how do you propose you would smuggle me onto a crime scene, confound every person that asks about the albino at your back?” Draco asked, having already thought of how much easier it would be for him to go to the scene, but knowing it to be an impossibility.

“No, no, with this,” he said, pulling out the hair he had taken from Ron. Even while singular and slender, it was still noticeably red.

“Please tell me that is not a Weasley hair, Reamann, because I can tell you right now the answer is no,” Draco said, looking over at Reamann with narrowed eyes, elbow-deep in soapy water.

“Ron Weasley has full access to the investigation and that includes the crime scenes,” Reamann explained.

“I would rather be a hairy, unwashed, manky troll than…oh, wait…” he said and Reamann sighed, letting his extended arm drop to his side.

“Really, Draco, I would prefer if you did not insult my friends, and this is a good idea!” he huffed.

“And what would you have me do when the real Ron Weasley shows up on the scene? I know there are about a dozen Weasley blokes, but I doubt I would be able to pass as one of his plentiful brothers to Ron himself. Even he isn't that thick,” he said.

“I could make sure Ron is buried in paperwork. And we'll have his pass, so even if he tried to barge onto the scene, he wouldn't have his clearance, you would,” he said.

“Fine, say that works; Polyjuice Potion takes over a month to prepare and is terribly complex. Not to mention it tastes awful.”

“The Ministry keeps a batch of it ready and on hand. It's on the floor with the “Unspeakables” but I know someone who knows someone who could get me some,” he said and Draco eyed him.

“You are serious about this, you wanker,” he said, pulling his hands from the sink and flicking them towards the floor to free them of suds and water.

“I think you would really help the case as more than just the guy I have write up my reports,” he said. Draco considered him for a long moment.

“Dad! Michael's hogging the zapper!” Clarissa shouted from the living room. “Ow! And he just hit me!” she tattletaled.

“I did not!” Michelangelo shouted almost immediately, the children fighting over the remote and the control of the television apparently.

“Awright you little Runespoors, do not make me come in there,” Draco called calmly, holding a finger up to Reamann as to excuse him for a moment as they stood there. “Michelangelo, you keep your hands to yourself and Clarissa, do not be a tattletale. Share the telly time or it's off to bed, the lot of you,” he reprimanded calmly.

There was a murmur of “yes sir” and much grumbling from the other room and Draco turned his attention back to Reamann.

“Is there any other option? Must I be…Weasley?” he asked, looking down at the hair still clutched in Reamann's fingertips.

“This is it,” he said, causing Draco's face to twist in disgust and make a small whiny noise.

“I can't believe I'm agreeing to this,” he muttered.

“You are?” Reamann asked, pleased and relieved.

“Just have the potion ready for the next scene. And make sure you have me in and out of there quickly. I don't want to spend more time than I have to as a Weasley,” he said in disgust, Reamann laughing.

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9. Chapter 09

Warning: this chapter contains some dialog and descriptive factors from chapter twenty-four of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I do not own the rights to that copyrighted material and I do not claim creative license over that bit, though its perspective has been adapted.

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Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Nine

Reamann did not have a lot of time to get the needed favor from his friend for the Polyjuice Potion. Monday morning, after just talking to Draco the night before, a large black owl landed on his desk and hooted urgently at him. Reamann had only just earlier that morning sent a note to his friend in hopes of being cleared for the potion. He had had every intention of giving his friend more than a few hours notice, but it looked like fate had other plans. Reamann had been expecting the owl, yet it still hit him like a hex to the gut to read that he had to report to another scene immediately.

Quickly writing three notes, Reamann sent one to his superiors, one to his friend that would supply him with the Polyjuice telling him he needed it urgently, and one to Draco instructing him to take a long lunch because they were about to go to the newest scene.

Once the purple paper airplanes were sent he stood and closed his office door. He opened the cramped cupboard to his right and pulled out some Muggle clothing. He changed out of his robes and into a pair of slacks, a shirt, and a coat appropriate for Muggle dealings, in time to hear a rustling outside his door. He knew what it was and opened his door again to allow the little paper airplane to enter. It zoomed into the room and circled overhead, waiting for Reamann to pluck it out of the air.

It was from Draco.

How did Reamann know that Draco would be the quickest to respond?

He started to write back telling him not to come up but wait for him in the Atrium, but then froze. What was Draco to wear? His clothing, though Muggle attire, was hardly suitable for a crime scene and furthermore: would not fit Ron's much larger and broader frame.

“Shit,” he said, looking around as though hoping to find a solution laying somewhere around his office.

“Reamann?”

Reamann looked up, and speak of the devil, there was Ron Weasley, standing in the doorway.

“Hey there, you get the owl? It looks like a new scene, a nasty one too. I can't say I'm looking forward to it,” Ron said, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

“Oh, yes. I know what you mean,” Reamann replied distractedly, thinking fast. “Ron? Since you're here, could you have a look at this report? I'm not sure on this one part and I figure you -an Auror- would probably know what I should say since this paperwork will be going to your office,” he said, flattering Ron to distract him while carefully pulling his wand out of his pocket and using the desk to block Ron from seeing.

“Oh, sure, mate,” he beamed with a very noticeable swell of pride at the implication of his superior knowledge in the matter.

Reamann stepped back and allowed Ron to look down over the desk and the sea of paperwork before him. Ron's brow frowned as he focused on the papers just as a flash of light erupted over his shoulder. His eyes rolled backwards into his head and he slumped onto the desk. Draco chose just that moment to stroll in.

“Oi, you killed him,” he said sounding bored, looking neither upset nor bothered while closing the door wisely behind him.

“No I didn't, he is just asleep, or in a small coma,” Reamann said, looking guiltily down at Ron. He might have overdone the charm just a tad. There was a reason he worked with Muggles as opposed to another department where he would be using more practical magic.

“When you said your plan was to burry him in paperwork, I had thought you meant to keep him busy, not literally bury him in your paperwork,” Draco said, looking at Ron's limp and unconscious body as he lay across the desk, papers all about.

“Har-har,” Reamann fake laughed, clearly not amused. “We need his clothes,” he said and Draco held up his hands.

“Hey now, don't look at me; he's your mate, you undress him,” he said, shaking his head.

Reamann heaved a sigh but agreed. He left Ron in his knickers and undershirt, handing the rest of his clothing to Draco who promptly folded them neatly and tucked them under his arm, Ron's enormous shoes atop it all.

“Don't suppose my knickers will fit still once I become that oaf,” he said, the prospect of wearing Ron's clothing with no knickers on apparently not bringing him much elation.

“I'm sure Ron will really appreciate your tadger starkers in his trousers,” Reamann said with a laugh and Draco smirked.

“What have I told you about your unwelcome advances and talk about my tadger, Reamann?”

“Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy,” he said with a shake of his head, this sort of flirtyness being why he had thought Draco was gay to begin with. Draco glared.

“Stash the stiff and lets get a move on, I don't have a long lunch,” Draco said, choosing to ignore Reamann's insinuation that he did not find him attractive. Malfoys were devastatingly attractive, regardless of a person's gender and sexual orientation.

Reamann tucked Ron away in the corner of his office and did a simple charm to make him look like a potted plant. He didn't transfigure him, that was risky even for a more skilled witch or wizard, but he made an illusion float about him. Anyone who walked into the room would probably see through it, but anyone just passing by and looking in would overlook it, which was all he really needed.

Their potion arrived some ten minutes later by owl. The note attached urged discretion and Reamann knew he was going to have to send a hearty wine and cheese basket to his friend for Christmas for the favor which was conducted in great haste.

Draco -with his hood up- and Reamann made their way to the lifts and down to the Atrium without a hitch, but when Reamann made to head off towards the Apparition grid Draco froze.

“Reamann,” he called lightly, teasing sweetly.

“What?”

“Where do you think you're going?”

“We are on our way to the scene, right?”

“Fine by me, but how do you suppose I will be getting there? I can't Apparate,” he said, reminding Reamann of his current wandless state.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, having forgotten that for a moment. “You can Side-Along with me,” he offered and Draco made a face. “Don't look at me like that, we have no other choice and no time to try and find another way,” he said, waiting for Draco to walk up to him so they could head over to the Apparition grid together.

Reamann stepped up and pulled out his wand but Draco lingered back for a moment, eyeing Reamann wearily.

“Come on, we haven't got a lot of time here. I promise I won't Splinch you,” Reamann said. Draco glared but then stepped up. He stood beside Reamann and seemed reluctant to touch him for a moment, but then grabbed onto his arm and held tight without having to be told.

Reamann flicked his wand, and with a sound like a cracking whip, he Disapparated. Draco's eyes were closed tight at the sensation of being squeezed through a rubber hose and he waited for the pressure to let up so he could breathe again. His feet hitting the ground solidly jarred him but he did not fall, thankfully. He released Reamann immediately and took a deep breath.

“You alright?” Reamann asked.

“I haven't Apparated in thirteen years,” he said as though that were explanation enough for how he felt. Reamann understood and did not ask Draco again.

“I have the potion,” he said, opening the vial and placing in one of the hairs he had snatched off of Ron's head while back in his office. “All you need to do is change into his clothes and take it. We can head over to the scene from here once you are Ron, but keep the flask with you incase we are held up for more than an hour,” he said.

Draco glared at the flask Reamann was holding out to him but plucked it out of his hand, knowing he had agreed to this so he could not whine…much.

Reamann allowed Draco to excuse himself while he changed.

They had appeared in an Apparition point that was closest to the crime scene, but they were still blocks away and in an alley between two businesses. Draco moved all the way to the backend of the alley to hide amongst the snowy rubbish bins to change. Reamann waited near the entrance, out of sight from the Muggles but allowing Draco some privacy.

He did not envy Draco, it was freezing out. He offered to cast some warming spells so that changing would not be so terrible, but Draco had very simply told Reamann to go to hell. Draco did not seem to like people doing magic around him.

Draco had pulled his green t-shirt over his head exposing a thin and boney back as well as what looked like some horrific scars but Reamann had not allowed himself a proper look because he had turned around at that point.

Some minutes passed and Reamann wanted to ask if Draco was okay, but managed to restrain himself.

“I suppose I'm ready then,” Draco said, Ron's voice reaching Reamann's ears. Reamann turned to find Ronald Weasley standing there in the alley, Draco no where in sight, only his clothing neatly folded under Ron's arm as indication he had ever been there in the first place.

“Excellent,” Reamann said with a grin. Ron managed to scowl in a way he had never seen before. “Oh, don't do that, you will blow your cover with that distinctive Malfoy glare. You are a Weasley now, so try to act like one.”

“Forgive me. I'm not well practiced in looking like a brainless lout. I will try not to let my intelligence show through too much,” he drawled, suddenly making Ron sound cultured and snobby.

“Try not talking,” Reamann suggested, taking Draco's clothing and tucking it into his bag at his side before turning and walking out of the alley. “It would do us all some good,” he added and Draco kicked him in the bum as he walked behind him.

The address written on the note Reamann had received was not really necessary once they had Apparated in the near vicinity of the scene. The commotion and police cars driving by were easy enough to follow.

Draco was fumbling with his much larger hands as he tried to clip Ron's tag onto the robe's collar. Reamann noticed and wanted to offer to help, but he knew enough about Malfoy at that point to know to never offer to help him do anything. Draco always took it as though he were perceived as weak or incapable. He would go out of his way to do something on his own, even if it caused him pain or it took longer, just to spite whoever offered. Draco was just that prideful and stubborn. A Malfoy trait for sure, that was.

Draco would have to make due with Ministry Robes at the Muggle crime scene since that was what Ron had been wearing when visiting Reamann and was knocked out. Draco did not care, though Reamann looked a little distressed. Ron would be brought up on investigation in violation of procedure for wearing robes around Muggles. Reamann was feeling guilty and Draco could care less if he got odd stares. Ron would get in trouble, not him…the thought actually made him smile wickedly.

After much awkward struggling Draco managed to finally clip the tag.

He had found it in the pockets of the robes…along with Ron's wand.

He had held the wand for a log moment while back in the alley, thus what had held him up. It felt so right to hold it, the power radiating from it up his arm to vibrate somewhere deep within his core. It was a feeling he had once taken for granted and up until then had nearly forgotten.

He had decided to stick it in the wand pocket and try to ignore it if he could, but that distantly familiar weight in the pocket of his robes was difficult to ignore and touching the smooth wood was near impossible to resist.

They entered a park and could see across the sloping lawns through the sporadic trees where they needed to head. Yellow police tape was strung between the trees, the snow was trampled to the point where grass was peeking through in spots, and people moved around like bees in a hive only far less efficient and with less purpose. Police stood around, holding styrofoam cups of steaming coffee as they talked.

“They seem busy,” Draco commented as they passed two officers standing around, drinking coffee and chatting.

“There are always too many people on a scene, particularly murder scenes,” Reamann said knowledgably, walking a little ahead.

“Makes you wonder how much evidence is lost underfoot,” Draco said as he looked around the thoroughly trampled area.

“You two the specialists?” a black officer asked, walking up to them and not letting Reamann respond to or really ponder what Draco has said.

“Yes sir. I'm Special Agent Rossiter, and this is my partner: Special Agent Weasley,” Reamann said, Draco having already -begrudgingly- agreed to let Reamann do all the talking during their walk over.

“You're gonna want to see this,” he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb as he walked backwards. “We have already had the medical examiner come in but he's at a total loss as to what could have done this. It seemed pretty straightforward at first what killed the guy, until we found no evidence of any sort of tool being used. It was like the wounds just erupted out of him,” the man explained, shouting a little bit over the commotion around them of police radios, an occasional “woop woop” of a siren, and much talking. He turned then to hold the tape up for Reamann and Draco to duck under. “We will have to wait for an autopsy, but we were told to hold the body until you had a chance to look at it. I'm not sure what you intend to find, we are all a little confused by this one,” he said, sounding helpful to the last.

“Thank you,” Reamann nodded, pulling out his large notebook from his bag. “Your name is?”

“Deputy Stanton. I was told to help you out and tell you anything you need to know,” he said, seemingly finding some pride in the responsibility that had been left him.

“Excellent. Well, Stanton, who found the victim?”

“A pair of joggers,” he said, pointing over to two women sitting on the back of an ambulance, drinking coffee, looking a little green and frazzled but otherwise unhurt. “This is just off the jogging trail and they had seen the body amongst the snow. They thought he was just a pile of garbage at first, until they got close enough to see the blood,” he said, Reamann writing down every word spoken with a continually nodding head.

While Reamann did his job collecting statements, Draco did his, which was to look over the body and collect evidence.

He crouched down near the body, careful to keep his large feet in the already tracked snow and not mar the still undisturbed portion closest to the body. The sheet covering the man was bloody and stiff looking. In the cold, the blood had frozen bright rather than dried and darkened, and flipping the sheet off the body was difficult. It clung, frozen to the body in places, and bent stiff rather than folded loosely. Draco managed to get it off and away from the body to only come face to face with a man without a face.

Reamann looked over just then and had to place his hand over his mouth and look away.

Draco leaned in, somehow unbothered by the disfigured corpse, and examined the wounds. The face was slashed open so deeply that the bone of the skull could be seen glistening in the sunlight. The gashes were so fierce that the bone itself was cleaved. The nose was nearly ripped away so that the sinus cavity was visible, and the throat was cut through: a near decapitation.

The chest was just as badly slashed. It was cut from armpit to armpit, deep enough once again to cut into the bone, the sternum visible. The gut was spilled open to release what looked like gastric juices -now frozen in the cold- and bile, from the liver probably. The lowest gash spilled forth the intestine, looking like obscene pinkish-white balloons bubbling out of the open skin.

“Dear God,” Reamann muttered behind his hand. Deputy Stanton made a face too, having already seen the body but still, understandably, sickened by it.

“You say there were no tool marks?” Draco asked still looking over the body while addressing Stanton.

“Yes, well, none that we could recognize. The bone was obviously cut by something, but the flesh and tissue show no marks to indicate cutting or sawing. Like I said, the Medical Examiner said it's like the cuts came from the inside out.”

“A really sharp sword could cleave bone,” Draco offered.

“You think it was a sword, Ma-Weasley?” Reamann asked, poising his pen to write after nearly fumbling Draco's name.

“No, I do not,” he said, tilting his head to the side, still staring at the corpse while everyone else just tried to look away.

“What does he mean by that? What else could it have been?” Deputy Stanton asked, looking at Reamann, Reamann just shrugged.

Draco looked at the face where the blood had frozen into crystals all over the skin and reached up to touch it.

“Special Agent Weasley,” Deputy Stanton called, causing Draco to stop and look. Stanton held out a pair of rubber gloves and Draco blinked at him and then stood.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” he said, Reamann moving over to him to whisper hurriedly at him while Draco pulled on the gloves with a snap.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Examining the body,” Draco replied flatly as though that were the obvious answer.

“You can't touch it!” he said, looking outraged and mortified.

“Sure I can, I'm a Special Agent called in on this case to try and determine the cause of death,” he said with a smirk that did not belong on Ron's face.

“Draco,” he hissed quietly.

“Has the body been photographed and its position marked and documented?' Draco called over to Deputy Stanton, still looking right at Reamann.

“Yes, we are just waiting on you to remove it,” he answered, Draco looked at Reamann with an “I told you so” smirk. He pulled out his glasses from Ron's pocket and managed to fit them onto Ron's much larger head with some strain.

“I can't watch you poke at the body, Malfoy,” he whispered harshly over at him.

“Then don't. Go get your statements from the joggers,” he said indifferently, squatting down and leaning over the body, now touching the frozen edge of the wounds and fingering the bone. Reamann was half turned away but still spoke to Draco.

“You have any idea what did that? If it wasn't a sword…”

“Sectumsempra,” he said with eyes still on the body.

“Are your serious?” Reamann asked, looking back but then regretting it as Draco prodded at the intestines that were sticking out. They were soft but partially frozen so they made a soft crinkling noise as Draco poked them. “Oh God,” Reamann muttered, looking away. Thankfully it was cold. The smell was annulled. If it had been summer, Reamann could only imagine how much more terrible the scene would have been.

“I could tell from the moment I saw the body what had caused it, but I needed to be positive,” he said.

“You seen a victim of Sectumsempra before?” he asked and Draco blinked.

He was standing in the sixth floor boy's bathroom at Hogwarts. It was one of two places he tended to hide recently, having just come from the other on the floor above, the Room of Requirement. It was dinner time but he had no appetite nor did he have any desire to be amongst his peers. He was not alone now however, that was why he came there, to that specific bathroom so often. Like so many times before, he came to that bathroom to talk to the one person who would listen, the one person he could confide in, the one person he could trust to not betray his secrets to anyone.

“Please tell me what's wrong,” Moaning Myrtle pleaded, hovering up in the air and sounding so genuinely concerned.

“I can't,” Draco said, fighting back the tears he knew were about to come.

“What is it that you are trying to do? Maybe I can help you,” she offered.

“I have to do this alone, I was told I could seek no aid in this,” he said, voice shaking as he made his last stand against the tears. He moved over to the sink to splash some water on his face, but the moment he leaned his hands on the grimy porcelain he felt the tears come, sliding down his face, his whole body trembling.

“Please, we have talked so many times before. You are such a wonderful boy, and you don't tease me because of my pimples. Please let me help you, for that.”

Draco just shook his head, sobbing finally.

“He would kill me…he would kill me if I told anyone what I have to do.”

“Who will kill you?”

Draco kept shaking his head, tears flowing down his cheeks. Myrtle floated over to one of the cubicles to sit atop the toilet and frown, looking at Draco, a boy whom she had spoken with many times that year and found so genuinely honest and sweet, at a loss for what to do for him.

“Don't,” she crooned. “Tell me what's wrong…I can help you…”

“You can't help me. No one can help me,” he said, his whole body shaking. “I can't do it…I can't…it won't work…and unless I do it soon…he says he'll kill me…” he cried. He swallowed hard in a gulp and a gasp for air before then looking up onto the cracked mirror that hung on the wall before him.

It was a moment of pure horror for him when he realized he and Myrtle were not alone in the bathroom while he sobbed. Harry Potter was in the doorway to his back, staring at him, a look of utter shock on his face.

Draco's heart froze in mortification.

How long had Potter been watching, how long had be been listening?

With a stomach so tight in knots he was sure he would puke, Draco spun around while drawing his wand with his right hand like his father always insisted. Harry moved and drew his own and Draco felt no guilt in sending a hex at him then. It missed as Harry threw himself out of the way, Draco's aim always compromised when dueling right-handed.

“Levicorpus!” Potter shouted as he flicked his wand. Draco was quick all on his own and blocked the jinx.

“No! No! Stop it!” Moaning Myrtle squealed as echoes from the fighting drown out her shrill panicked voice in the tiled room. “Stop! STOP!”

Exploding bins and tiles being blown off the walls filled the room with such noise someone was sure to hear it and come in. Sinks were busted and water flowed over Draco's feet across the floor towards Potter as they dueled and Myrtle shrieked.

Draco felt such mortified embarrassment right then that he did not think of his next action, he just remembered the words his father had taught him and gathered up all his anger and humiliation to make it work.

“Cruci-” he started to say, intent on making Potter pay for the humiliation he felt, but Potter was able to cast a spell that took so much less building, so much less personal effort. Potter cast a Dark Spell that Draco himself had not dared use.

“SECTUMSEMPRA!” he bellowed, voice reverberating off the walls as he knelt on the floor, waving his wand like he had no idea what he was doing.

Everything went red for a moment and there was no pain at first. Draco staggered backwards but collapsed with unsteady legs as his body quickly succumbed to shock and blood loss. His mind could not make sense at first, and then the pain hit, terrible and sharp. At some point he had lost his wand, and through the pain his foggy mind was wondering where it had gotten to, he needed to jinx the holy-hell out of Potter.

He raised his heavy arms to hold his chest that hurt so fiercely and everything just went dark around him, the sounds of Myrtle's shrill screams ringing in his ears.

“Murder! Murder!”

Opening his eyes again in what seemed like only seconds Draco found himself in the hospital ward, staring up at the ceiling.

“I have seen it used before; during the war,” Draco said softly, looking back at the body before him, trying not to remember that night and what Harry Potter had seen, or what he had almost done, or what Potter had done to him. Harry had never once come to see him in the hospital after that, and he had never apologized for nearly murdering him. He seriously doubted Potter even had any truly redeeming qualities.

Reamann strolled about the scene, taking statements and time frames and writing down notes on everything said, carefully averting his gaze from the body until Draco covered it again with the crisp sheet.

Draco was still looking about the scene with intense silver eyes when Reamann took a double take and felt his heart stop. Ron's red hair had a white streak in it that had never been there before and he was looking pounds thinner than he had moments before.

Reamann rushed over to Draco and hissed at him.

“Draco, the potion, your hour is up! Quick, before someone sees you,” he whispered, holding his notebook up to block their faces as they spoke. Draco was becoming more like himself rapidly.

Draco took a gulp from his flask and bent over in the bushes near the police tape, pretending to be ill, something no one on the scene would be surprised by. A moment later a perfectly fit looking Ron stood straight and adjusted his robes. Reamann gave him a stern look.

“Sorry, mate, I was distracted,” he said defensively and Reamann turned away, shaking his head.

The scene was crawling with Muggles, so it was hard to talk with Draco on the case without someone overhearing. They eventually had to wander away slightly, both pretending to drink coffee to discuss the case in any detail.

“So, the same person is behind this as the other attacks?” Reamann asked.

“We won't know for sure until we have them in custody and are able to review their wand to see what spells they have cast, and even with that, the one responsible has also used artifacts to curse the Muggles, which is far more difficult a thing to trace back to someone,” he said from experience, having used a cursed necklace himself before in attempt to anonymously curse and kill someone. He did not mention that though. It was just part of his vast knowledge as far as Reamann was concerned.

“Okay, so we can't prove this is the same person responsible, but do you believe it is? In your opinion?”

“Oh, undoubtedly, I just cannot figure out their angle yet. What is the point of all this? I mean, the man still had a wallet full of money for God's sake, so it wasn't even robbery, nor did they even attempt to disguise it as such,” he said and Reamann looked at Draco, wondering when Draco had the opportunity to go through the dead man's pockets. Why had no one noticed that? “They are not apparently taking anything from these people, these people have no tie to the magical community, and they have no interaction with witches or wizards in their daily lives. Their bodies don't seem to have been used for any sort of ritual, otherwise there would be a residual and lingering aura of ritual magic in the air or they wouldn't have left the bodies behind. It was only in these last two that the Muggles even died,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“I can't see any connection either if that makes you feel any better,” Reamann offered.

“Sorry, it doesn't,” Draco mumbled, take a sip of his very black coffee that was a touch too bitter, like the coffee had allowed to sit and brew for too long and was now stale.

Wrapping up at the crime scene was all up to Reamann. Draco stood aside while Reamann did his job, silently waiting to get out of there and back to the Ministry. Not only was he tired of being Ronald Weasley, but his lunch break was drawing close to two and a half hours now and he seriously could not afford the dock in pay that would result in the lost hours.

“God, Reamann, could you be any slower,” Draco huffed as they walked together away from the scene to a safe Apparition point.

“I have to do my job, Malfoy. I'm sorry if that inconveniences you,” Reamann said back, just as irritable. Spending two hours with a grotesque dead body and Muggles would do that to just about anybody.

“Just take me back to the Atrium where I can run off and hide in shame until this repulsive disguise fades away and I can salvage some of my dignity,” he mumbled, loafing around in Ron's much larger, heavier body.

“Don't take your frustration at not being able to make a break on this case out on me, or poor Ron,” Reamann reprimanded.

“Who says it's the case that's getting to me? I just detest resembling a troll for so long. It compromises my usual grace.”

“Sure, if by `grace' you mean `limp,'” Reamann quipped and Draco glared, fists balled as though ready to hit Reamann. Reamann grabbed a strong hold on Draco as he Disapparated right then, preventing Draco from actually taking a swing at him. They appeared together in the Atrium and Draco yanked his large Ron-arm out of Reamann's grasp, looking wounded.

“Look, I'm sorry, Draco, I shouldn't have said that remark about your…illness,” Reamann apologized. Draco still looked ready to break him in half, and in all honesty, Ron probably could manage given his size.

“Reamann, Ron, what a surprise to see you!” Ginny called from an Apparition point not but a few down the grid from them. She was grinning broadly and walking over to them.

Draco paled, making Ron's freckles stand out so much more, and Reamann shifted uncomfortably to try and head Ginny off.

“Gin, babe, how are you?” he asked, giving her a long and tight embrace. Draco did not know why, but he flushed in anger at that.

Why was he angry that Reamann was hugging his own girlfriend?

Was it because his girlfriend was Ginny and he liked Ginny?

Certainly not.

“I'm good. I just got in from my late lunch. I swung by your office to see if you would join me but was told by the Desk Witch that you had gone off on business…I did not realize Ron had gone with you. It wasn't another terrible scene I hope,” she said, her voice so full of concern and warmth it made Draco's stomach bubble slightly.

“Unfortunately,” Reamann muttered, trying to keep Ginny's attention away from her supposed brother. It did not work however because she tuned from Reamann then.

“Ron,” she said, holding out her arms as though expecting a hug. Draco was rooted in his spot, his heart thudding madly in his massive chest.

What if Ginny asked him something personal only Ron would be able to answer?

What if she tried to carry on a conversation she and Ron had shared before that he was unaware of?

His Legilimency was useful, but not limitless.

He would blow his cover.

He needed to get out of there.

Yet, she wanted to hug him, and he wanted to let her.

Ginny stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his ribs in a firm hug. Draco held his arms up awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do at first but then settled on placing his hands on her back, keeping them well above her waist. Copping a feel, while supposedly her older brother, would likely traumatize her for life or blow his cover. Possibly both. He gave her a squeeze back to satisfy her, but all he knew was that he was going to have a very un-brotherly reaction to her body pressed up against his if she did not let go soon.

“I hope the scene wasn't too terrible. I know how much you hate blood and such,” she said warmly, backing away from her brother with a lingering touch on his arm in such an affectionate way. Draco felt heat rise up from where her hand lingered on his arm, her honest compassion so rich and foreign to him. He had seen it in her so many years ago, but he had somehow forgotten the kindness that could fill her deep brown eyes and make them so inviting and safe.

Draco blushed and Ginny seemed to take that as Ron flushing.

“Was it really that bad?” she asked, looking over at Reamann for the answer.

“It appears that this time the one responsible used Sectumsempra,” he said darkly. Ginny covered her mouth with her hand in a small gasp.

“That's terrible. What kind of a person would wield that awful curse against someone else?” she asked, sounding almost outraged. Draco had to fight not to speak the name that was on his mind. Ron, best mate of Harry Potter, would not accuse Harry of being guilty of such an “awful” thing, even though he was. He somehow doubted Ron would come to Draco's defense and point that out though.

“We don't know yet, sweetheart,” Reamann said, leaning down and kissing her cheek, “but the department and I are working on it as hard as we can. We will break this soon, you'll see,” he assured.

“Alright,” she nodded, smiling sadly.

“I will see you at home tonight,” he said with one final hug.

“Tonight,” she said, only halfheartedly returning the hug before turning to Draco/Ron. She looked him right in the eyes and seemed to consider him for a long moment before giving him one more drawn out hug.

“Don't let your eyes be so haunted, Ron. I know it's terrible, but you will figure this out. You're good at these sorts of things,” she comforted, while holding him. Draco said nothing at first but then managed to choke out a few words.

“Of course,”

“See you boys later,” she said, heading off towards the lifts, a slight bounce in her step as she moved quickly, her robes so dark a green they were almost black billowing out around her as she moved. Draco stared after her long enough for Reamann to say something.

“What's up with you?” he asked.

“What?” Draco asked, blinking and looking over at Reamann.

“You got funny as soon as Ginny showed up. What's up?” he asked and Draco flushed.

“Nothing, I was just nervous that she would ask me something only Ron would be able to answer and blow this,” he said.

“You are about to anyways with that white streak in your hair, Weasley,” he said, hands on his hips. Draco blinked and reached up to touch his hair to find Ron's sleeves becoming increasingly too long on him.

“Shite,” he muttered, turning and hurrying off the Apparition grid to hide over near one of the darker walls. Reamann followed to block Draco from view as he slowly shifted back to his own likeness. It was a good thing it was late so there were few in the Atrium, and the Desk Witch was too busy reading Witch Weekly to notice.

“I hadn't realized an hour had passed,” Draco muttered through his growing discomfort at the change as Reamann held his cloak wide open like a flasher, his back to the room so as to shield Draco.

“You have a terrible sense of time,” he commented.

“You are not the first to point that out to me. My mother always complained about my inability to be on time or judge the passing of time,” he muttered, standing awkwardly in Ron's far-too-large robes and holding the waist of his trousers so they would not fall around his ankles ridiculously. He was left feeling smaller than usual as a result, looking like a boy in his father's robes.

“You think you can manage a short walk to the loo to change?” Reamann asked, noticing too Draco's awkwardness in the sea of robes.

“Probably,” Draco muttered, trying to lift his feet but Ron's shoes sloshing around his smaller foot, threatening to either be left behind, or trip him, or both. “I can't lift the robes, hold up the trousers, and walk with these boats Ron calls shoes on my feet at the same time,” he grumbled, aggravated by his own small size.

He was not that small! Ron was just too large and bulky for his own good; like he had gotten into Skele-Gro Potion at some point since he had last seen him since the war.

“Then kick them off and carry them,” Reamann suggested, speaking of the shoes.

“And walk around without shoes on? Are you barbaric?” Draco asked in outrage, his mother's propriety showing through. No shoes in a public building? A disgraceful thought to say the least. One was never to move about without something on their feet, not even in the privacy of their own home. Slippers were always required at the very least.

“Then shuffle your feet, but we can't stand here all day, we are attracting attention,” Reamann said, letting his robe fall and expose Draco to anyone that cared to look.

Draco grumbled as he shuffled. He felt ridiculous and probably looked it too.

He reached the lavatories where he was able to secure a cubical and change back into his clothing Reamann had packed into his bag for him after having shrunk it down some to fit. Draco folded up Ron's clothing and slipped his own back on, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious about his stature.

Malfoys were not insecure creatures, but spending nearly three hours as a much larger man had put into sharp relief just how short/lightweight he really was.

Ron might have been unusually tall and broad, but having his clothing literally fall off him when changing out of it left Draco feeling substandard and small.

Stepping out, he handed Reamann the neatly folded clothing with the shoes on top but took a little longer to hand the wand back. Just holding the slender piece of wood in his hand made it buzz and vibrate with power.

“Sorry, mate, but Ron does need that back,” Reamann said with a sort of sad humor, like he could tell just how much Draco wanted to just stand there, holding the wand. Draco swallowed hard and gave the wand to Reamann quickly, as though unsure he would be able to do it at all if he didn't to it short and fast, like peeling off a Band-Aid.

Reamann looked at Draco for a moment and then the wand.

“That the first time you have held a wand since being sent to Azkaban?” he asked, the room empty but his voice low anyways. Draco just nodded silently, looking away. “Well, I won't say anything if you wanted, I don't know, to levitate something, or transfigure something, you know, just for old-times sake,” he offered. Draco looked at him shocked at first, then sad.

“No,” he said after a long moment.

“You're sure?”

“It would only make it harder to go day to day, having done magic again,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Reamann looked sad.

“What is it like? I mean, is it hard to resist?” he asked.

“You ever smoke and then try to quit?” Draco asked. Reamann shook his head. “Well, I have, and it's like that, only infinitely worse. Magic is as natural to us as breathing. It's like not being allowed to ever take more than a shallow breath. You whole body just fights so hard to take a deep gasp after a while. It's painful and maddening,” he explained.

“It sounds terrible.”

“Magic is within us, the wands we use are only focusing tools to help us control and center it. A Muggle flicking a wand about could produce sparks at best, and that magic would come from whatever the wand contains, a Dragons Heartstring, a Unicorn Hair, a Phoenix feather, whatever,” he said, taking a deep breath. “We can do magic without wands, but it is broader, harder to control. You are Muggle born,” he said and Reamann nodded, “you remember the first time you accidentally did magic? When you were small and did not know about magic?”

“Yeah, I turned my teacher's hairpiece alive -or something like that- and it attacked him. The whole class thought it was a riot,” he said and Draco nodded.

“Without having an outlet for our magic to escape, it will find its own way, usually when we are scared, or angry, or upset. It builds up until it just erupts out of us unexpectedly.”

“That happens to you?” he asked and Draco nodded. “I never really thought about it like that,” he said.

“My cool and unflappable demeanor is not just because I'm that pretentious. Getting too angry or emotional will lead to things happening, things exploding,” he said, almost able to find the humor in his words. Reamann nodded. “The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad has gotten to know me pretty well over the last three years, having to come and smooth things over when magic accidentally happens around me,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. Reamann knew Draco lived in a Muggle neighborhood and could only imagine the troubles Draco would have inadvertently caused for the Ministry while there.

“You sure you don't want to cast a spell, release some of that pent up magical energy and frustration?” he offered, not quite holding out Ron's wand but sort of tipping it in Draco's direction, handle first.

“I wish I could, but the Ministry keeps careful tabs on me and my magical exertion. They would be able to tell that I cast a spell and I really don't want to wind up back in Azkaban, as nice of a vacationing spot as that is,” he sighed.

Draco took the lifts down as far as they would go and trekked back the long and familiar rout to the Hall of Records. He had promised to send Reamann his report by note as soon as he finished, Reamann off to dress and wake Ron, modify his memory, and then try and catch a quick lunch break, “starving” he had said in regards to how he felt. Draco, passing on the nosh, was not interested in eating, or socializing with Reamann any more.

He hated the fact that he was getting so comfortable around the man that he was opening up to him and letting Reamann see so much of the real him. He had revealed too much of himself to the other man and he was feeling vulnerable and exposed. Reamann knew about his illness, his children, his deceased wife, the dismal state of his living arrangements, and now the truth about not being unable to cast spells and how difficult a thing it was to live with. All he needed to do was share his ambitions and secret crush and they could be best mates.

Only problem was, it was becoming painfully apparent that Reamann's girlfriend was his “secret crush,” and the fact that him and Reamann were becoming close enough to possibly consider each other “friends” was disconcerting to Draco.

He did not have friends, and there was a reason behind that.

Friends become backstabbers or potential blackmailers. No good ever comes of it.

Draco walked into the Hall at a slightly quickened pace. He had to write up a report, and it looked like he would have to stay two hours late to make up for the time lost while on his “extended lunch break.” He would have to send an owl to his mother to tell her to hold onto his children for a little longer. He hated not being able to be home with them, especially since Michelangelo would only be home for a few very short weeks before he would be gone again. He had spent nine years of his son's life apart from him. He did not like that attending Hogwarts meant his son would not be home with him now that he was finally out. He did not know what he would do with himself come next year when Clarissa would be gone too.

He made a mental note to write to Minerva McGonagall. They needed to come to some sort of agreement, some soft of arraignment, so he could see his babies during the school year. After all, it was her fault he had been kept separate from them in the first place he thought bitterly. She owed him.

“Draco,” Coderdale called, seeing Draco nearly jog into the room. “I was wondering when you would be back. I had begun to think you had simply gone home,” he said, not alone at his desk and thusly causing Draco to freeze on the spot. Ginny stood beside Mr. Coderdale, holding a package, smiling while looking a little abashed. “Oh yes, well, Draco, while you were gone this lovely young woman stopped by. Only been here for about fifteen minutes,” he said, indicating Ginny beside him.

“Hello, Draco,” she said softly.

“Hello, Ginny,” he answered, possibly breathless. Had she taken his breath away? Surely the surprise of her being there had, but why couldn't he catch his breath as he looked at her standing there?

“I will let you children talk, I have some shelving to do because of your extended absence,” Coderdale said, speaking to Draco, his voice amused and obviously not bothered that he had to pick up the slack for the time Draco had been out.

“Thank you, Coderdale,” he managed after a moment; Coderdale almost disappeared around a bookshelf by that time.

“I heard you were on lunch but you had been gone a long time, so I figured I would just leave this here for you with a note…but I got to talking to Mr. Coderdale, and well, time passed by,” she said, plucking off and crumpling up a note she had tacked to the long, thin, and flat box she was holding.

“What's this, Weasley?” he asked, stepping up to her slowly and eyeing her for a long moment before finally accepting the gift.

“I was at Honey Dukes and saw these and thought of you. It was totally random that you popped up into my mind like that and it was a purely impulsive buy really, but I figured you wouldn't mind,” she said as Draco untied the purple and gold-trimmed ribbon and opened the white box, revealing sweets inside. “Sponge candy, dipped in dark chocolate. It's your favorite,” she said softly, waiting for his reaction.

“I'm aware of that, but not aware that you were too,” he said, looking back up at her, caught somewhere between great excitement and appreciation with his surprise, and defensive confusion.

“You told me,” she said and Draco did not have to ask, his eyes questioning enough for her to elaborate on that more. “That night we spent together…before the final battle,” she said, almost saying “the night we kissed” but that not being definitive enough anymore since they had now kissed more than once. “I assumed you weren't lying when you said you loved sponge candy,” she said with a smile. She was going to let him hold to what he had said the other night, that she could not believe all he had confessed to that night, and she did not know him, and it had all just been a misunderstanding.

They both knew that was a lie, but if it made him feel better, more secure, she would play along.

Draco knew exactly what she was doing, that she was only pretending to believe that he had not been honest that night to humor him, and he blushed. Damn her for making him blush so much, and damn him for having been so honest that night with her. How was he to know that he would actually survive to have to then later deal with the consequences of his sincerity?

“I can't believe you remembered that,” he said, almost feeling flattered, but then realizing he could recall everything Ginny had told him about herself too and feeling his face grow warm. Damn it.

“Like I said, I just saw them and thought of you. It's the Christmas season, so I figured a gift would be well warranted.”

“You shouldn't be buying me gifts, Weasley, when I still owe you for saving my life,” he said as he set the box down on the desk next to him, happy to be able to turn away so she would not see him finally smile at the gift.

“You saved my life first, Draco, so consider us even.”

“Yes, but my life is worth so much more than yours, Weasley,” he teased and she dropped her jaw in outrage.

“You prat,” she said, reaching up and pinching his upper arm.

“Ouch! Don't pinch. What are you, eight years old?” he asked while reaching up and pinching her arm back.

“Ow! You are such a prat,” she said while laughing, pinching him back, Draco unaware of the grin on his face as he tried to slap her hand away to prevent another pinch, them both laughing at that point.

“Give it up, Weasley,” he said, blocking yet another of her attempts. “Quidditch provided me with excellent reflexes.”

“Don't forget that I was a seeker for a short time too, Draco, and I recall beating you,” she laughed, coming round to manage a pinch.

“Ow! Hey, I was sick you wench,” he said, attempting to pinch her back but just grabbing both her wrists to prevent her from getting another in on him.

“Oh, like you would ever admit to personal weakness, even as an excuse for a poor performance,” she said, looking at him, cheeks flushed from laughter, long red hair tussled from their minor skirmish. “The most you would ever do is exploit an injury,”

“I happen to be very weak and vulnerable, and I would thank you to mind my delicate body,” he said, eyeing her with only a hint of tease in his voice as he smirked at her. “Damn woman, I bruise like a peach,” he whined, arms sore.

“That's what you get for being a prat,” she said, realizing then that he was still holding her arms, and they were so close.

Draco noticed too, but seemed enticed by it.

Taking a deep breath through his nose he pulled her into a hard kiss while holding her to him by her wrists.

Ginny managed to rip her arms out of his grasp but she didn't pull away. On the contrary, she reached around and laced her hands into his long hair at the back of his head, pressing that much harder against him. Their bodies suddenly flush, their breathing was hard as they kissed furiously with enough need to make it seem like they were trying to eat each other from the mouth down.

Draco spun Ginny around so her back was to the desks and pushed her down while blindly sweeping with his left arm to clear a space, knocking her into the lamp slightly, toppling over bottles of ink and a stack of books.

Neither cared nor even noticed the mess they were making as Draco pressed himself against her, pinning her to the desk. They broke the kiss to breathe but Draco did not stop in his kissing, kissing the corner of her mouth, across her cheek to her ear, and then down that sensitive line where her hair bordered her neck behind her ear, sending shivers through her body.

“Draco,” she managed, wrapping right leg around his slender waist, making him press against her in a way that made it painfully obvious how much they each wanted the other; his a much more obvious physical reaction.

“Ginny,” he breathed into her ear, his hands on the desk for support while hers fisted in the back of his sweatshirt.

“Draco?”

Draco and Ginny practically leapt out of their skin.

Mr. Coderdale was standing just beyond the desks having just come around the line of bookshelves to happen onto the scene.

“Oh, oh my goodness,” Ginny muttered, face burning red as Draco leaned up off her to plant his feet more firmly on the floor, pulling Ginny standing in that same motion so that they were still flush but now upright. With a step back, they were left standing there, faces burning red, clothing and hair ruffled.

“I'm, I'm sorry, I just heard a commotion, I didn't realize,” Mr. Coderdale stammered, looking embarrassed himself.

“I think I ought to go. I'll see you…talk to you…some other time, Draco…Malfoy…” Ginny stumbled over her words, looking horrified and blushing so badly her hair clashed. Draco was looking as pink as a sunburned albino as he nodded readily, silent, biting his bottom lip, hands deep in his pockets to try and disguise his body's very noticeable and thusly embarrassing excitement.

Ginny fled the room leaving Draco standing there with Coderdale, both not wanting to be the first to say anything. Coderdale broke the silence eventually though.

“Ginny Weasley,” he said, Draco refusing to look at him. “Isn't she dating your partner, Draco?” he asked, making it clear what he was inferring, that he was outraged at what he had walked in on.

Draco nodded and said nothing.

Ginny was Reamann's girlfriend.

Reamann was his partner.

Ginny was a Weasley.

What was he thinking?

He had no idea, but whatever it was, it was obvious she had been thinking the same thing.

Maybe they both had Wrackspurts buzzing around in their ears.

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Author's Note:

Alright, in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, page 217, when Harry becomes Goyle using the Polyjuice Potion, he doesn't need his glasses anymore. “Then he realized that his glasses were clouding his eyes because Goyle obviously didn't need them-”… but in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Bartemius Crouch Jr. uses Mad-Eye's magical glass eye and can see with it (though he was then lacking an eye otherwise.) I'm sure Draco, if he became Ron, would not need his glasses still, but because I wasn't sure at the time of writing this chapter, I wrote him using them. If that is not canon, sorry.

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10. Chapter 10

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Ten

Reamann, after pacing his office for twenty minutes and getting no reply from the notes he sent down to Draco, was fed up and decided to go down to see him. He had thought that Draco would have the report ready and waiting for him by the time he got back from his lunch, but thinking maybe he was expecting too much from him, had given Draco some extra time. He appreciated all that Draco did for him, but now with his report nearly due and his meeting pending, he really could not wait any longer.

He couldn't imagine what was taking Draco so long. Was it because he had actually gone to the scene that he had so much more to say in the report and summary, that it would take that much longer to write up?

Why didn't Draco just reply to one of his notes saying as much if that were the case?

He was not sure, but he was about to find out.

Reamann kept an eye open for any notes flying overhead as he made his way down, hoping maybe to intercept Draco's message on its way up before he got to the Hall, but there were none. A few were heading towards the Hall, but none in response.

It wasn't until he was opening the heavy door with its groaning hinges (notes passing in through the small carved opening in the wall above the door) did he hear the voices and the sounds of several people moving around from inside.

“Now, Mr. Malfoy, you really don't want us to lose our patience do you?” a man with a superior and condescending accent that could rival Draco's drawled. Reamann lingered in the doorway, taking in the scene before him.

Draco was standing just to the left of his desk, arms hugging himself tight in a vulnerably angry sort of way, lips pursed together in an irate yet upset way, like someone was doing something terribly and personally insulting to him.

There were four additional men in the room with him, and were the obvious cause of Draco's mood.

One stood at Draco's back looking imposing, two riffled through Draco's desk haphazardly, and standing to the right was the one that had evidently spoken. Mr. Coderdale stood at a distance beyond the desks, nearly amongst the shelves, looking conflicted and helpless as he too watched the scene before him.

When the door opened everyone's attention went to Reamann except Draco's whose head dropped and long hair draped across it.

“Who do we have here?” the man that had spoken before asked. Reamann vaguely recognized him. He was an Auror from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and he had seen him before a few times. He was slender built but tall, with solid black and shining hair. His goatee was purely villainous and his crisp black robes with the pinstripe vest made him look all the more intimidating.

“Ah, Mr. Rossiter, so good of you to join us,” he said, recognizing Reamann at last, still as condescending as before.

“Who are you?” he asked, trying not to sound confrontational as he let the door slowly close behind him.

“Sebastian Aurum,” he said, holding out his leather gloved hand to Reamann to shake. “The department send you down?” he asked, Reamann striding over closer to shake his outstretched hand once firmly. He then stepped back to look the man over again. He was pale, and angular, with a strong face that was only complemented by the mustache and goatee. His eyes were so dark they almost looked black from a distance but up close Reamann could see they were actually blue. He stood very proud, like he was happy about something. Reamann disliked him on sight.

“No,” he said, looking over at Draco but Draco still avoiding his gaze.

“I was just assigned to this case myself, so I suppose this makes us partners of sorts now,” he continued on crisply.

“What are you doing down here?” Reamann asked. Draco made very strong, purposeful eye contact through his hair for only a moment, telling Reamann to come to him without giving anything away with his body.

“Why, investigating the case, of course,” Sebastian said with a satisfied grin, like he knew something Reamann didn't.

“If you are looking for texts, I think you are going about it the wrong way,” Reamann commented, watching as Draco's things were looked through in a very disrespectful manner.

“No, no, I'm not here for texts. I'm investigating our first and only suspect.”

“Who, Malfoy?” Reamann asked in surprise and outrage, coming to stand very close to Draco without making it apparent that Draco had signaled him over.

“I do not know of any other way a hair of Draco Malfoy's would end up at a crime scene, unless he was there,” the man said with a self-satisfied smile.

“You found one of Dr-Malfoy's hairs at the scene?” Reamann asked, feeling his stomach drop. He was mentally cursing himself dizzy. Draco was in a whole lot of trouble, and it was his fault wasn't it. Obviously Draco had shed a hair while in Ron-form, but the hair had shifted back to being a Draco hair after an hour. They had found evidence to link Draco to the case only because Reamann had taken him there. Reamann couldn't admit to that though, not without getting them both in very serious trouble, and he felt sick to his stomach.

“Maybe someone planted it,” Draco scathed, lips sourly pursed together still. Reamann looked over at him and it took all of his self control not to gape at him. Draco wasn't ratting him out, not even to save himself? He was not explaining how the hair had gotten there, not that he had done it but that Reamann had been using him to write his reports and had used a Polyjuice Potion to sneak him onto the scene? Draco would still get in trouble in the end, either way, but he was not bringing him, Reamann, down with him? Reamann was unbelievably thankful, but surprised and shocked that Malfoy would not do all in his power to save his own skin or spread the blame around.

Draco was taking the fall for him?

Reamann felt sick again.

“Still harping on about such fallacies, Malfoy?”

“They are not fallacies, the Ministry did all in their power to ensure I was sent to Azkaban…”

“You were sent because you failed under the influence of Veritaserum to preserve your innocence,” he cut off with a harsh smile. “The Ministry did not set you up; you were asked very simple and straightforward questions and you were forced to tell the truth. It was only unfortunate for you that the truth was that you had tried to kill Dumbledore, and that you had worked for the Dark Lord, and that you had voluntarily joined his Death Eaters. You bear the Dark Mark and you have no one to blame but yourself, Malfoy, for why you wound up in Azkaban.” He then continued on darkly, “and know this: if I had been in charge of your sentencing, you would have not gotten that slap-on-the-wrist term,” he said, voice harsh, eyes hateful.

Draco looked sour. Reamann glanced over at him while standing close, and Draco slipped something down out of his sleeve into his hand where he then passed it to Reamann subtly. Reamann closed his hand around it slowly so as not to draw attention to the exchange and put his hand in his pocket immediately so he could feel around and try to determine what it was Draco have given him. It was a thickly folded piece of parchment. It must have been the report he had been writing, something terribly incriminating for both of them if it had been found. He had managed to hide it, and now Reamann had it. Draco made lingering eye contact again and Reamann understood.

“Malfoy didn't do this,” he said positively.

“Really? And you know this how?” Sebastian asked, looking amused as ever, but this time at Reamann's expense, like Reamann was a child who had just said something cute amongst the adults. “You are a translator our department is borrowing. You do not solve cases, you do not decipher clues, you work with Muggles,” he said, if possible, sounding even more condescending than before. “It is up to me and the rest of the Department of Aurors to determine Malfoy's innocence, using our evidence.”

“Sectumsempra was used, and Draco cannot cast magic,” he said fiercely, cutting Sebastian off. Draco was very wisely staying quiet and withdrawn from the conversation. He seemed embarrassed, but he was not about to jump to his own defense and give up Reamann, so Reamann had to repay him by coming to his defense any way he could.

“He could have used someone else's wand.”

“You know as well as I do the Ministry is keeping close watch on him. They would know if he cast a spell, regardless of whose wand he used,” Reamann said, grateful now that he and Draco had had their little talk in the bathroom. Draco still hated that he had been so honest with Reamann, but that was paying off surprisingly well for him. He was not about to turn over a new leaf nor had he learned any kind of “lesson” or anything, but it was a nice change from what he was normally used to.

He still dreaded the point when Reamann would use such information against him and stab him in the back. Draco had come to expect such things from all people.

“You think so do you?”

“I know so.”

“Then maybe you can explain to me how one of his pretty little hairs got on my scene?” he asked, still looking amused and only pissing Reamann off further. Draco had a way of making people feel like they were lower than him with his attitude despite how meager his standard of living was now, but this Sebastian had a way of making him feel stupid and Reamann really hated that. Draco at least waited for you to say something stupid before he made you feel dumb for it.

“I come down here often for texts and have spent time with Malfoy here. The hair could have been on me and I could have left it there,” he said, trying to come up with a believable lie off the top of his head, something he was not good at. Draco was, however, and the sideways look he gave him was some indication of how bad the lie had been.

“It was a white hair longer than my arm, not something that one would overlook easily when it's clinging to them,” he said, clearly not buying into the lie.

“Get some Veritaserum and ask him where he was in the timeframe of the attack. I can guarantee you he will answer something other than killing a Muggle in a park,” he said confidently. He was not sure what Draco had been up to when the attack had happened, but whatever it was, it was better than killing Muggles, for sure.

“I don't know, Draco has never been very good at maintaining his innocence under Veritaserum,” he mocked and Draco's eyes darkened in a hostile way. Sebastian laughed out loud at Draco's silent threat and looked over to the desk to see Draco's gift from Ginny.

“Oh,” he said, reaching down, “don't mind if I do,” he said with a smile, grabbing one of Draco's sweets, Draco's gaze only intensifying. “We will get to the bottom of this Malfoy. You were at that scene and I intend to find out why. Until then, watch yourself, because we will be watching you,” Sebastian warned, taking a bite of the sponge candy, signaling to the other wizards in the room to give up their search and leave with him. Draco watched them leave with arms still crossed.

“I really hate that man,” Draco muttered at last, his hair still hanging down in front of his face partially.

“You know him?” Reamann asked, looking back at the door that was already closed.

“He likes to think of himself as some Minister of Magic in the making and enjoys busting my balls. He fought damn hard to prevent my probation and he has been bitter ever since I got out. He has made it a point to hassle me whenever an opportunity presents itself,” he said, Coderdale joining them. “I wouldn't be surprised if that sod planted one my hairs at the scene. That's the kind of sleazy thing he would do.”

“But he didn't plant your hair there, it probably…” Reamann started but Draco shot him a glare to shut him up as Coderdale looked questioningly at both of them.

“Draco, what's going on?” Coderdale asked. Draco just tucked his hair behid his ear, moved over to his desk, and searched through the mess to find parchment and a damaged quill. He then moved around to Coderdale's desk for a surface to write on and an unbroken inkwell.

“Draco?” Reamann asked.

“I need to send an owl to my mother who is home right now with my children. The Ministry is undoubtedly either there, or on their way over there, to toss my place and I don't want my children home when that happens. I don't need them scared,” he said, sounding angry and rightfully so. He didn't mention that he didn't want Minisrty Wizards showing up at his pad and discovering his children. Few knew about them and he liked keeping it that way. He also wasn't really ready to deal with Reamann yet. Ginny had only been gone for an hour and he was still trying to get his mind in order.

“Is there anything I can do?” Reamann offered, Coderdale nodding readily, wishing to do the same. Draco just shook his head before calling for his ghost-faced Barn Owl to swoop down from somewhere out of the dark ceiling. Draco attached his letter to the owl and allowed it to rest on his forearm as he walked it over to the door and sent it on its way, up and out of the Ministry to find its way home.

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

“I feel just awful,” Reamann said to Ginny later that night as they lay in bed. He could not sleep, and she was kept awake by her own guilt and his story. He told her about his afternoon and the Aurors suspecting Draco, but not how the hair really had ended up at the scene or how guilty he felt about the trouble Draco was in simply because he refused to rat him out to save himself.

Ginny had listened but did not tell Reamann about her afternoon with Draco.

She was left so conflicted over it that she could not even look Reamann in the eyes, and at a time when he so badly needed comfort from her.

“It's not fair, really. The Ministry still bullies him,” she said, angry.

“That Sebastian prat said that Draco had failed under Veritaserum. I read about that, and it seemed rather straightforward. How can he be innocent when he confessed to such things under the most powerful truth potion known?” he asked. Ginny crossed her arms tight across her chest, glaring at her knees that were covered by the blankets.

“You don't believe him innocent?” she accused.

“No, I mean, no I believe him innocent, I swear,” he assured, feeling conflicted because he honestly was not sure about Draco.

Ginny sighed as though letting out some of her anger so she could speak without biting Reamann's head off. She was not mad at him, she shouldn't snap at him.

“The Ministry wanted Draco to be guilty, and he could only answer their questions `yes' or `no' so they only asked him the things that would land him in Azkaban. Yes, he had tried to kill Dumbledore, but in the end he just couldn't do it and joined our side. Yes, he had gotten the Dark Mark, but not because he wanted to be a Death Eater. Yes, he served the Dark Lord, but because he was a double agent and needed to maintain appearances. They did not give him a chance to explain himself or his motives. They just took his answers and within twenty minutes of deliberating they found him guilty. He was sentenced three days later. No one is run through a trial and sentencing that quick unless people already have it set in their minds whether or not that person is guilty,” she said bitterly.

“What about appeals?” he asked.

“Denied every time. He had no one to defend him,” she said, sounding ready to cry at the last. She wished she had known what was happening; she wished she could have been there to defend him. She could have saved him, she should have saved him. After the war she had been whisked away to recover from all the hysteria. She and Harry had been off, secluded, able to deal with all that happened in private, only to find out later what had been happening back home, only after it was too late to help.

“That's just terrible,” Reamann said.

“And the Ministry, even after all that Harry has done to reform it for the better, still picks on Draco and the others that were sent away to Azkaban. It's not fair, and it's not right,” she said, wishing Hermione and Ron had known about Draco's final turn for good at the time.

Like she had told Draco during their lunch, Hermione would not have handed him over to the Aurors in the first place if she had known or would have, at the very least, been able to defend him in the trial. But, the only ones other than Harry or Ginny that knew the truth about Draco's final turn were the Death Eaters captured, and they certainly weren't about to help Draco out.

“I need to make this up to him, somehow,” Reamann said, Ginny only half listening, her mind miles away, thinking about Draco, that night they spent together so many years ago, and the kisses they had now shared. Kisses. Three kisses. Not just little kisses either, but full-blown snogging. What was she going to do?

What had she been thinking?

Why had she even bought him the sweets in the first place when she knew it would be taken the wrong way?

It was just an innocent gift…but why was she not so sure?

Why does he make her brain get all fuzzy whenever she is around him?

Why does he make her body prickly and tight with shivers running down her spine when he gets close?

Why does he keep kissing her, and why does she keep letting him?

She needed to talk to him, and this time she was not going to let herself get distracted by his lips, or his eyes, or his scent…

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

It was the afternoon before the final battle, the morning after the full moon, and fighting was already ensuing. From daybreak the Order had fought the Death Eaters. Casualties on both sides were high, and morale was slipping, but still they raged on, neither to be the side that backed down first.

Draco stood by the Order, Hermione and Ginny to his back. Luna and Neville had been with them, but not anymore. Luna was dead, and Neville's state was unknown at that point.

“We can't beat them,” Hermione shouted, throwing hexes at the werewolves but accomplishing very little. Werewolves were too powerful a magical creature to be easily harmed while transformed. It was why the Dark Lord had called them to join his side and why he had forced their change to linger even after the moon has fallen from the sky with dawn. His powerful and ancient dark magic that seeped forth from his castle in the distance trapped the lesser wolves, the Order having not expected to have to deal with the wolves after daybreak and were now at a loss of what to do. The Giants were defeated, and the Dementors not yet unleashed, but the Death Eaters and Werewolves were still out in force and everyone was exhausted.

“There has to be a way,” Ginny called, sending her own hex around the tree to the Werewolf that was fast approaching. Draco had yet to send a spell at anyone, on either side.

“No ideas are coming to me, and they are coming up on us, fast,” Hermione said, panic setting in as the wolves neared. What would be worse, being torn apart by them, or simply mauled and left alive to then suffer the disease?

“Draco? Any ideas?” Ginny called. She waited for a response but got none. Looking over at him she saw Draco panting at the base of the tree, skin shining with sweat, hands balled into tight fists. He had looked ill since he had reappeared that morning, and he had managed to get progressively worse as the morning drew long and the afternoons sun cast high. As the sun now waned, drawing the shadows of the trees long, he looked ready to collapse.

“Draco?” Hermione asked, calling across the trees and distance between them.

“I'm awright,” he breathed, not sounding alright in the least.

“What's wrong?” Ginny asked, neither of the girls knowing of Draco's condition yet or how much of a struggle it had been for him to even shift back that morning, let alone what it took for him not to shift back right then with the Dark Lord's influence sweeping across the hollow.

“Nothing…nothing,” he panted. “Anyone who has survived has gone down that way, towards the creek. We don't have any other options, or time to debate it, so I would suggest going that way,” he said, swallowing hard the vomit that was burning at the back of his throat.

“Come on then,” Hermione said, grabbing Ginny's hand and pulling her along, past Draco, down towards the creek. Draco said it was safe, and it couldn't be any worse than being in the direct path of the wolves, so she took Draco's word for it.

Draco, some paces behind and looking unsteady, slid down the steep, snowy embankment towards the icy water. He was taking his time, and the reason why was apparent once the girls came around the bend.

“You son-of-a-!” Hermione screamed before she was silenced by a charm. Ginny let out a scream of her own before she too was gagged and tied up. Draco approached slowly, figurative tail between his legs as he passed the two struggling girls as they glared at him.

“Very good, Draco. Just two of the little ones, but excellent bait for Potter. His Mudblood best friend and his girlfriend,” the Death Eater before them praised, looking pleased as his partial mask would allow them to see. Draco sloshed through the ankle deep ice water hugging his arms and looking uncomfortable. Hermione was making angry sounds through the gag that was magically tied in place.

“Oh, oh, what? Is there something you would like to say to Mr. Malfoy, my dear?” the Death Eater teased, Draco panting at his back, looking ill.

The man, using Hermione's own wand, removed the gag only and she immediately went off on Draco.

“We trusted you! We believed you when you said you did not truly want to be a Death Eater! We listened to your sob-story and took pity on you, you bastard!” she screamed at him, Draco's eyes locking with her because he knew if he looked away it would be seen as a weakness, on both sides.

“You stupid little Mudblood. Don't you know?” the Death Eater laughed, grabbing Draco by the arm and shoving up his sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark and scars, “The Dark Mark can only be given to the willing. Draco got his mark after he turned seventeen. That was after he had failed in killing Dumbledore. You foolish girl,” he laughed, Draco standing there awkwardly with his bare arm being held out to Hermione and Ginny who now too was making angry sounds while she was still gagged. They could see the Mark and were thankfully too angry to acknowledge anything but that, not even the long vertical gash that ran up his forearm, barely healed.

“Take them up to the castle for our Lord to do with as he pleases. Take the boy with you. It looks like his control won't last much longer.”

Ginny was tossed over one Death Eater's shoulder, and Hermione was gagged once again and pushed along, her wand pointed at her back. They were led across the hollow and up a secret, or just well hidden, passage to the castle that stood dark and looming above them despite the cheery and bright winter sun of the late afternoon. Fighting could still be heard and the growling and howling of the werewolves only seemed to make Draco look dizzier.

“I think we are going to have to sedate the boy,” the Death Eater that was carrying Ginny said over his shoulder to the one at Hermione's back.

“Boy, if you start to shift on us we will jinx you into a coma. We don't want your disease,” he warned, Hermione looking over at Draco with shocked eyes. Draco had stopped climbing the stairs to lean against the stone wall and pant, his hair wet from sweat despite the cold.

“Keep moving, the Dark Lord is the only one that can stop his spell from affecting you,” the first Death Eater said, taking his hand off Ginny's back for a moment to grab Draco by the shoulder and turn him. With a rough push he encouraged him up the stairs, Ginny still kicking. Draco stumbled onto his hands and knees as he climbed after the shove but managed to right himself and ascend properly, slowly, his body weak.

The rooftop of the old castle was crumbling and covered in snow. There were signs that in the spring and summer moss covered a great deal of stone, but right then everything was harsh and grey, white snow clinging in spots, ice in others. Lord Voldemort stood near the roof's edge, looking over the scene in the hollow below, looking pleased. The fighting was in the woods, but he was able to see the flashes of spells and hear the distant shouting. He stood there, enjoying it like some enjoyed listening to the birds in the trees, and smiled. His smile was crooked and all wrong on his snake-like face.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I see you have returned to me, unchanged and not with Potter, but two of his little friends. I can't say I'm proud, but I am pleased,” he said, folding his hands behind his back while turning to look at the two young women before him. Ginny and Hermione were gagged and struggling, scared now more than angry like before. Now, in the presence of the Dark Lord, they felt powerless and small.

“Please, my Lord…your spell…” Draco gasped, falling to his knees while holding his stomach, panting and wheezing. Voldemort looked amused.

“You surprise me, littlest of the Malfoys. I had honestly expected you remain in your shift, yet you fought it to change back and have not succumbed to it all this time? I am impressed, to say the least,” he said, looking down at Draco, Ginny and Hermione looking too, their shocked realization that Draco was most definitely a werewolf overriding their fear for the moment.

“Not a Lesser-wolf, are you?” he asked. Draco just sobbed, the pain becoming too great. He was a young wolf, but he had remarkably been able to successfully fight the change. Draco knew he was a Greater-wolf having faced Greyback already and been told as much, but he was still new. He did not have the skill and control Greyback had had…he had his stubborn Malfoy will, but that was not enough. He could not fight the change anymore.

“I suppose, since you returned to me with these two lovely gifts, I should reward you,” he smiled, pulling his right arm out from behind him to reveal his long wand. Voldemort pointed its tip at Draco and Draco felt his heart stop for a moment, not knowing if the Dark Lord would help him, or just kill him right on the spot. One could never tell with the Dark Lord what his intentions were.

Without muttering his incantation the Dark Lord eased the pressure Draco was feeling. Draco took a gasping breath of relief as he fought not to collapse, no longer feeling like he was on the painful verge of shifting.

“That better?” he asked in a babying voice.

“Yes, my Lord, thank you,” Draco said, practically groveling at Voldemort's feet, head down while still on his knees. The Dark Lord reached down and Draco, knowing what was expected of him, reached up and gripped the man's hand. Draco was pulled over to Voldemort's legs while he was still crouching where he was then encouraged to just sit as Voldemort stroked his hair, like Draco was a dog. The girls looked on and Draco looked away, not wanting to see what they were thinking; the looks on their faces.

The Dark Lord stroked Draco's head contently, smiling at his new captives.

“Didn't know Draco here was a wolf, did you?” he asked, Draco's eyes darkening as he sat there, practically clinging to the man's left leg, like the Dark Lord wanted.

Hermione and Ginny made some noises and Voldemort laughed, grabbing Draco's hair in a fist. Draco winced but made no sound.

“Your services are no longer needed at the moment, littlest of the Malfoys,” he said, releasing Draco's hair from his tight grip and petting it again, as though soothing the pain he had just caused.

Draco, crouching on his hands and knees, ready to scurry away, dared an apologetic glance at Hermione and Ginny before fleeing back the way they had come, down the stairs, the door closing behind him. He was thankful to have been dismissed by the Dark Lord. That meant he could leave, the Dark Lord sending a searing pain through his Dark Mark if he needed him again.

“Now,” Voldemort said, clearly speaking to Ginny and Hermione even though he was not even facing them. “What to do with you two.”

Hermione made an angry sound at him.

“A temper this one has, and this one,” he said, looking over to Ginny then. “Quite the spunky attitude I get from her, in those eyes there is such spirit,” he whispered teasingly. “Harry Potter cares for both of you, making you two excellent bait, but,” he said, looking mockingly sad, “I really don't need both of you,” he said, looking at the two of them, back and forth between them, like he was trying to decide something. “Which witch should I keep? The filthy little Mudblood, or the disgraceful Blood-Traitor?” he asked the three Death Eaters on the roof that were making encouraging and amused murmurs.

Hermione mumbled something into her gag and the Dark Lord smiled.

“Yes, dear?” he asked, flicking his wand to remove her gag in a puff of blackish smoke.

“You will not win this!” she shouted.

“Oh, but I already have,” he laughed. “Look, and listen, to the fighting below. Tell me who is winning.”

“You have not met Harry yet. Come face to face with him and you will fail!”

“You have such confidence in that boy?”

“As confident as you are scared,” she snapped back.

“Well, I now know which one I'm going to kill and send back to Mr. Potter in pieces,” Voldemort scathed, looking livid.

Hermione looked over at Ginny with a meaningful glance that Ginny only had enough time to register as being significant before there was a loud blast. The Dark Lord was taken by surprise by it, and the Death Eaters too. Ginny was thrown aside, the binding spells placed on her breaking and leaving her free as she lay there.

When the smoke cleared, Hermione had her wand back from the unconscious Death Eater that had bound them and she was sending hexes at Voldemort who was blocking them and sending them off in other directions.

“Filthy Mudblood!” he shouted. Ginny had forgotten the potions Draco had given them hours before while down in the woods, saying to only break the glass vials so that they mixed as a last resort. Ginny had gotten the impression that they were suicide potions, meant to take out themselves as well as those around them when they were left without any more options, but she had lost faith in them when Draco had handed them over to his Dark Lord. It looked like Hermione either recognized the concoctions, or had felt there was nothing to lose in trying them. Now she was free, and Ginny was too. Maybe they would actually manage to escape!

Ginny jumped to her feet and grabbed her wand from the Death Eater that Hermione had knocked out with the explosion. She hexed the Death Eater that was rushing her and he screamed as Bat-Bogeys attacked his face, keeping him from being able to grab her.

“Stop her!” Voldemort screamed, casting a harsh spell at Hermione that she only just managed to block.

The only other remaining Death Eater rushed Ginny and she tried to raise her wand to cast another spell but didn't have a chance. In the time it took her brain to think of a spell and have her wand poised, the man had crashed into her, knocking her off balance and nearly sending her wand out of her hand. Realizing how close she had come to losing her wand, Ginny gripped it tight like it was all that mattered in the world at that moment. Honestly, that was not far from the truth.

Staggering, she prevented herself from falling and she spun around while her hair flew in her face in a cold rush of winter wind from over the edge of the rooftop. She was disoriented enough to not block the red jet of harsh light that hit her in the chest. Ginny took it full on and it knocked her breath out like a Bludger to the ribs. Her whole body was picked up and thrown backwards. Her hip cracked against the low wall of the rooftop and she only just managed not to fall.

“Ahh!” she screamed, her hip taking the full force of the impact.

Ginny looked up, a stone from the wall she was leaning on shifting and falling, nearly sending her over the edge with it.

The Death Eater raised his wand to cast another spell and Ginny raised hers to counter it when the man just rushed her, the wall crumbling at Ginny's back and causing her to fall with only a little added shove from the man.

Ginny screamed, high and long as she felt herself falling, stones all around her as they plummeted towards the frozen hollow below. Her wand was still clutched tightly in her hand but she could not think of a spell to save her. Her mind was numb with fear as the snow and rock covered ground drew closer.

That was when she felt like someone had slugged her in the gut.

With an “umph!” she was suddenly no longer falling but coasting up away from the ground. Looking down there was an arm around her waist, looking over her shoulder Ginny saw whom that arm belonged to. A woman, a woman she did not know. They were on a broom, and they were flying away from the castle at breakneck speed.

“What…who are you,” she managed to shout over the whistling wind in their ears, her hair whipping back away from her face, the woman's attention forward with such concentration it almost looked like she was trying to ignore Ginny.

Ginny did not want to come across as ungrateful or anything since the woman had saved her life, but she had no idea who she was or where she was taking her.

The woman flew her broom over the trees, away from the castle and the hollow, to land some distance away. It was late afternoon by then and the sun was setting, it getting so dark so early those cold winter days.

Ginny was roughly released from the woman's grip as she slowed and leveled off near the ground. Ginny stumbled, running as she tried to prevent herself from falling, the woman gliding a few feet more before dismounting from her broom.

“Who…who are you?” Ginny asked again, hugging herself in the cold, her hand still tight around her wand, not feeling as though she could trust the woman for some reason.

The woman looked right at Ginny for a moment but said nothing. She drew a wand from inside her robes and Ginny immediately pointed hers, ready for anything. The woman paid her no mind and instead just cast a spell that made blue flames dance above the snow, instantly warm and burning bright.

Ginny lowered her wand as the woman busied herself, manifesting some supplies, like some bedding that had been shrunken down and tucked away in her pockets, and some food that she started to prepare over the fire. They were at the base of a large dark tree, near the edge of the woods, the castle still able to be seen in the distance. They must have been two or three miles away then, but the broom ride had been so quick. The trees had blurred past.

Ginny realized the woman wasn't going to answer her questions, and got the impression with how she had saved her life and was now preparing food for two, she wasn't going to hurt her. Was the woman one of the promised Aurors? She didn't recognize her, but she was in black robes and had a wand, and had helped her…that was the only conclusion she could come to. Ginny cleared away some of the standing snow from the ground with her wand so there was space to sit on the hard, frozen ground, dry now thanks to wonderful, wonderful, magic.

The woman, after some time, made a small groaning noise and set the tea kettle down. Ginny looked over at her with concern, wondering if she asked her if she was alright that a question would finally warrant an answer. The woman turned away and covered her face, something seemingly moving under her robes, like something shifting.

“Are you…are you okay?” Ginny finally asked after the woman fell to her knees and remained there for a moment, her breathing evening out at last, head out of view as it rested on the ground so that all Ginny could see was a black lump of robes from behind.

“I'm fine, Weasley.” Draco's voice came drifting from the robes, shocking Ginny silent and still. She could not move as Draco slowly pushed up from the ground and straightened, his blond hair hanging in his eyes slightly, robes a little askew on his frame. He took a deep breath and ran both his hands through his shoulder-length hair, pushing it back from his face to look instantly more put together and collected.

“Malfoy?” she shouted, suddenly pointing her wand at him, unable to decide what jinx or hex she wanted to use on him first.

“Now, Weasley, is that any way to treat the one who just saved your life?” he asked calmly, not pulling his wand to defend himself, not sounding angry. He stood there calmly, looking down Ginny's wand to her face.

“You two-timing son-of-a-bitch,” she snarled.

“I had to do what I had to do, Weasley, you must understand that.”

“You sold us out!”

“Because I had to, to maintain appearances,” he said, finally adding a little emotion to his bland voice. “The Dark Lord doesn't trust me because he thinks I'm weak and I have failed him in the past. He doesn't trust me because of my Occlumency. Because of that I have to constantly demonstrate my loyalties to him. I gave him you and Granger. He will trust me for a day longer, and that is all we need,” he said.

“You gave him me and Hermione so you can continue to be ambiguous in this war, and expect me to accept and be fine with that? I don't even know whose side you're on and now Hermione is stuck over there and…”

“She Disapparated away after you fell, Weasley,” Draco said calmly, having hidden to watch the whole scene unfold after being dismissed, jumping in to save Ginny when he realized she could not save herself. He knew Granger could handle herself as he flew off while disguised with Ginny. No one could Apparate to the castle, but they could Disapparate out, fortunate enough for Granger.

“She is not dead, nor is she hurt…physically, but she thinks you're dead. I'm sorry for that, and whatever pain that knowledge will bring her, but I cannot do anything about it. I took the Polyjuice Potion I had pre-mixed after being dismissed, in hopes that I would not be discovered double-crossing…him…while saving you two, not after just having won his momentary trust again. Granger took care of herself; do not be angry at me for saving your life. You two would have died out in those woods if I had not gotten you out of the path of those werewolves,” he said, finally sounding angry.

“Werewolves, like you,” she spat and Draco's expression fell. He suddenly no longer looked angry. He actually looked really wounded.

“Yes, Weasley, like me,” he said softly. “You would have ended up dead, or worse, ended up like me, if I had not gotten you out of there. So please, just eat your supper. It's going to be a cold night and a long day tomorrow,” he said, flopping down onto the ground Ginny had cleared and poking at the food levitating above the fire moodily.

Ginny looked at him for a long time before finally falling to her knees. She could not look away.

“I do not like being stared at,” he grumbled, hunching his shoulders slightly and refusing to look over at her.

“I had no idea you were a, a…”

“Werewolf?” he offered.

“When did this happen?” she asked as Draco poked at the food with his wand.

“It's a long story,” he mumbled.

“We have some time to kill, right?” she asked, suddenly feeling foul for how she had spoken to Draco moments before.

She still was not sure whose side he was on, but he had just saved her life. She owed him at least the opportunity to explain himself…right?

Draco looked over at her, really looking at her for the first time, eyes locking with her deep brown ones, the kindness and concern in them so genuine it made his closed-off heart warm just a little.

He had sat together with her in the cold snow before, while camping with the Order out in the woods, and she had seemingly extended him kindness then when no one else would, she simply thinking he was a Death Eater turned traitor…now she was looking at him, kindness and understanding in her eyes still, even though she knew he was a werewolf.

She was not rejecting him, or being cruel. She looked as though she was concerned and willing to listen.

Why?

No one was that kind…not to him…

Draco looked away, feeling a flush creep up his neck and cheeks.

He supposed telling her a little about himself would do no harm…he was going to die come tomorrow anyways.

Draco sat up from his bed, panting.

“Goddamn memories, let me be,” he muttered, rubbing his damp face. He had woken before the memory had progressed to a little later that evening where he and Ginny had kissed so passionately while still camping together, after they had talked for some hours, but just knowing that was where the memory had been leading was enough to make him groan a little.

Draco felt weight shift beside him and he looked down to smile and brush the hair away from the face of his young guest. He woke up many nights and mornings next to a beautiful young woman. Of course, this frequent guest was his daughter who often came to sleep in his bed with him in the middle of the night, but that was fine. He couldn't imagine waking up beside a more beautiful girl.

The image of waking up beside a young woman with fiery red hair spread across his pillows popped into his mind and Draco quickly shook his head to try and rid himself of such thoughts.

“No, no, no,” he scolded himself, eyes closed tight. It was a bad thing that he had such thoughts abut her. Bad, bad, bad.

“Daddy?” Clarissa mumbled from beside him. Draco stopped shaking his head to blink and look down at his daughter.

“Hmm?” he asked softly, smiling gently.

“You okay?” she asked voice soft and sleepy, her face droopy but the concern still readable.

“Yes, sweet pea, I'm awright,” he assured, being honest.

He was alright. He was plagued by memories all the time, it was something he was used to even if he still hated it, and there were worse things than having Ginny Weasley cross his mind now and then, he supposed.

Clarissa smiled at him and both shifted their attention when Draco's bedroom door opened. Michelangelo poked his head in, looking bashful while wrapped up in his navy-blue bed blanket still, the edge pulled up over his head like a hood as he hugged it closed around him, messy locks of his platinum hair poking out to cover his forehead.

“I can't sleep,” he mumbled.

Draco just smiled understandably and patted the mattress on his left for Michelangelo to join them. Clarissa scooted over so Draco could shift a little to the right and make room for his son on the narrow bed. They all snuggled down together, Clarissa lacing her fingers with Draco affectionately, Michelangelo too “grown up” and “manly” now for such an act of affection anymore but still snuggling close to his father's side for comfort.

The children were still upset over the Ministry tearing through the house, scaring them senseless and giving them the very strong impression that their daddy was going to be taken away and they would never see him again. The Ministry Wizards had done nothing to quash such feelings in the children and when Draco had gotten home he had some very strong words for the wizards there. The words had been strong enough for Narcissa to instruct her grandchildren to cover their ears as she hustled them out of the room quickly.

Clarissa's excuse to join him in bed had been “bad dreams,” and Michelangelo apparently “could not sleep.”

Draco let them maintain their pride, but still assured them it was alright to be afraid sometimes. He also assured them that he was not leaving them, or being sent away, that clearly being what had them both so worried that they would have bad dreams or be unable to sleep.

Draco gave Clarissa's hand and Michelangelo's shoulder a squeeze as he snuggled down to sleep, Ginny still on his mind despite his resolve to not think about her, their shared past, or what they had done that afternoon.

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Author's Note:

I just love the children, the kiddies, Draco's babies. I enjoy so much writing scenes where Draco and the children interact. It gets me all warm and fuzzy…almost as warm and fuzzy as getting reviews makes me feel.

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11. Chapter 11

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Eleven

“I'm not sick, Butler Paul!” Draco raised his voice in annoyance. His summer home from Hogwarts was not going as well as it typically did. First his father was thrown into Azkaban and his family publicly shamed and humiliated. Harry Potter then got the better of him yet again at the end of the school year, just rubbing salt in his open wounds all the while Potter had insulted his father! His birthday was ruined by Ministry Wizards tearing apart his home and chasing his mother off. And then, after all that, he was attacked in the middle of the night by some vicious animal. That had all happened barely a week into his summer and though some time had passed, and it was now near the end of July, it seemed like things couldn't get much worse, but Butler Paul was apparently trying.

“Draco, please, look at the state of yourself, you can barely walk,” Butler Paul pleaded, holding his hands out to Draco so that the boy would actually do what he was asked. Not something he excelled at.

“I'm sore and manky from being mauled by a dog, Butler Paul. I wouldn't expect much less,” Draco snapped, the whole room spinning around him every time he turned his head. He was going to make himself collapse if he didn't slow down, even though his pace already was sluggish and drawn out. Butler Paul wanted him in bed, but that was not about to happen.

“Yes, but after nearly a month? Draco, you are still as roughed up as you were the morning after the attack. Only now you look so ill…your skin is tinged green, like you have an infection…”

“I'm just stressed.”

“Draco, please, you have to listen to me. You are seriously ill.”

“I'm through discussing this,” Draco said, holding up his hand and turning away with as much dignity as he could muster while trying not to pass out from the movement.

“You were attacked on the full moon, Draco,” Butler Paul blurted out causing Draco to freeze. “Please, you need to go to Saint Mungo's, it's almost the next full moon and…”

“I do not like what you are insinuating, Butler Paul,” Draco fumed at the silver haired older man, already having warned Butler Paul days ago not to suggest such things.

“You must go to Saint Mungo's, Draco.”

“And have my mother find out that I got hurt and worry herself sick? I will do no such thing. I am fine. We have a Healer right here who can-”

“…not help you!” Butler Paul said firmly, daring to cut Draco off. “You are bandaged up something similar to that of a mummy! Look at yourself! Tell me, why can't the Healer take care of those wounds with a simple charm or even a potion? Why have you been getting sicker as the days go by?”

“Because our Healer is inept. We will get a new healer, a better healer, but I am not going to that hospital,” Draco said firmly.

“Why? Are you afraid they will tell you what you don't want to hear?”

“Don't,” Draco warned for a second time in that day's squabble, pointing at Butler Paul with a firm pale finger. Butler Paul was tall, slender, and elderly, but in a very fit way that would have you misjudge his age if you did not know better. He was normally well-kempt and collected, shoulder length silver-grey hair combed back away from his face, clean shaven and poised. But now his hair was a little disheveled, as was his clothing, and he had a hint of shadow on his face, like he hadn't even shaved that morning. Just that little scruff, compounded with his intense concern, seemed to age the man greatly. The lines of worry were deep in his face and his eyes looked tired.

“That you were attacked by a werewolf and are now sick,” he continued on despite Draco's interruption.

“I said don't!” Draco said, shoving Butler Paul backwards after rushing him in anger. All that movement, however, caused Draco's knees to give out under him in his dizziness and he collapsed to the floor to just sit there, sobbing, frustrated with his body's failure but too weak to do anything else.

“Draco, let me help you,” Butler Paul begged, taking a step forward after the shove Draco had given him, not taking it to heart.

“You said it was just a dog,” Draco sobbed.

“I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to upset you right in the middle of it all.”

“I'm not sick,” Draco said, almost sounding like he was pleading with someone, a higher power maybe, saying “please don't let me be sick.”

“I will take you to the hospital.”

“No,” Draco said firmly.

“Draco…”

“No! It wasn't a werewolf, I am not sick; I'm just weak still from the trauma. Damn blueblood and all that. I will not do anything to worry my mother. The house is back together finally and she sent an owl saying she would be home at the end of next week, before the end of the month,” he said, his mother having gone off for the three weeks to “deal with things” on her own. He could not really blame her for wanting to get away after her husband was sent to Azkaban, her friends shunning her, the Ministry hounding her…he just wished she had taken him with her. They needed each other.

“Draco, you will not be well by the end of next week,” he said, crouching beside Draco so he could talk to the boy and look him right in the face.

“I will be well enough.”

“Draco,”

“Leave me alone!” he snapped, pulling his arm out of Butler Paul's grasp and pushed himself up off the floor to stand wobbly. “And don't you dare send any sort of word to my mother about this, Butler Paul, I forbid it,” he said, like he did almost every day since the attack, doing all in his power to not let his mother in on what had happened to him while she was away. She was stressed and upset enough as it was. He did not want to add to that, or make her feel guilty for not having been home or taking him with her.

“Yes, sir,” Butler Paul said, bowing once curtly after he himself stood. He could not force his young master to accept what was happening, no matter how much he wanted to. Draco's wounds couldn't be healed by magic; it was a classic sign of wounds from a werewolf. He was getting sicker and sicker, losing weight and looking paler, that too with his increased temper, were signs of having contracted lycanthropy.

His boy was smart, he knew Draco understood all that was happening, he was just refusing to accept it. Denial, it was something Draco was really good at, and it was understandable for anyone to want to deny something like this, but now, with the full moon only days away, he could not humor his boy anymore. Draco needed help, and he was either going to agree to it, or it was going to be forced upon him. Draco had refused to try Wolfsbane in the weeks since the attack, so his symptoms were not eased, nor was his pain, and he would be very dangerous on the moon.

Butler Paul could not allow Draco to hurt anyone.

The guilt on both their parts would be immeasurable.

Draco braced against the wall with his hands as he walked.

He was not sick. He wasn't.

He was weak, and tired, and sore, but he was not sick, certainly not with what Butler Paul was claiming.

He would go to his father's office and write a notice of termination for the Healer…later. Right now all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep.

Sleep sounded really good right then.

If his Healer weren't such a lummox he would be well by now. Butler Paul had said he wouldn't be well by the time his mother got home. Draco agreed, though it was probably the first time in his life he wished he was wrong. His mother didn't need to deal with this. He didn't want to deal with it either, so he was going to go and lay down.

“Can Mickey get you anything, young Master?” the House-elf begged, bowing repeatedly as it walked backwards in front of Draco.

“Water,” Draco muttered, collapsing onto his bed, careful to place all his weight, as minor as that had become, on his right side, his side that wasn't as hurt. Holding out his left arm awkwardly Draco looked at the bloodied bandages.

Why wasn't he healing?

Even if his Healer was dead from the neck up and couldn't cast a spell to cure him, surely just over a month's time he would have managed to heal on his own. He should have had scabs, and scars, and closing cuts, but instead he had gaping wounds that still bled freely. He had to take a dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion every three hours to keep himself from passing out.

“Shit,” Draco hissed while unwrapping his left arm and tossing aside the used bandages. His arm looked terrible and felt worse. The bruising had left patches of his skin purple at first, but now they were gone, leaving only faint greenish marks and the wounds so raw and red beside them. He gripped one end of his fresh bandage in his teeth and then wound the other end around his arm with enough pressure to hurt just a little yet helped slow the slight but steady bleeding.

“Mickey has your water, young Master,” the house-elf announced appearing in the room with a tall glass of water in its small hands.

Draco just held out his right hand for the glass, not thanking the creature for its services. Mickey assured him he would be around to do anything his young Master asked of him and Draco just shooed him off with a wave of his hand.

Drinking his potion, then his water to rid himself of the taste, Draco fell backwards into his bedding, laying awkwardly on his right side mostly, nearly every inch of him sore. His chest and ribs on the left side were shredded, his left arm had been nearly torn apart, and his back had a series of deep punctures over his shoulder blades. Bones and deep muscle damage had been healed, but the rest…they lingered. There were very few options for him when it came to lying down because just about every position put pressure on one of his many wounds.

He still needed to change his other bandages, but he was so sleepy, he couldn't keep his eyes open. It was so difficult to wrap his chest, shoulder, and side with only one arm, every movement agonizing, but he refused help. It would take him over an hour to wrap himself up on his own, and he was just too tired at the moment. Surely the worst that would happen if he didn't change them would be that he would bleed through onto his bedding. At that moment, while his eyes burned for sleep, he did not care. He could afford new bedding.

Draco's eyes closed for but an instant, so it seemed, and he woke to the sound of urgent hooting. He took a deep sleepy breath but then regretted it. His chest and back screamed in pain as his ribs stretched and put tension on his wounds.

Swallowing hard, Draco felt feverish. He thought he was damp from sweating, which he was to an extent, but he realized the wetness he felt was not sweat when he raised his arm and saw that it was covered in blood. Panic gripping him, he sat up, but that caused his vision to blackout and pain to rip through his body resulting in him tipping over onto his right side, legs curled under him. His bedding felt so cool against his hot skin for a moment before it started to warm from his radiating heat.

Draco gasped a breath and pushed up off the mattress slowly that time, looking down at himself.

There was blood everywhere!

He had not just bled onto his bedding a little, he had soaked it through!

It looked like someone had been murdered in his bed.

The owl that had woken him hooted again urgently from atop his tall chest of drawers. Draco swallowed hard, reaching for his potion. He downed several hearty gulps, not caring about the taste as he shook in panic, his heart racing.

Was he going to die?

The tawny owl, tired of being ignored, fluttered down and landed on Draco's bed, avoiding the pool of blood Draco was in the middle of.

“Awright, awright, don't be so damn pushy,” Draco mumbled, removing the note attached to the owl's leg with trembling hands. The owl nipped at him and Draco cursed, shooing the bird away with his angry right hand.

“Goddamn pest,” he grumbled, his finger now hurting like the rest of him.

He looked at the note and saw that it was unmarked on the outside. It didn't even have his name on it, just smeared blood from him handling it.

Who had sent him an unmarked, unaddressed letter?

Opening it to find the answer, Draco pulled out an acid green piece of thick parchment and unfolded it. Inside he found sharp and harsh lettering written. He did not read it yet, he scanned it to see whom it could possibly be from and felt his heart freeze for a moment, going from pounding to near dead stop in an instant.

It was from Lord Voldemort.

Draco quickly read over the letter and felt his stomach clench over and over again.

The Dark Lord wanted to meet him. Him!

Why was the Dark Lord requesting an audience with him?

Something about a task the letter read.

Was the Dark Lord asking him to do something for him?

Draco felt sick, now for all new and completely different reasons than before.

He couldn't deny that he was more than a little afraid of the Dark Lord. He wished nothing more to serve him, to honor his family, to please his mother, to defend his father, but he was scared. He was very scared.

The letter said he should be in the Dark Lord's presence at nine o'clock sharp.

It was quarter till.

“Oh holy God,” Draco gasped, flinging himself out of bed and stumbling.

Keeping the Dark Lord waiting, even for a minute, was unwise. He knew this, and he had never even met the man before. It was just an obvious assumption.

“Draco? Draco, what on earth do you think you are doing? Is that blood? Draco?” Butler Paul called after Draco as Draco limped down the hall, dressed as freshly as he could in the five minutes he had taken to clean himself up. Draco had thrown himself in the shower to try and wash away some of the blood and had not replaced his bandages after having removed them. He just put clean clothes on, black to try and hide the bleeding, and a long cloak to keep himself covered because despite the warm summer air, he was shivering.

“Open the Floo Channel,” Draco said, not stopping, not turning, not explaining himself.

“Draco, are you crazy? Where do you think you are gong?”

“I have to go now or I will be late. Open the Floo Channel,” he repeated.

Butler Paul just looked at Draco's ghostly white face and set his jaw.

“The only place you are going is St. Mungo's.”

Draco spun on him -eyesight dimming but holding himself surprisingly steady- and pointed his wand at the man he loved like a second father.

“I will not ask you again. Open the Floo Channel so we are connected to the Network so that I may leave. If I am late I am dead. Do you understand that?” he said, voice quivering, his hand surprisingly steady.

“Draco, you look close to death already. You're killing yourself.”

“Better than dying at the hands of the Dark Lord,” he said, eyes darting back and forth as though unsure of what to look at as he continued to point his wand at his friend and mentor.

“Is he who you are going to meet?” Butler Paul asked, knowing Draco wanted nothing more than to be a Death Eater like his father. Draco said nothing, not having to. “Draco,”

“He requested me. I cannot refuse him. Please, help me; I do not know how to open the channels myself,” he said, the magic sealing them off from the Network complex, one reason being security, the second being that Draco used to sneak out against his parent's wishes.

Butler Paul sighed and looked at Draco for a moment. Draco looked like he was ready to collapse and die any moment, yet he would positively die if he did not honor the Dark Lord's request.

“I should come with you,” he said, Draco lowering his wand.

“The note instructed I come alone, by Floo,” he said, looking apologetic like he would like nothing more in the world than to not have to go meet the Dark Lord for the first time, alone.

“I will be standing right here, waiting for you to return,” he said firmly, striding over to the hearth and opening the silver grate that covered it. He pulled out his wand and muttered some spells to open the home to the Floo Network.

“Thank you,” Draco said, standing beside Butler Paul, his cloak closed tight and looking like a floor length cape, covering all but his head that looked so deathly pale with a shadow of green.

“You be careful,” he said, wanting to give his boy a hug but knowing what pain that would cause Draco.

Draco nodded faintly and moved into the fireplace. Throwing a handful of Floo Powder at his feet he shouted “Deathly Hallows” as an eruption of emerald flames at his feet whisked him away.

The sensation of spinning and high velocity was enough to make Draco think he was about to die. He kept his eyes closed tight and did not open them, not even after he spilled out onto a very hard cold floor. He screamed out in pain as he landed flat on his chest, his entire left side searing in agony from the impact.

“Cutting it a tad close, child,” a woman said, standing before him so that he was at her feet.

“Aunt Bella?” he gasped, recognizing his aunt's voice when he could not even see her, his eyesight not clearing and leaving him disoriented.

“Come, he is waiting for you and it's only moments before the clock chimes,” she said urgently, picking Draco up off the floor and practically dragging him out of the room, his feet barely lifting from the floor as she pulled him along quickly.

“Aunt Bella, what's going on? Why does he want to meet me?” he asked, vision darkening and lightening rapidly enough to create a swelling headache.

“I do not know. He does not explain himself to us. He wants to meet you and you should be honored by this. You are sixteen, not many sixteen-year-olds can say that have had a private audience with Lord Voldemort at his personal request,” she said, Draco flinching at the name.

“But I still don't understand, I thought he was angry with the whole family because of Father…and I'm just sixteen, what would he want with me?”

“I can't tell you what I don't know, but mind yourself, speak only when given permission, and do not look at him unless he grants you the honor,” she hissed in his ear before pushing him into the room and closing the door behind him without another word, locking herself out.

Draco's vision was swimming in and out, and it had been the whole walk, but he got the impression he was in some sort of castle, but older and draftier than Hogwarts was. He stumbled into the room to the sound of a chiming clock. It chimed nine times and then a heavy silence filled the room, Draco's breathing seeming impossibly loud then.

“Littlest of the Malfoys,” came a sharp and hissing voice from across the room. Draco fell to his knees because he could not stand any longer, but bowed his head to disguise it simply as him being respectful and groveling.

“My Lord,” he breathed, eyes closed tight as he nearly leaned his forehead on the stone floor, bent completely in half so that his kneeling legs were pressing against his sore chest, knees at his throat.

“You know, you surprise me…in a good way,” Voldemort said and Draco's eyes opened but he otherwise did not move. “I had honestly not expected you to live, but then…well, there is that stubborn Malfoy determination in you.”

Draco just closed his eyes again.

“When I heard you were still alive from your Aunt Bellatrix I was shocked, then pleased. She has been keeping an eye on you while that mother of yours is away?”

“Yes, sir…my Lord,” he said, his aunt having come by almost everyday to see him, never once having the same conversation he and Butler Paul seemed to have every other day. She seemed to agree too that it was best that his mother not know about what had happened.

“But she has not told you what is happening to you,” he said.

“Sir?” Draco inquired, not sure what the Dark Lord meant by that. His aunt had been wonderfully supportive, while giving him Occlumency lesions. Something he was excelling at apparently. What would she not tell him?

“She is quite angry with your father,” he said, saying something Draco already knew. “She is angry, you see, that you were hurt because he needed to be punished for his indiscretions, but dares not speak a word against me or my decisions.”

“My Lord, I do not understand,” Draco said, not looking up still. He had yet to ever lay eyes on the Dark Lord, and he could not lie to himself, he would like it to stay that way. He was far too sick. He would have liked to meet his Dark Lord under different circumstances. Not now, not like this.

“Your father's poor performance at the Ministry two months ago, being bested by a bunch of school children, captured by Ministry Wizards, and thrown into Azkaban while taking so many of my loyal followers with him because of his poor leadership skills, truly disappointed me. I was outraged, I was sickened,” he said and Draco listened, hanging on to every word he said, knowing the Dark Lord never spoke of things that were not significant.

“He needed to be punished, but he is locked up, ironically safe from harm at the moment in that prison. I must admit, my decision was rash and harsh, but you must understand, boy, my hurt,” he said, his voice hinting at some sort of emotion that was close to distress if it weren't so much more mocking. “He shamed me, and the rest of us. He needed to be taught a lesson,” he said. “Look at me, Draco,” he said after a moment, speaking so calmly.

Draco took a deep breath and raised his head while his eyes remained closed. Finally opening them he saw the Dark Lord before him. Voldemort was even more terrifying than he had imagined. Harry Potter had faced this creature…several times…and lived? Draco was glad he had agreed to Occlumency lessons. What would the Dark Lord have done if he had just seen those thoughts of his?

Voldemort's skin looked moist and soft, all the veins showing through like blue spider webs. His eyes were shinning and red, his nose gone leaving two snake-like slits in its place. His mouth was lipless, like a gash across his face. Bald, tall, and slender, he not only looked intimidating, but oozed a feeling of dread. Almost like a Dementor did.

Draco shivered.

“I'm sorry, boy, that you had to be so viciously harmed to teach your father a lesson, but it had to be done,” he said, looking down at Draco with what should have been sympathy and sounded like it, but was so false it was almost insulting. “When I sent Greyback to your house, I told him he could have any Malfoy he desired. He wanted so much to run into your mother. Oh how he has fancied her for years. But she had left earlier that afternoon, leaving only you,” he said wistfully. “I thought he would simply rape your mother, or kill you. I had no idea he would infect anyone,” he said and Draco stared up at him, his pale eyes wide as he panted, unable to catch a proper breath.

Infected?

Greyback?

No!

“My Lord,” Draco managed after a moment, hiding his inner horror from the Dark Lord.

“What better punishment though, really, is there for poor old Lucius? His precious heir, his only son, his pureblooded spoiled prince, a child he had once fought so hard to keep…now a werewolf. It is almost too delectably suited for words,” he bubbled and Draco felt dizzy. If he weren't already practically lying on the floor he would have tipped over.

Werewolf?

He felt like he was going to be sick.

“Of course, you have your uses still, so I am not angry with Greyback for having let you live,” he said, holding out his hand to indicate something to his right. Draco looked over and saw Greyback leaning against the wall, looking ragged and dirty, arms crossed over his chest. Draco's heart stopped and he wondered for a moment if it was going to start again. Greyback made a kissing motion at Draco before smirking to show sharp canine teeth and Draco's heart was suddenly hammering in his chest.

“You are scared of him,” Voldemort commented, smiling. “I can taste your fear, and so can he,” he said, Draco looking back at the Dark Lord, shaking. “You will be feeling substantially better after this first moon. Still sick of course, but not quite in this,” he paused as though thinking of a word he wanted, “dying sort of way. Wolfsbane would have helped you,” he said with a mean smile, commenting on Draco's deathly appearance. “You have only three nights until the full moon, boy, I suggest you make arrangements,” he said, turning in a sweeping motion to sit on a stone throne that stood in the center back of the large empty room, iron chandeliers hanging from the dark ceiling to burn dim candles and iron wall brackets with more candles being all that decorated the vastly empty room. There were chains that jiggled and moved in the corner, like something inviable was tethered there. The throne itself resembled some sort of great serpent, but Draco could not make it out in the dim light, or was it his vision that was so dim?

Draco was panting then, unable to get enough air.

Greyback…werewolf…infected…make arrangements…punishment, these things kept cycling through his mind over and over, none sinking in yet. It was a dog, it was a dog…that was all his brain kept saying. Butler Paul said it had been a dog…

“You alive, however, has its uses. I have need of you, and I believe you were saying to your aunt just how much you desired the chance to prove yourself loyal?” the Dark Lord continued, smiling wickedly down at Draco as Draco tried to make sense of everything he had just been told.

He wasn't even listening to the Dark Lord anymore. The purpose behind why he had even called before him -something about a task and proving himself- driven completely from his mind.

What was he going to do?

He was sick…he was a werewolf…

Oh God…

What would he tell his mother?

It didn't take the Dark Lord long to tell Draco what he wanted, and Draco was unable to fully comprehend all that he was told. The Dark Lord gave him his directions in writing, so there wouldn't be any confusion, the acid green paper blank to anyone who should try and read it but Draco.

Bellatrix helped Draco from the room, Draco incapable of standing on his own and that was not for a lack of trying on his part. Greyback seemed infinitely amused by the sight and Voldemort looked bored and a little annoyed with the weakness that Draco was displaying.

Draco was walked out of the chamber, practically carried by his aunt, but her allowing him to maintain the illusion that he was walking while in the presence of the Dark Lord. Once the door was closed behind them he sagged and Bellatrix let him sit on the floor.

“What did he say?” she asked, sounding excited, pleased, greedy, blood on her hands from helping Draco.

“I cannot say,” Draco whispered, little breath in his lungs.

“What do you mean you can't say?” she demanded.

“He said I could not tell anyone,” he said while managing to pull himself standing, using some chains that hung from the stone wall.

“Draco,” she scolded, putting her hands on her hips, having expected her only nephew to turn to her, to trust her.

Draco stood, weakly, and attempted a step. He did not fall. He was pleased. He started walking towards the long hallway he had been dragged down before, intent on finding his way back to the fireplace he had come in through. He wanted to go home.

“Draco, speak to me,” Bellatrix demanded. Draco just shook his head. She grabbed his arm and looked intently at him and he refused to look at her, knowing she wanted to look into his mind. He could keep her out, so long as she did not look him in the eyes.

Bellatrix Disapparated from that spot, taking Draco home. They appeared on the Apparition point of Draco's home and Draco pulled away. Butler Paul was standing across the room, by the fireplace still. He looked over and dropped his folded arms upon seeing Draco and Bellatrix.

“Draco,” he called, Draco stepping down off the slightly raised platform, stumbling slightly.

“Draco, what were you told?” Bellatrix asked again.

“Draco, what's going on? What did he want?” Butler Paul asked, less forcefully than Draco's aunt.

Draco turned to them, tears running down his cheeks.

“He said that…he said that he sent Greyback here…he said that I'm sick as punishment for my father failing him,” he cried, hiccupping slightly, not being told he could not speak of that part at least. He hadn't been able to properly break down while in front of the Dark Lord, and his mind had been foggy, reeling, and numb up until just then. Now his mind was spinning and the helplessness, no, hopelessness that he felt was overwhelming.

“Draco, I'm sorry,” Butler Paul said softly, wanting to hug the boy but knowing Draco would hurt as a result. He looked the boy over and his heart nearly stopped. There was blood splatter on the floor in a trail where Draco had already stepped. “Draco,” he whispered, looking down at the blood.

“You need my help, Draco,” Bellatrix pressed, not taking in Draco's appearance like Butler Paul had, even with Draco's blood on her hands and arm. “I can help you…whatever it is the Dark Lord has asked of you, I can help,” she assured.

“I have to do this alone,” Draco said, turning away. He was sick, he was scared, but he was still determined to do exactly what he had confessed to his aunt, his desire to prove to the Dark Lord that he was a faithful, loyal, powerful Death Eater. It had been a dream of his growing up to meet the Dark Lord. Like most kids that dreamed of meeting past Presidents, or Musicians -all long dead- Draco never thought his dream would come true and he had simply idolized the Dark Lord . Now that Voldemort was back from the dead, now that he had met him, he was going to prove to him that he was superior, and it would be the Dark Lord and him, just like he had always thought it should be.

“Draco, come with me, we need to get you to St. Mungo's,” Butler Paul urged and Draco turned and shouted at the same time Bellatrix did.

“No!” they both said.

“But, you're sick, you're dying,”

“I have to go, I…I have a lot to think through, and I don't have a lot of time…and I…” Draco muttered, rambling on as he turned away.

“You can't expect him to stay here, he needs proper Healers,” Butler Paul yelled at Bellatrix.

“There is no way we can take him to that Ministry run hospital. You want the whole WORLD finding out about this?”

“I can't help but feel you are more concerned with appearances that your nephew's health, or his life,” Butler Paul accused, pointing at the woman.

“He doesn't want his mother knowing and I agree that Narcissa finding out about this will be a disaster. We can help him here while hiding this. Really, what needs to be done is for him to tell me what the Dark Lord wanted so that I can help him!”

“You can't be serious! You care more about pleasing that damn Dark Lord than you do about seeing Draco healthy!”

Draco was walking away, shakily when Bellatrix grabbed his right wrist.

“Draco, we are both worried about you, Paul and I, and we can help you, but we can't unless you let us,” she said darkly.

“Leave me alone!” Draco shouted, pulling his arm away. He was feeling a little betrayed that his aunt had known what was going on with him but hadn't said anything. He wouldn't have listened or believed her, but why hadn't she tried to help him? Butler Paul had and Draco felt guilty for fighting the man on it so greatly (his pride being what kept him from accepting his help now) but his aunt had just let him get sicker and sicker, while hating his father…Draco was hurt.

“Draco,” Bellatrix attempted.

“No,” he tried to shout again but could only manage a firm tone. He turned away and swooned a little.

“Draco,” Butler Paul managed to gasp just as Draco collapsed onto the floor.

Draco woke up in an instant, but it wasn't an instant, he knew this because he was wrapped up in tight, clean bandages and lying in bed. He could hear angry voices out in the hall.

“He could have died,” Butler Paul hissed.

“It is not MY fault he took too much Blood-Replenishing Potion and nearly bled himself to death as a result,” Bellatrix snapped back at him. They were standing outside the room; Draco believed to still be asleep apparently.

“He needs to go see some Healers. We have two days now until the full moon and his mother will be back in a week-”

“She cannot be told of this! Draco doesn't want it and I know it to be unwise…It would break Narcissa's heart,” she said. Draco, back in the room, felt a tear slide down his cheek.

Being a werewolf would break his mother's heart.

He would break his mother's heart if he told her…told her what he was…he was a werewolf…a werewolf. He couldn't bear to do that; to hurt her… so he couldn't tell her, he wouldn't tell her.

Oh God, what was he going to do now?

Draco rolled over and groaned. He felt trapped and then realized that wasn't part of the dream, he really was, physically, trapped. Looking down he found each arm hugged by one of his children, their heads on his chest, sleeping soundly. Draco looked at each of them then let his head fall back into his pillow.

Getting up was going to be difficult if he didn't wake them.

“Hey, ankle-biters, Daddy needs to get up,” he said softly, wigging his shoulders to rouse them slightly. “Come on,” he urged, Michelangelo falling away first but Clarissa still clinging tight. Michelangelo just rolled over while wrapping himself up in his blanket so he could sleep on in a cocoon, but Clarissa whined and moaned as Draco tried to get her off his arm.

“Come on, sweet pea,” he encouraged, gently pulling at her little hands so he could sit up the rest of the way. Clarissa started whining with her eyes still closed, cheeks starting to flush pink in the telltale signs that she was about to start crying.

“Daddy is just going to work,” he assured, kissing her forehead but unable to stop her onset of tears. She was a daddy's girl to say the least, and not a morning person on top of that. She and Michelangelo were both terribly possessive and clingy towards him since he had gotten out of prison and they were able to hug and hold and touch each other for the first time, (not through cold bars) but Michelangelo was possessive more and Clarissa was clingy more. She didn't want to let go of him sometimes.

Draco sighed, knowing she wasn't going to stop crying once she started. He stood and scooped his daughter up in his arms with a groan and carried her out of the room with her clinging to his shoulder and side. She was eleven years old, and though still physically small, she was much too old to be carried around like a baby while crying. But he gave in to her, always. He couldn't deny it, he sometimes wanted to hug his babies and never let them go either.

He couldn't let her cry, so he carried her out of his room while she tucked her face into his neck and sobbed.

There was a reason why he left in the mornings without waking the children.

Draco set her down at the kitchen table where she sobbed a little, hiccupping mostly, and he comforted her for a moment while offering her a glass of water, assuring her over and over that he was not leaving her and only going to work, and that he loved her, and pleaded with her to stop crying. He got her to calm down considerably before walking into the living room, down the hall, to the bathroom where he washed up.

He could hear her pathetic sobs carry through the door in the quiet house and sighed.

All she had to do was cry and she could get him to do anything she wanted. Michelangelo was just as manipulative but cried a whole lot less. Unfortunately, he couldn't stay home from work, even if he wanted to. The full moon was the following night, and he would miss work then. They couldn't afford him to not go in three days in a single week. Missing the two, the day of and the day after the full moon, would be bad enough.

Freshened up, Draco walked out into the living room and saw through the doorway that Clarissa had slumped over at the little kitchen table and had fallen back asleep, eyes still puffy pink and nose red. He picked her back up and with a smile and laid her down on the couch, throwing the blanket she had dragged from the bedroom with them over her and tucked her in warmly. He kissed her cheek and went back to his bedroom to dress. Within ten minutes he was locking up the house behind him and heading to catch the bus. His mother, who lived just a few buildings over, would be by before the children even woke to make them breakfast and to watch them until he got home.

“Malfoy, you are later than usual,” Coderdale said as Draco rushed into the room, limping with his cane.

“Had a slow morning and the bus was held up,” he replied.

“That Rossiter chap was by already looking for you. He couldn't linger, however, from what I gathered, he left almost as soon as he got here.”

“Reamann was here? Dear God, it's not even five-thirty in the morning now. What time did he come in?” Draco said, freezing to stare at Coderdale.

“About five, just as I was coming in," Coderdale said, having taken to coming in early. The man functioned off of four hours of sleep, honestly. He had no family and Draco had the suspicion that he was his only “friend.” It was a lonely job, Draco the only one that worked down there on the early shift, Coderdale alone on the late…and Draco assumed Coderdale came in more for himself, so he would have someone to see and talk to each day, than he did for Draco. The man came in early, letting Draco do most of the work while he lingered mostly, and then worked the late shift after Draco went home. It was no wonder the man's paleness rivaled his own. The man lived underground.

“What did he need? Was it an emergency? He has my address,” Draco said, taking his faded cloak off and laying it across the back of his chair to then lean heavily on his cane. Carrying Clarissa had done him in for the day. She was small, but he was a day away from the moon.

“Apparently there was another attack and he wanted you to come along. When he realized you weren't in yet he just left, rushing off to the scene I guess.”

“There was another attack?” Draco repeated, shocked.

“He couldn't tell me anything, he had not been to the scene yet, but he had been called out of bed and everything. He looked stressed and was dressed haphazardly.”

“But that, that doesn't fit,” Draco said, looking at Coderdale to see into the old man's mind and see what he had seen that morning in regards to Reamann. “There was an attack yesterday. The pattern clearly indicates that we shouldn't expect another attack for at least six days,” he said feeling frazzled, seeing into Coderdale's mind and understanding what he had meant when he had said Reamann had looked disheveled and tired like he had just rolled out of bed.

“I'm sorry that I can't tell you more, Draco,” Coderdale said sadly, seeing how stressed Draco suddenly looked. “So that was how your hair got on the scene yesterday,” he said and Draco looked at him, “you went there with Reamann?”

“Yeah, Sebastian is not going to like that.”

“He would prefer that you were the one behind it.”

“Yeah, so he can bust my balls.” Draco sighed. “Well shit,” he said, running his hand through his hair and then pulling a fist full of the ends down by his hips. “There goes any hope of having a halfway decent day,” he said, collapsing into his chair.

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

Reamann had been on the scene since five-thirty that morning and he wanted nothing more than to leave, but this case seemed to require so much more of him and his services.

The victim was carted away babbling incoherently, eyes rolling around in his head wildly, head bobbing around as he rocked back and forth, or attempted to with the straps holding him down.

Reamann supposed that the only thing that made up for there being two attacks in as many days was that the second victim had not died, though honestly, in the state the man was left in, it might have been merciful to have killed him. Was that why the one responsible had left him alive? To be cruel?

“Shit,” Reamann said, rubbing his face. Their only pattern to work with was ruined. Now they honestly had no clue, not even when to expect to find the next victim. He was not even humoring the idea of preempting the next attack. They were definitely several steps behind the aggressor and quickly falling behind.

Reamann could not even dwell.

There were Muggles and wizards on the scene that needed someone in the middle to defuse the situation. This was the first scene with so many witches and wizards present, and they seemed bothered enough by the Muggles to want to confound all of them and send them away. Reamann was there to remind them that they could not do that. It sort of turned him into the “bad guy” in the situation, neither side too happy to have to deal with him, let alone listen to him.

The only upside to having so many witches and wizards on the scene was that he would likely not have to write a report, so many being there to not have to summarize it to the department, which made not being able to get a hold of Malfoy that morning okay…but he still wished he could have brought him again. He had a feeling however Draco would have turned him down, not wanting to risk connecting himself to another crime scene.

“Rossiter,” a woman called over to him. Reamann hurried over to the witch.

“Yes?”

“Can you please do something about all these Muggles? They are asking impossible questions and I can't honestly deal with them much longer,” she said, looking ready to pull handfuls of her own silky black hair out.

“I can't and you know that. I will have a word with the Constable, see if I can't get his people to back down a little, but I can't tell them to stop doing their jobs anymore than I can you,” he sighed.

“Just keep the damn Muggles away from me and there won't be any need to call in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad out here,”

“It would be an accident, you jinxing the little Muggles?” he said, almost able to smile.

“Of course it would,” she said with an innocent yet fierce bat of her eyelashes.

Reamann shook his head and sighed. It had been a long morning and it looked like it would be a long afternoon.

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

Author's Note:

Page 488 of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, a man who was bitten by a werewolf that was sharing a St. Mungo's room with Author Weasley, was described as “ looking green and sickly,” and that there were still “two weeks till full moon.” It is my assumption then that in the JKR world you are sick from the time you are bitten until your first shift. I took some liberties then, by reading between the lines. I took a stance that the wounds caused by a werewolf cannot be healed because Author was in that room because his wounds from Nagini could not be healed by magic and thusly why they had to use Muggle stitches to try and hold the wound close while supplying him with Blood-Replenishing Potion as he continuously blead. The Woman that shared the room with him was bitten by “something” but wouldn't tell the Healers what, and thus why they were struggling to heal her, and then there was the werewolf who had "no cure".

I simply assumed they all shared the room because they all had un-healable injuries. Like everyone in a Burn Ward has some kind of burn.

I believe that the man in the hospital was a little healthier than Draco (though clearly depressed) after only two weeks, where as Draco was a little more than three weeks from his attack, because I assumed that the hospital would be supplying him with Wolfsbane as part of his “treatment,” something Draco stubbornly refused to try while denying he was sick or that it was a werewolf that had attacked him. Draco is very sick in the flashback because he was refusing treatment, and rest, and he was bleeding freely a LOT, and thus his body was just broke-down and exhausted. I believe that was all canon, but I did rely on outside werewolf lore too.

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12. Chapter 12

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twelve

“Where's Malfoy?” Reamann asked, looking around the Hall of Records. It was early morning, but not that early. Draco should have been in by then.

“I'm sorry, Draco isn't in today,” Coderdale said, softly folding a book closed and looking over at the man who had just rushed into the hall.

“Today? Now? But this is really important,” he said, smoothing down his hair compulsively.

“I'm sure if Draco could reach up into the heavens and influence the phase of the moon, he would, but not for your convenience, Mr. Rossiter,” Coderdale said smoothly, though some harshness was there in his words.

“The full moon is not until this evening,” he said in frustrated helplessness. He had been caught up all day yesterday and all night with the case, unable to get a hold of Draco at any point in that time. He had counted on being able to talk to him today. Now he was not even in!

“Clearly you have very little understanding of his condition if you think that he would be up to being out and about the day of the moon. Stress gets to him, and you have put him under more than usual,” Coderdale said, sounding more than a touch angry now. “Do not bother him today, or tomorrow. Do not Floo him, do not send him an owl, do not go to him for anything on this dreadful case,” he ordered.

“But,”

“You do your job for once and let Draco be,” Coderdale said firmly, looking at Reamann with harsh grey eyes. Draco was his friend and he did not like it when people made him sick, or rather, sicker than usual. He had to admit that he was a little protective of Draco, he had come to think of him almost like a son, and he had a feeling Draco only mildly resented it, some part of him appreciative of and longing for a doting father figure.

Reamann took a deep breath and sighed.

“Yes sir,” he said softly, leaving the hall with only a subdued “thank you” to Coderdale for his trouble.

He wanted to talk to Draco, he needed to talk to Draco, but maybe he was relying too much on him. Maybe he was expecting too much from him. He had not even realized how much he asked of Draco and how much he demanded of him, until he was suddenly not there to turn to. He felt bad for it, but that didn't change the fact that he really did need to talk to him.

“Shit,” Reamann muttered, walking up the stairs with angry shuffling feet.

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

“Reamann, you need to relax,” Ginny urged while she stood in his office just a few hours later, trying to persuade him to go out to lunch with her.

“How can I relax? My most trusted and needed informant is unavailable for two days, at least, not to mention the fact that I couldn't get in touch with him yesterday, and we just had a major development in the case. We have a Muggle tortured to babbling insanity being sedated at St. Mungo's and we are no closer, if quite possibly farther, from solving this!” he said, gripping his smoothly slicked back hair so that it stuck out between his fingers.

“Reamann, I know this is not going well, and it's terrible what is happening…I can't imagine how the Ministry is keeping all this quiet still…but you can't drive yourself bonkers over it. It's not healthy and it's accomplishing nothing,” she said, remaining so calm and level-headed.

“I just, I just can't go out and enjoy a lunch right now, Gin, not with that poor man in St. Mungo's…I, I have to try and find who did that to him. I can't go off and-”

“Appreciate life?” Ginny finished for him. She could tell he was upset, his stutter showing through a little, but she needed him to understand that getting this worked up would only make the case that much worse to endure. “Reamann, you shouldn't feel guilty because you have a good life. You should enjoy it, so that it is not wasted on you when so many others have it so much harder. You do them wrong to be ungrateful for what you have,” she said and Reamann sighed.

“I just don't have an appetite at the moment. I swear, I'll come home tonight and we will have dinner together and I won't mention the case. Just let me work now, so I can have it all done by then,” he said, smoothing his hair flat again with repetitive motions.

Ginny nodded.

“I figured you would blow me off; I already owled Hermione to meet me. I told her I would likely be coming alone,” she said, turning away.

“Ginny, don't be like this,” he called after her as she left his office.

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

“God, sometimes I find him so infuriating,” Ginny said later, sitting across from Hermione in a little restaurant in London, blocks from department store Purge and Dowse Ltd. that acted as the false front for St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries where Hermione worked. She was actually the head Healer on the very case Reamann was working on, caring for the Muggles that had survived so far. She was dealing with the case firsthand and one wouldn't be able to tell by how calm and collected she was at the moment while Ginny had her breakdown.

“He's a guy, he's young, and he's stressed. You have to admit, this case has everyone a bit off; just look at Ron,” Hermione said, sympathetically, Ron having been stressing over the case ever since he had been brought up before the Head of the Aurors on “breach of protocol.” He could not even remember clearly the scene he had been at, and was convinced he had gone mental for a brief moment, possibly at the shock of the scene. He knew better than to wear robes to a scene, but luckily it was his first warning.

“I understand he is stressed,” Ginny said, talking about Reamann again, “but, it's just…damn…I don't know. I don't feel like he appreciates what he has.”

“You being one of those things?” Hermione inquired knowingly.

“No…well, a little. He blew me off today, but I understand the entire department is uptight and he really couldn't come out, but I mean…” she sighed, unable to put into words how she felt. She didn't question that Reamann loved her, but there was just something so distant about him and that was only compounded by other things. “It's just sometimes I get the feeling that he sees his life as difficult. His life! I mean, he has a fairly comfortable and easy life and he didn't even know about the wizarding world when the Dark Lord returned, he was a Muggle-born first year when Dumbledore…” she froze and then continued on, not completing that specific thought or sentence. “I mean, I know he was scared like the rest of the wizarding world at that time, but honestly, he did not understand who the Dark Lord was, or why everyone was so afraid, he saw none of the fighting, the war having had little effect on him! He knows what I had gone through, yet he talks to me of all people about how tough he has it at times, and sometimes I just can't stand to hear it,” she said, pulling on her long hair a little.

“I can see how that can get annoying,” Hermione said as smoothly as ever.

“I mean, sure, I would let Draco rant on about tough times all he likes and listen, but Reamann is just…” she said, realizing too late what she was saying and stopping, eyes wide.

“Draco?” Hermione pressed, eyeing Ginny. “You two are on a first name basis now?” she enquired, setting her coffee cup down and folding her arms one on top of the other on the table.

“No, I…all I was saying is that, compared to some, Reamann doesn't have it so bad…”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head slowly. “You meant compared to Draco, Reamann doesn't have it so bad. You are not insulted by Reamann because you had a rough time in the war or since, you are insulted on Draco's behalf,” she said, Ginny letting her face fall into her hands while propping her elbows up on the table.

“Hermione,” she attempted to plead but Hermione pressed on.

“What has been going on between you and Malfoy, Gin? You two had lunch, now you are getting annoyed at your boyfriend because you feel he is disrespecting Malfoy, Malfoy of all people.”

“It's not what you think,” she said.

“What is it that I think, Ginny?” Hermione pushed, trying to force Ginny to say it.

“There is nothing going on between me and Draco Malfoy, Hermione, I swear. I just had lunch with him, one time, and we talked a bit. It was nice.”

“See, that's where you have me, Gin. You just said it was `nice.' Draco Malfoy is not nice. He is not sweet, and he is not pleasant,” she said, furrowing her brow in something caught between slight anger, and pity.

“How do you know?” Ginny snapped.

“Well, how do you?” Hermione retorted, causing Ginny's mouth to fall open.

“Oh God,” she said, putting her hands over her eyes again.

“Gin, what is going on?” Hermione pressed on firmly now, not easing up, Ginny on the verge of telling all.

“You can't say anything to anyone,” Ginny started, Hermione agreeing readily, knowing any story starting with an oath to never tell another soul was a story worth hearing.

“Sure thing, Ginny.”

“You have to understand, Draco is a great deal many things, and I don't pretend or claim to know or understand him…he is possibly more complex than even Harry,” she said and Hermione snorted at that, skeptical, to say the least. “But I think I'm one of the only people out there that can honestly say I have seen more than one side of him, more than just that pretentious act he is always fronting,” she said and Hermione tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at her.

“A front is it?”

“Don't get me wrong, he is a snob, and he is a chauvinistic bigot, and he is a bully, but that is not all that he is,” she said, patting her hands on the table nervously. “I think he does that, the bullying and what not, to keep people away.”

“Well, I should hope he is more three-dimensional than that, but I always figured he was just a mama's boy and a brat on the other side of things,” she said, looking to Ginny to see if she was wrong. “I'm not so sure about the keeping people away part though. He always seemed to be looking for new and meaner ways to get more attention while in Hogwarts.”

“No…well yes, there is that, but you see, Draco is really good at, I don't know, compartmentalizing himself? His whole life really,” she said, thinking hard about how to word what she felt so strongly. He had tried to explain this about himself to her thirteen years ago, and even he had struggled with the words. “I have seen it, his control he has over himself and his emotions. He can so effectively close himself off at his choosing it's astounding and a little unnerving. I have seen him shut down his pity, or his compassion, or his kindness, or whatever the situation calls for, so that he can get by and do what he must. He closes himself off; I think to prevent him from being hurt. He comes across somewhat unflappable, and really he is, all that control key to mastering and becoming a Legilimens,” she said, Hermione nodding slowly and saying nothing, already understanding the art of Occlumency and Legilimency and the kind of people that exceled at it. They both knew Draco was quite skilled in said abilities, rumored (or hyped) to rival Dumbledore now, that being one of the major reasons why Draco was so hard to trust.

Ginny took a deep breath.

“Draco is a great deal many things, like I said, but he only lets people see a few of those things, and they tend to be the bad. I have seen him when he is being, I don't know, himself? More of himself?” she attempted, not even sure how to explain that and put to words.

“Is it an act?” Hermione suggested, referring to what Draco had supposedly shown Ginny and no one else. She saw it as so much easier for Draco to have put on a show for Ginny than for him to have fooled everyone else for years.

“Why are you so unwilling to believe that Draco is a real human being, Hermione? Why does it have to be an act? I know you feel guilty about helping send him away to Azkaban and so turning him into some arsehole that is only half a person at best helps you sleep at night, but can you at least humor the idea that he has an emotional range greater than that of a teaspoon, for my sake?” she snapped. Hermione looked shocked and hurt at first, but then her face fell, unable to deny Ginny's accusations.

“I'm sorry, Gin, I'm not being fair to you…or him,” she said slowly, almost not wanting to include Draco in her apology. Ginny's cheeks were still slightly flushed from her anger. “It's not an act, not the part you saw. He closes himself off from everyone…but why? To not be hurt seems hard to believe, who would hurt him if he was actually nice? I know most everyone back at Hogwarts wanted nothing more than to jinx his pasty arse because of how horribly he treated everyone around him,” she said, trying to proceed while being supportive so Ginny would stop glaring at her.

Ginny thought on that for a moment and Hermione giving her an inquisitive look.

"He had told me, years ago on that night he and I spent talking before the final battle, something about being 'under socialized' as a child by his parents keeping him sheltered and alone in their manor, his only friends being a select few approved children of other Death Eater families that were basically ordered to be his friends," she said, feeling that same swell of pity for Draco she had all those years ago. Hermione's eyes softened slightly. "Draco confessed to me that he had been ill equipped in knowing how to interact with other children and people in general upon entering Hogwarts and thus why he had been so mean and why he had clung so tightly to his clique of Slytherin students that he had known and run with for years. Really, he had actually been terribly insecure and lonely while in Hogwarts, something I never would have imagined given how cocky and bold he always seemed to come across," she said. Ginny had simply believed him when he had told her all that, that he withdrew from others, felt awkwardly distant and unapproachable, but she had not asked why he felt he had to push, why he felt he couldn't have made friends. She assumed it had something to do with the ideals his parents has instilled in him: that there were no others in the school worth of his friendship.

“That's terrible,”

“It doesn't excuse his cruelty, but…” she said, letting the thought dangle there between them.

Hermione didn't say anything, and for a long time neither did Ginny.

Ginny then swallowed hard.

“Hermione, I need to tell you something,” she said, taking a deep breath, knowing Hermione would not understand how she felt only knowing half the story, what little she had told her just now.

She told Hermione about the afternoon Draco had “betrayed” them and then saved her life. She told her -in great detail- about that day, what she and Draco had said to each other, and explained everything. She attempted to put in plain words all she knew about Draco because of that night, and hoped Hermione would believe her and not think of her as simply delusional and that she had baught into some “act” or “lie” on Draco's part. Hermione listened intently, but then Ginny got to the part of the tale where Draco and she had kissed, she froze.

Could she tell Hermione about that?

She was her best friend, and she had already confessed to so much already, why did she feel uneasy about confessing this to her?

Did she fear her reaction would be the same as Harry's, the only person who knew, because he had seen it?

“Hermione,” she said slowly.

“Ginny?”

“If I told you that, that night, Draco Malfoy kissed me, what would you do?” she asked, not making eye contact, face burning from her blush.

Hermione stared.

“I would ask if you were joking, but I get the feeling you are not. Ginny, please tell me Draco Malfoy didn't kiss you those years ago,” she said, her coffee forgotten while still in her hands and halfway to her mouth.

“Not just that night, but on our lunch together, and when I visited him in the Hall of Records two days ago,” she said quietly, looking down at the table, at her spoon, at her shoe, anywhere but the woman sitting across from her who was staring at her open mouthed. She had not told Hermione about visiting Draco the other day, or giving him a gift, she hadn't gotten that far in her little story. Now she knew though.

“Ginny,” she gasped.

“You promised you wouldn't tell anyonecly,” Ginny reminded her.

“Oh, I know I did, but I never said I wouldn't go ballistic over this. Merlin!” she gasped, her exclamation getting a few Muggles to look their way for a moment. “You are serious; Draco Malfoy has kissed you three times, two in the last week?”

Ginny just nodded, not wanting to even say “yes.”

“Oh my,” Hermione said, leaning away from the table until her back thumped against her chair.

“That's not all,” Ginny continued and Hermione froze. “I kissed him back…fiercely,” she admitted, biting her bottom lip then.

Half the restaurant looked over at them then at Hermione's exclamation of “WHAT?”

“'Mione, please,” Ginny hissed, looking around at the room and the Muggles that were staring at them.

“You're joking…you're lying…please tell me this is some twisted prank you are playing on me,” she pleaded with Ginny. Ginny just dared a glance up at her. “Oh Merlin have mercy,” she said, turning away, unable to make eye contact with Ginny then.

“I don't know what to do,” she said.

“I think avoiding Draco Malfoy would be your best and smartest plan.”

“But,”

“But what?”

“But I don't want to avoid him,” Ginny confessed.

“Ginny, what are you saying?”

“I'm saying,” she said, starting slowly so as to consider her words carefully. “I genuinely enjoy Draco's company. Reamann has been wearing on me for a while now, and the family has been pressuring us together while I have wanted nothing more than to take a break and find myself.”

“Wait, wait, wait, so you are having warm, fuzzy feelings for Draco Malfoy, and you are talking about breaking up with Reamann? Ginny, what the hell is going on with you? I thought you were happy. I'm your best friend and if someone had asked me an hour ago if you were happy and content with your life I would have said `yes, absolutely'! How is it that I did not know at least about your feelings in regards to Reamann?” she asked, sounding hurt and even a little insulted.

“I just closed myself off to the whole situation. I didn't want to deal with it, so I just didn't. But while I was busy not dealing with it, things progressed to the point where I can't just drop everything and end it now,” she said, gripping the roots of her hair.

“Ginny-”

“Please, don't lecture me,” Ginny cut her off.

“I don't mean to, nor do I really want to, but you have just admitted to not wanting to be with Reamann. That's just astounding to me. Maybe all you need is a break from him to collect yourself before you are able to continue on, but these…feelings…you have for Malfoy. You sure they are not just your “bad-boy” partiality, which all us girls have in us, acting up?” she asked.

“You saying, I'm only attracted to Draco because I'm looking for an excuse to not be with Reamann and because Draco has this tough persona about him that appeals to the adolescent girl in me? Because if you are I don't feel like you have paid attention to anything I have yet said,” she snapped. Hermione balled her hands up into fists in frustration but then relaxed them.

“Ginny, let's not make a row of this. Let's think and talk this through,” she said calmly. “You want to take a break from Reamann but can't, you have feelings for…Draco Malfoy…but can't act on them because you are with Reamann,” she said and Ginny nodded.

“That about sums it up,” she said sadly.

“So what are you going to do, because honestly, you seem to be in a pickle with no real way of not ending up miserable.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Ginny said flatly.

“Gin, I think you should talk to Reamann about all this.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he won't listen, he never does. He is too engrossed in his own perceived hardships and problems to give a hoot about mine.”

“Ginny,”

“Hermione?” she said, suddenly sounding timid upon coming to a realization and a decision.

“Yes?”

“I need to ask you to help me do something, something major, something that goes against all reason and moral principles and will positively infuriate my family should they ever find out, never mind the tabloids should they get wind of this,” she said. Hermione nodded, not sure what she was even agreeing to yet, but knowing that being Ginny's best friend basically meant she would have to be there for her, regardless.

“Hermione, I need help cheating on Reamann,” she said, looking directly into her friend's eyes, “with Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione looked pale.

“You're serious.”

“I know it is a terrible, thing to consider, let alone do: to cheat on someone…but I'm not sure what I want from Reaman anymore, or how I feel about him. I'm not sure if all I really want is a fling, or if I'm actually looking for an all new and serious relationship in Draco…I'm not sure how I feel about Draco, or what he means to me, or even how he truly feels about me…I just don't know,” she said, gripping her hair again, “But I see something in Draco that I don't see in Reamann and I think it is something Draco doesn't allow many to see. I think that means something. Maybe he is just looking for a hookup himself, maybe he thinks I'm someone worthy of seeing all of him…more of him…maybe I'm crazy and reading way too far into him, I don't know! But I have to try and find out,” she said, fierce at that last.

“So what, you are going to have me help you come up with excuses as to why you can't be places so you can run off and snog Draco Malfoy? You want me to lie to Reamann and your family about where you are and what you are doing while you are shagging him?” she asked, voice becoming more and more outraged and thusly louder as she went on.

“That would be nice,” Ginny said in a very small voice.

Hermione looked like she was beyond words at that point and just sat there, face flushed and jaw clenched.

“Hermione, I don't mean for you to do anything that would get you in hot water with the family, but I really hoped to have your support in this, while I attempt to find myself,” Ginny said, attempting to plead her case again after a moment.

“Support in what, support in hurting Reamann, a decent and sweet man? Help you hook up with Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater and a werewolf and…”

“You know Hermione, for someone who claims such open-mindedness while shunning Draco as a bigot, you have quite a few prejudices in you,” Ginny snapped. “Since when do you care if someone is a werewolf? It's fine until one wants to date someone you care about? And you know better than most that Draco was not a Death Eater, not really, that being why he makes you feel so guilty. You are just being cruel, and I expected better from you.”

“Ginny, no, no, I'm sorry. I did not mean it like that. I just…oh hell,” she said, looking away and collecting herself. “I don't trust him,” she said and Ginny waited for her to explain herself. Hermione felt like she owed Lupin an apology all of a sudden over the werewolf thing. “He has always been ambiguous, and a more than a little shady. Azkaban does things to people, none of which are good.”

“Harry said something along those lines,” Ginny muttered, recalling hers and Harry's conversation on Draco Malfoy a week before.

“I have seen Draco in St. Mungo's. He goes there every once in a while begging for potions but never goes there for the full moon, I think he is kept up exclusively at the Ministry for that. He's like an addict, Gin. I understand that he is in pain, many werewolves have to put up with that, but he abuses painkillers, and alcohol, and a number of potions to deal with that and had to be barred from receiving anymore potions from Healers,” she said, practically pleading with Ginny to understand what she was trying to say. She did not even mention Draco's temper or poor test results when it came to his mental evaluation and stability; the last was confidential under patient-Healer law.

“I understand he has issues, we all do because of the war, and Harry and Ron aren't exactly poster children for sobriety,” she said bitterly, remembering one of the things that drove her and Harry apart. “I'm willing to give Draco a chance when the world is not. I think he deserves that much,” she said, crossing her arms.

Hermione seemed to almost growl before breathing deeply and calming herself all over again.

“So this is what you want to do,” she said, holding out some last hope that Ginny would come to her senses.

“Yes,” Ginny said firmly.

“You know I'll support you no matter what you do, and that I love you, and that you are my best friend,” she said and Ginny nodded, leaning forward across the table to clutch Hermione's hand in hers warmly.

“I know,” she said softly.

“I really need to talk to Draco myself. I mean, you can still do whatever you want, you are a grown woman, but I want to see him, see what he is like and see if you are right about him. I can understand and accept that I have had the wrong perception of him for years, but you can't deny that there is a meanness in him. It was all that he let show for a long time, but it was not an act,” she said, remembering painfully all his bullying, as juvenile as it was.

“I know,” Ginny sighed, knowing Draco was far from Price Charming, but hoping that she could somehow lure out the better half of him, as to hopefully create a balance so that his meanness and cruelty were not so dominating. That was every woman's foolish ambition when it came to dating.

“When do you intend to start this love affair? Next week, next month?” Hermione asked, sounding a little sour about the whole idea still. Surely Ginny didn't intend to start fooling around on her boyfriend of three years the week before Christmas.

“I was thinking about inviting him to the Annual Remembrance Ball on Christmas Eve,” she said and flinched as Hermione choked.

“What?” she gasped.

“He has just as much right to be there as the rest of us, even if he is not one of the people being honored. He should be. And it's open invitation to anyone that works at the Ministry.”

“Ginny, they would not let him come,” Hermione said, dabbing her chin with her napkin. The ball was in five days. Ginny intended on jumping right into things, so soon?

“They can't deny him, and if they try I can talk to Harry. Harry wouldn't be able to turn Draco away, and no one would fight Harry, on anything,” she said, knowing the sort of influence Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Great Hero, had.

“You would manipulate Harry with his guilt to get your way?”

“Only as a last resort,” Ginny assured, having twisted Harry's guilt around on him to win more than one row in the past.

“Wouldn't bringing Draco as your date be sort of conspicuous if you are trying to keep your affair secret?” Hermione asked.

“I wasn't going to have him as my date,” Ginny said, explaining her idea. “Reamann works with him; I'll get Reamann keen on the idea of having Draco come along with us and have him suggest it to Draco after having already discussed it with Draco myself. That way Draco being there would seem like Reamann's idea. Draco and I can't snog while there or anything, but I don't really want to, I would just really enjoy the chance to dress him up in something nice and watch him strut about,” she said and Hermione laughed. For the first time since they had sat down to eat together she managed to laugh. It was genuine and seemed to almost calm her. Ginny felt some tension leave her body at the sound.

“Oh Gin, you always had a thing for Draco when he strutted,” she laughed.

“He had a cute bum,” she pouted, blushing at the reminder that she had once had a passing fancy for Draco Malfoy back in Hogwarts, like most of the girls (and probably some of the guys) did. Draco had been a pompous git and a bully, but no one could deny that he was handsome and charismatic to the point where it was unfair. There were even rumors that he had Veela blood in him, but Hermione debunked that to any that would listen, explaining that Veela were only girls, and that she was not positive but she was pretty sure that he would have had very little Veela blood in him to have been born a boy, too little to then have had any significant effect on anyone.

The rumor was worth a chuckle though since Veela magic only worked on men.

“I bet he still does,” Hermione smirked, her too having been able to appreciate how good looking Draco had been, even if she had hated him. It was almost that much more infuriating that he had been so mean to her and so good looking, because as much as she wanted to hate him for it, a small, shameful part of her couldn't hate him because he was so cute. It was that same appalling part of her that had crushed on Lockhart.

“I'll find out, and then let you know,” Ginny teased, Hermione playfully kicking her under the table and them both laughing.

They really were best friends no matter what.

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

Reamann knew Draco would be unable to talk to him that night, but Ginny wasn't talking and he was driving himself bonkers while sitting around their flat, her giving him something only slightly warmer than the cold-shoulder.

It was already past sundown so he couldn't really “bother” Draco with his problems and stress him out anymore than he already was. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn't just sit at home and wait, while things were so uncomfortable with Ginny; so he wrote down what he wanted to say to Draco and went all the way down to the Ministry to drop it off. Draco would read the letter in the morning and get back to him, and Reamann would feel like he had at least accomplished something that night. Other then piss off his girlfriend exponentially that is, or so it would seem. Ginny still seemed putout by his snub over lunch and their dinner together had gone rather halfhearted.

Taking the lifts to Level Four, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, after Apparating into the Atrium, he headed in the direction of the Penitentiary

Or that was what people commonly called it.

The Werewolf Capture Unit had registered dozens of wolves in the area and they kept strict tabs on them all. Full moons for those registered were spent with the Ministry or St. Mungo's. Though they were all supplied with Wolfsbane so they were relatively harmless, they were not allowed to stay locked up in the privacy of their own homes. It was all precautionary, so the Ministry claimed. Letting werewolves linger in human neighborhoods, Muggle or magical, was a risk the Ministry was not about to take, and Reamann couldn't really blame them.

Reamann knew Draco was here. He was one of the most widely known werewolves alive still in England, and a favorite for the Ministry's constant bullying (according to Ginny.) Draco was never kept anywhere but the Ministry.

He made his way down corridor after corridor, growing more anxious as he went. He had this feeling like he shouldn't be there. The Ministry always had that feel late at night, but somehow being on that floor where live werewolves were being penned made it all the more intimidating. The corridor was silent but he was sure he kept hearing things. Fur rustling? The patter of paws? Surely he was just being paranoid.

Pushing open the door slowly Reamann peeked in at first. That led to him freezing and staring with only his head in the room.

The room was hot, and stuffy, making it hard to breathe. It smelled like straw, and fur. The room, as he called it, was long and narrow, too long and narrow to be a room really but to wide to be a hallway either. Black iron-bar cages lined the walls on either side like a prison. There were two painted lines on the floor, running the length of the room and were a little more than an arm's length from either wall of cages.

A sign was posted with glowing red lettering and it read, “DO NOT CROSS THE RED LINE! Loss of limb and/or humanity probable.”

Reamann was not distracted by the room itself or the grim warning on the sign; he was caught off guard by the wolves. There were more than a few dozen of them…there were fifty, sixty, maybe more!

He had had no idea how many werewolves were in London, and these were just the ones that reported that month to the Ministry as opposed to the Penitentiary in St. Mungo's, or the ones that were not even registered.

“Wow,” he said, blinking and stepping into the room to allow the door to close behind him, giving him one last waft of cool fresh air as it slammed closed.

He walked past the cages slowly, staying well in the middle of the red lines, looking at each of the werewolves as they looked right back at him. There were mostly one to a cage, but some were paired up. The cages were small and the wolves looked bored, many were sleeping, and they seemed to come in every color. Everything from black to gray, silver to brown, there were even golden and red colored wolves.

Reamann had never seen real werewolves before, only the terrible and frightening depictions of them in his schoolbooks. These wolves, however, were not rearing up and roaring at him, they were not snarling and drooling and clawing and ripping. They were not looking at him like they wanted nothing more than to eat him. They just sat there silently, watching him as he watched them. They all had such intense and human eyes. Reamann was unnerved by the intelligence in their gaze. They were still human on the inside, thinking, feeling, understanding.

“Can I help you?” a wizard behind the desk in the back asked as Reamann neared. He was short, and so fat he resembled an egg.

“Yes, I was cleared to come down here,” he said, sort of indicating the badge on his cloak that he had received from the Desk Witch up by the gates in the Atrium as he fumbled with his pockets, looking for his note. “I have a letter I need to leave for one of your…um…guests, and I was told I could leave it with you, and he would get it in the morning,” he said, pulling out said letter finally and handing it to the man while shoving his wand back in his pocket.

“Oh yes, Malfoy,” he said, nodding while looking at the note and writing something down. “Pretty thing he is,” he said conversationally. “We don't get many people down here on the full moon. Some requests come in every month but we typically turn them down since they tend to just be gawkers, all wanting to see the pretty wolves. We are not running a petting zoo here.”

“Yeah,” Reamann said, only half listening. He had looked to his right and saw that the room continued. The man was not at the end of the long narrow room but just at a back corner. There was a right turn and another long hallway-like extension lined with cages. If he walked down to the end, would it really be the end or would it turn right again and continue on?

Were all the cages full?

How many werewolves were there?

Most of the wolves he could see were dark, a few golden ones mixed in, but mostly a dingy color of fur met his eyes. What caught his eye through all that was white; pure, soft, and shining.

Not even realizing it, Reamann walked slowly towards the cage that was about halfway down the hallway and on the right to stand toe to the red line, staring into the cage, the only cage he had seen with not one, not two, but three wolves in it. They were all white and the two smaller wolves just sat there, looking at him with those so-human and very pale blue eyes. The third was much larger than them and was curled up at the bottom of the cage with its head tucked under so that the top of it was actually resting on the floor between its curled paws, apparently sleeping.

Reamann looked at the two young ones and the one sleeping and knew he had found the Malfoys. Draco, along with Clarissa and Michelangelo it seemed.

Leaning forward a little, one of the smaller wolves - Reamann was not sure which one was which- made a yipping sound and Draco's silver-blue eye snapped open. Draco rolled his one visible eye up at Reamann without otherwise moving, looking very much like a dragon awoken from his slumber.

Reamann swallowed hard and looked from Draco to the children, then back. Draco uncurled himself very slowly so he could raise his head while still lying there, and he just stared at Reamann.

Even though his face was a wolf's, Reamann could somehow tell Draco was not happy to see him.

Reamann then made the mistake of putting his toe over the painted red line.

Draco was suddenly standing on all fours. Reamann had not even caught a hint of movement before it happened, Draco was just swiftly up and rushing the bars. His head was jerked backwards in a painful looking snap by a thick leather collar that tethered him back with a heavy chain, but Draco pawed through the bars, almost reaching past the red line, snarling and growling. He was practically choking himself while swiping at Reamann and Reamann leapt back. The werewolves around seemed to move away to the far sides of their cages, either scared or just uneasy with all the commotion Draco was making.

“I would stay back from that one,” the fat man said, waddling over. He must have been only been four feet tall.

Reamann had backed up well far from the line and Draco was now pacing the length of his cage with much contained energy, chain dragging across the floor loudly, a harsh glare locked on Reamann.

“Tear your arm right off if you go near his pups, that one will,” the man said with a smile.

“He takes Wolfsbane though,” Reamann said, shocked breathless by Draco's reaction to seeing him.

“Oh, aye, he does. They all do here. But they are not human, Mr. Rossiter. Some are quirkier than others, and some better behaved, but they are all still very wild on the full moon. Draco here is a little spunky and very protective of the pups is all, that's why we cage them together. Makes quite a fuss when he can't be with them and they just sit and whine.”

Reamann didn't know what to say. He looked at Draco's long and lean wolf form and tried to catch a proper breath, heart still pounding in his chest.

Draco's legs were longer than a real wolf's, hind legs bent more, giving Reamann the impression they were a little longer than the front. His hind legs looked like he could manage to stand upright and actually balance on them while still also able to stand, walk, and run on all fours. His snout was longer and thinner than a real wolf's, and his neck was longer with a very full ruff, not quite like a lion's mane, but still fuller than an actual wolf's. It offset Draco's leanness vastly.

The children looked somewhat more like true wolves but for their eyes and long snouts, but that was possibly just because of their size and the fact that they were sitting so calmly, ears perked. While Draco looked larger, about the size of a man, the “pups” looked just larger than real wolves. They had the same elongated dimensions and limbs as the other werewolves, and thusly stood taller than an actual wolf would.

Reamann could not look at them or Draco and understand how anyone would ever mistake them for true wolves. They clearly resembled them, but something about them was distinctly abnormal, wrong.

Draco sat down, glaring, swishing his long, fluffy white tail in what looked like annoyance.

“Why is he looking at me like that?” Reamann asked.

“He recognizes you,” the man said wisely. Reamann looked over at him for the explanation. “I have known Draco for almost four years now and still know very little about his personal life. He is a terribly private individual,” he said, not using the word “person” when talking about Draco. “I don't think he appreciates you being here, seeing him like this when you know him from the other part of his life, or us being near the pups, so why don't we leave him be,” the man said, pulling what looked like some raw meat out of a sack at his side and tossed it into the cage where the “pups” immediately pounced on it.

Reamann wanted to ask about that as he allowed himself to be lead away but the man saved him the trouble.

“Transforming takes a lot out of them. You have to feed them otherwise they get mean,” he explained. “Typically I can cross the red line, give the wolf some meat and they will just sit on the other side of the cage until I back off. Kind'a timid many are,” he said. “But as you saw with Draco, he rushes the bars. That's why he's tethered when most aren't and I've got to feed them like that.”

Reamann just nodded; they were now back at the desk where the man sat.

“Why? Is that just one of his, well, `quirks?'” he asked, daring a look back at the cage that was almost obscured from view, only flashes of white able to be seen.

“You don't know much about werewolves do you?” he asked.

“Not really,” he answered sheepishly.

“Would you like a quick lesson?” he offered, looking up at him while opening an inkwell.

“Sure,” Reamann was happy that the man was being so understanding.

“Draco is a Greater-wolf meaning he is quite powerful, more so than most here since they are generally Lesser-wolves,” he said and then explained. “Lesser-wolves are just your typical werewolves. Greater-wolves are like, supercharged, powerful, and really mean. Draco was infected by Greyback, a Greater-wolf himself, so Draco would have undoubtedly been a powerful Lesser-wolf because of that, but then he too inherently became a Greater-wolf.”

“How do you know a Greater from a Lesser? I mean, do they look different or something?” Reamann asked, looking at the wolves around them and noticing they looked no different than Draco but for color, size, and weight.

“No, no, it's all about the amount of power they have, magical resistance, and their temperament. Greater-wolves, moreover, are the only ones that can pass on the condition hereditarily,” he explained and Reamann nodded, soaking up the knowledge he was being offered.

“Wow.”

“All the Greater-wolves are kept here in the Ministry rather than at Mungo's.”

“Why?”

“Privacy,” he said with a shrug. “Many of them have children or families and don't want a bunch of Healers knowing about them. Here it's only me,” he said.

Reamann understood that.

Draco did not let the fact that he had children be known by many. He supposed dragging them with him to St. Mungo's on the full moon to shift would sort of give up their secret.

“Sad though, since it's the Greater-wolves that are often in the most pain and would really benefit from the additional care of a Healer. I'm not sure if it's nature's way of balancing out their power by making them so much weaker otherwise, or if it's because they fight so much harder against the disease to not be overcome and dominated by it, but I know that only the Greater-wolves that embrace their beast, and thusly become very inhuman as a result, are the ones that seem to suffer less. Only problem is, then they can't really pass for human anymore. Greyback embraced his disease, and I'm sure you have heard the stories about him,” he said and Reamann nodded, knowing the stories.

“I have,” he said, remembering the news articles about the werewolf during the war and sort of being adopted into the Weasley family and knowing Bill Weasley, he had a good idea of what Greyback was like.

“I wouldn't really talk to Draco about any of this. I don't think he would appreciate it. I'll give him your note and if you're lucky he won't remember you having come down here to see him.”

“I had no idea there were so many,” he said, looking around again.

“Yes, well, during the war, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named used werewolves didn't he?” the man said, looking at Reamann to understand.

“These are all people infected from the war?” Reamann asked in disbelief.

“Most of `em,” the man said looking around at them too. “There are so many because a single werewolf can make hundreds of Lesser-wolves. All it takes is a single bite or a scratch. Greyback had made it his mission in life it seems to infect as many people as possible, and had raised children he had infected to hate and resent humans. Releasing them on the public, a lot of people were killed, but many more survived to then live with the result. It's really unfortunate. Most were just people caught up between the fighting, not really a part of the war. Quite a few were Muggles at the time. A rather harsh introduction to the magical world, being infected with lycanthropy,” he said sadly.

“I'll bet,” Reamann said, looking at the sad eyes of the wolves in the cages. How could there be so many yet have no one standing up for their rights? How could there be so many people trying to hide there illness from others so as to not lose their jobs and friends, and not have someone take notice and flat out say it is wrong? It was an illness, and not one they got through any fault of their own. How could people discriminate over that?

“I'll be sure to give Mr. Malfoy that note of yours,” the man said, holding out a clipboard with some parchment on it for Reamann to sign.

“Oh, oh yes. Thank you,” he said, signing his name quickly. “Thank you,” he said again, handing the quill back to the man.

“No problem,” he said with a smile that made his fat face look like a stuffed-cheeked chipmunk.

“I didn't catch your name,” he said, suddenly realizing he had not been introduced properly.

“Sapiens, Brevis Sapiens,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Reamann Rossiter,” he said, shaking the man's pudgy hand. The man already knew his name, it being on his tag and on the sheet he had to just signed, but still, courtesy demanded that he introduce himself properly.

“It was nice meeting you. I do not get many people cleared to come down here.”

“Well, I can't really say I'll have much excuse to ever come back again, but we seem to have a mutual friend, so I'm sure we will hear about each other again,” Reamann said, smiling.

“I'll be sure to get Malfoy your letter in the morning, once he is fed and dressed and not in the typical bad mood he is in the morning after,” the man said with a smile of his own, his looking a little sad, however.

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

Author's Note:

Werewolves are described by JKR as looking very similar to “true wolves” but are distinguishable physically by several small characteristics like their eyes, the length and shape of their snout, and their tails which are said to be “tufted.” I took some liberties then on size, weight, and proportion since JKR does not get into any detail, which I think is a real shame. I go against canon with the fact that I said the werewolves in my fic are definitely NOT “true wolves” and how Reamann “could not look at [them] and understand how anyone would ever mistake them for true wolves. They clearly resembled them, but something about them was distinctly abnormal, wrong.”

I gave them longer limbs than a “true wolf” and they have very full ruffs, something comparative to a lion's mane. The reason for this is because I believe that werewolves fight each other a lot and like the reason behind a male lion's mane, the thick ruff on the werewolf's neck and throat would protect them. The long limbs were my idea as a means of explaining how they can stand upright, how they are so much larger than a natural wolf, (without making them bulky) and how they are so fast. I made them thinner than a wolf would be, but with large ribcages…so in the end my werewolves look like furry greyhounds on steroids and fluffy tails.

http://www.elfpack.com/stuff/Werewolf_Draco.jpg

This link is of a drawing I did of Draco as a werewolf as I describe in this chapter. Please look at it. :)

The “Greater” and “Lesser-wolf” bit is something I actually barrowed from my own online books, Leave Me Here to Bleed and Leave Me Here to Die, so I naturally have permission to use it, but I'm still citing myself as a reference. XD

Draco and the pups are white. Isn't that just darling?

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13. Chapter 13

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Thirteen

Narcissa moved about Draco's apartment Thursday morning, tending to the children there. She considered Draco one of “the children,” because he would forever be her baby, no matter how many babies he had himself. Dressed like a Muggle, in black slacks and a cropped but fitted jacket, she still somehow managed to look cultured and sophisticated with her long sliver hair pulled up into a twist, her posture so straight even in her relaxed state that she could have balanced a stack of books on her head as she moved and they wouldn't have teetered. She looed good, as she should since she was only just turning fifty and she took damn good care of herself.

It was near noon and she was preparing lunch. Michelangelo wanted cheesy macaroni and Clarissa wanted a jam sandwich with no crust. Draco wanted none of that. He wouldn't eat. Narcissa tried tempting him with his favorite: peanut butter at the very least, and he had not refused, he had simply ignored her. He was lying in bed while the children were actually up. They were taking it easy and watching some television with a frequent reminder from their grandmother for “a little less noise,” because she knew how much Draco wanted to sleep.

With the kids halfheartedly trying to push each other off the couch with their feet as they sat foot to foot on the couch, each sharing an end of the same blanket, there was a knock at the door.

“Who on earth…?” Narcissa asked, wiping her delicate hands on a kitchen rag while walking out into the living room to answer the door.

“Stop that, you two,” she said over her shoulder, Michelangelo pulling on the blanket so it covered his sister less for no reason other than to annoy her and get her to start whining.

Narcissa opened the front door cautiously so she could lean around it and not allow anyone to see in. She had no idea who was at the door, and call her paranoid but she did not trust anyone that showed up there unexpectedly to have good intentions.

Reamann stood on the front steps, looking awkward yet hopeful.

“Hello, are you Draco's mother?” he asked, trying to be polite and keep the surprise out of his voice at her youthful appearance and obvious resemblance to Draco. Damn she looked good if she was his mother, and damn if he were wrong and she took offence to him implying that she was old enough to have mothered him. Women were so sensitive like that about their age.

“Who are you?” she asked, not answering him his question.

“Reamann Rossiter, I work with Draco at the Ministry, or rather, he helps me out at the Ministry on a case I'm working…but anyways, I have been over before, met his children and all, and I know he is sick so I have a potion for him to help him feel a little bit better. I wanted to talk…”

“Come in,” she said, leaning out of the doorway to disappear behind it and allow Reamann in. Reamann, caught off guard by her sudden and ready invitation, closed his mouth slowly and stepped in.

“Thank you,” he said as she closed the door behind him after he was barely inside.

“He is in his bedroom, first room on the right down the hall there,” she said, pointing to a dark hallway at the far end of the living room, across from the front door.

“Um, thank you,” he said, still uneasy. Draco's mother didn't look like an overly trusting woman, but the moment he said he would offer to help Draco feel better she invited him in and was now pushing him to see her son. He supposed he couldn't blame her, but honestly, he was dreading seeing Draco enough that he would have liked to be stalled for a moment longer.

“Hello, Reamann,” Clarissa said, smiling up at him, kicking her brother hard under their shared blanket as she pulled it under her chin.

“Mr. Rossiter,” Michelangelo said through his teeth, his shin hurting now.

“Hello you two, how are you feeling?” he asked, noting that they looked worn out and a little paler than he remembered them, but otherwise pretty perky.

“As good as could be expected,” Clarissa said, snuggling down but smiling. Michelangelo said nothing as he tried to pull the blanket away from her. It was honestly large enough for them to share, they were just being difficult.

“You look, good,” he said, honest but still a little amazed.

“Try not to sound so surprised,” Michelangelo said blandly.

“Michael, be kind,” Narcissa warned before turning to Reamann. “Children are remarkably resilient. They bounce back so much better than,” she said, abruptly stopping there to sigh. “They are tough,” she said, patting Michelangelo on the head and putting the war of the blanket to an end with a leer in their direction.

Reamann understood what Narcissa had almost said. The children were fairing better than Draco was, most likely far better by measure of how heavy her sigh had been.

“I would have brought more of this draught if I had thought of you two possibly needing it,” he said, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees while talking to them, hoping to build up the nerve to go see Draco by talking to his children a little. He really did like the kids; they were really quite intriguing and sweet.

“We are doing okay. Dad's really the one that needs it,” Michelangelo said, looking up at Reamann with eyes of complete understanding of the situation which made Reamann 's posture of leaning over and smiling almost condescending.

“He usually this bad?” Reamann asked, hoping, in some dark, twisted, selfish way, that to be the case, if only to ease his own guilt for having put Draco under more stress than usual. Thinking that, Reamann felt rather disgusted with himself.

“He hasn't been this bad in a while,” Clarissa piped in, pulling the blanket up then to cover her mouth, her pale and delicately frowning eyebrows creasing in the middle with her concern as her mass of long curling hair spilled out all-around her while she leaned against the couch arm.

Reamann straightened, his stomach almost too tight to allow it. Narcissa was at his side when he turned.

“When you go in there,” she said softly as though to exclude the children from the conversation at that point, “could you possibly get him to eat something? He worries me when he doesn't eat,” she said, the sincere concern on her face so honest it seeped over onto him.

“I will,” he promised, knowing that the time was up and he had to go see Draco now.

Draco's closed bedroom door was the first on the right, barely into the hallway so it would have been hard to miss with the living room but feet to his right. There was another door a little further down on the left that was open and looked like a bathroom and then another on the very end that he could only guess what probably where the children slept. Standing in front of the door Reamann looked to his right, into the living room, and sighed.

“Alright,” he whispered to himself, looking at the door.

Should he knock or just enter?

If Draco was not feeling well he did not want to cause a headache or something with knocking, but Draco also seemed like the kind of person that would demand a knock before someone entered.

Reamann settled for tapping him knuckles softly on the wood as he opened the door.

“Draco?” he asked softly, leaning in around the door. He saw and took in Draco's bedroom immediately. There was one window on the wall opposite him that was tall and narrow and blocked off with heavy drapes. Directly below the window was a mattress on the floor. There was a lamp and clock on Reamann 's right along with an old, almost antique looking wardrobe and a guitar leaning against the wall in the corner. On the left was a battered dresser against that wall opposite the wardrobe. The floor was clean, and wooden, only a small rug on the left side of the bed to offer some defense against the cold of the floor. The room was very small, narrow so that really, the only space was at the foot of the bed where the door swung, and the narrow space on either side of the mattress, narrower on the side with the wardrobe.

There was a lump under the blankets on the bed. That was all that indicated that Draco was there. He did not answer.

“Hey, Draco,” Reamann said, closing the door behind him and standing there in the awkward silence of the room.

“Please tell me that I imagined…that I dreamed, that you had come to visit me last night while at the Ministry,” Draco mumbled from under his blankets.

Reamann's uncomfortable silence spoke volumes.

“Damn it, Reamann,” Draco growled, muffled only a touch by the bedding.

“I just had to do something, I was going crazy. I intended on just dropping off the letter and leaving. It was only by accidental chance that I saw you at all, but I'm still very sorry,” he said while moving over to the left of the bed so he was no longer standing by the door. Draco rolled over with a groan like he was in pain. He looked right at him and Reamann couldn't hold his gaze. Draco's eyes were red and dry looking, almost like he had been crying but something more like he was just exhausted and in pain. His throat was bruised, like someone had choked him. It didn't take Reamann but a second to realize that was probably from last night, and it had been Draco himself that had caused the bruises, when he had nearly choked himself with his collar.

Reamann felt guilt at that. Draco wouldn't have had those bruises if he had not gone there.

“You came here today to ease your own guilt, but to also ask if I had read your note,” he said and Reamann's mouth opened, ready to deny that last. “Save it, Reamann,” he said, not needing to hold up his hand to effectively cut Reamann off. It was near impossible to lie to Draco sometimes, with Draco ready and capable of looking into his mind. “I understand that the case had a major turn for the worse, but that does not excuse what you did. This is now the third time you have disregarded my right to and desire for privacy so as to feed your own curiosity and ease your discomfort at the expense of my own.”

“Draco, I'm sorry that I keep offending you like this. I just find you very interesting and want to learn more, but you are so…”

“No, you don't trust me, and you are curious about the stories. You want to see if they are true,” he said, cutting Reamann off.

“Draco, I trust you. I have said it before that I trust you,”

“And you lied,” Draco said, rolling over with obvious pain at the effort but his desire to not look at Reamann at the moment overpowering even that.

Reamann had to look away. He did not like that that Draco appeared to be so thin that he could see his spine, and he be damned if Draco did not seriously look like he was dying. It seemed Draco was too immersed in his own suffering to mind the fact that he had presented his boney back to Reamann and just took some deep breaths. Reamann flinched as he caught a glimpse of Draco's ribs expanding just under the skin, and Draco spoke.

“Please answer me this, Reamann,” he said as though forcing his words through his teeth and past his pain, “What did you really accomplish by going there last night? Was your own ease of mind really worth it, at the expense of my pride and privacy?”

“Draco, I did not mean,”

“I don't think this is working out, Reamann,” he said suddenly.

“Draco, what do you mean?”

“Sebastian has been assigned to the case now; you do not need me.”

“I don't want to work with him, he's a bigger prat than you could ever be, and you and I have been working since the beginning on this.”

“Sebastian is very smart; you won't need to use me anymore with him on the case,”

“Draco, I'm not using you-”

“Just get out,” Draco said firmly, still presenting his back to Reamann.

“Draco, we had a deal. You help me, I help you,” he said and Draco huffed a little, curling up a little more, making the bones just that much more prominent and painfully obvious, forcing Reamann to swallow. “Draco, you need this potion,” he said, holding out the vial he had brought over for Draco. “Don't tell me you don't. Your mother is worried sick in the other room. She wants you to eat something, and honestly, I think it would do you some good to-”

“I said get out,” Draco said, his voice so low in a growl that it was actually hoarse. It was clear his throat obviously hurt. “Get out of my house, get out of my life. I was doing fine without you, and I will continue to be fine without you,” he said, his voice firm despite the despair prevalent in it.

Reamann now had the impression that Draco had shown him his back on purpose, with intent on making him feel uncomfortable and awkward, to chase him out. It had worked if that was the case. He seriously wanted to just run from the scene and he felt guilty looking down at how sick Draco was.

Damn him.

Reamann set the little bottle down on top of Draco's dresser without a word and closed the door behind him as he left. Draco did not get up right away for the potion. He laid there for a long while, thankful that presenting his back had successfully hidden his tears from the other man.

“Did he say what he wanted to eat?” Narcissa asked as Reamann walked towards the front door, prepared to let himself out without saying anything to anyone. The hopefulness in Narcissa's voice was enough to make his stomach churn. He couldn't leave just yet.

“I'm sorry,” he said, turning slowly. Narcissa looked at him, brow frowning, eyes sadly hopeful still. “I realize now that my presence is not only inappropriate, but not appreciated. I did not mean to hurt your son like I have, and I hope you can forgive me. I don't expect him to,” he said, turning around to let himself out.

Narcissa was left standing there, hurting, unsure of what to do to help her baby in the other room.

“Nana? What's wrong?” Clarissa asked from behind her.

“Come on you two, let's get you cleaned up and dressed to visit your uncle Lupin and see how he is feeling,” she said, sniffing back her tears, readying the children to visit her niece so that Draco could have some peace.

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

Ginny checked her note, checked the address in the building, and then checked her note again. She had the right place. She had Apparated to a safe point from the Ministry and had walked nearly half a mile to get there. Now she was standing on the sidewalk in front of Draco's home and had lost her nerve. She was not having second thoughts, but she was suddenly feeling a little insecure.

What if she asked him out and he said no?

Would he really say no?

He seemed interested enough earlier in the week, when he had thrown her down on his desk and nearly ravished her...though, she had been more than willing to allow him to ravish her.

She would have to explain to him her ideas, thoughts, and feelings on the matter and he might not want to. He might like the idea of her cheating, he might not want to be the “other man” in her life, and really, could she blame him?

Unfolding and then refolding her note over and over again she stood there in the cold, snow built up in little mounds at the sides of the sidewalk and Ginny had a distinct mental image of Draco outside, in hat, scarf, and gloves, manually shoveling the walk.

Why did that make her smile?

It was not funny that he could not use magic.

But then why did her heart flutter warmly whenever she thought of him doing the simplest and most humble of things? Surely there were witches and wizards that opted to actually wash their own clothing, or sweep their own floors. Magic was a connivance, not an excuse to be lazy. Right?

She was a poor example of that. She owned only one broom, and it was not the sweeping kind.

“Hello, Ms. Weasley,” Narcissa Malfoy said, suddenly beside her.

Ginny jumped a little and placed her empty hand over her heart, squishing down her puffy scarf.

“Oh, Mrs. Malfoy, you startled me,” she said, letting out a puff of breath.

“That is plain to see, dear,” she said in a very cold and rolling tone that made Ginny feel subordinate. Draco could talk very much like that, and she wondered if it was a learned or hereditary quality. She did not like Narcissa making her feel inferior, and took a deep breath, knowing that was just how Narcissa was and not to take it personal, or to heart because that would likely only satisfy the woman.

“I, I came to see Draco,” Ginny announced, standing outside with the woman, realizing she would likely have to get an invitation from her to come in.

“I'm sorry. My son is not going to be having all this company today. He needs his rest,” Narcissa said, turning to walk up the steps, leaving Ginny to stand there.

“Please, I have to talk to him, it's important,” she said.

“No,” Narcissa said, not even going as far to say “come another time,” and thus giving Ginny the impression that the woman was turning her away because she was a Weasley. That made her hot with anger.

“I'm his girlfriend and I demand to see him,” she huffed, the words coming out before she even thought of what she was saying. Once they were out in the air Ginny wanted to hiccup and swallow them before they reached Narcissa, but she could not. Narcissa turned from the door where she had been about to unlock it to stare.

“Excuse me?” she said, caught somewhere between indignant outrage at being addressed with such disrespect, and shock from Ginny's declaration.

“Please, I need to see him,” she said.

“My son would not date a…he would not date you,” Narcissa said firmly.

“You clearly don't know him as well as you had thought then,” Ginny said, feeling sick to her stomach. This could end very badly. She did not want to get in a fight with Draco's mother over being Draco's girlfriend before she even had the chance to talk to Draco and ask him out.

“I know all there is to know about my son, we have no secrets from each other, he and I,” she said firmly, looking now angry and insulted.

“Did he tell you about the lunch date we had last week?” she asked, holding onto that one truth in all that she said and putting all her ferocity behind it. They had gone on a date, and she could be under any truth potion of any potency and admit to that much. The truth gave her the courage to stand tall before the tall, willowy, pale mother before her. Draco's mother was almost a polar opposite of her own mother.

Narcissa looked flushed and angry.

“Wait here,” she said curtly, turning and unlocking the door.

She let herself in and slammed the door behind her.

Ginny was not sure if the woman was just going to lock herself inside after telling her to wait and never come back out, or what. Ginny had a feeling the woman, as despicable as she thought her to be, was better than that. She still had half a mind to storm up the rickety looking metal stairs and pound on the door. She resisted, but it took effort.

Ginny stood outside, waiting, waiting, waiting. She was ready to let herself in after five minutes, unlocking the door with a charm and barging in, but Narcissa opened the door with a very sour look on her face that robbed her of her natural beauty.

“My son said to let his…girlfriend…in,” she said, looking like it pained her something to say that. Ginny smiled triumphantly in a way that was mean because of its friendly innocence. She wanted to taunt and stick her tongue out in an “I told you so,” manner, but resisted. She was not ten anymore, and Narcissa was not one of her brothers.

“Thank you,” she said, allowing Narcissa to close the front door. She took off her coat, and scarf, and hat, and Narcissa gathered them up and disappeared into the kitchen with them without a word. Ginny was left standing in the lowly living room, not sure where to go but knowing not to ask Narcissa. Beyond the woman being completely unwilling to be helpful, Draco's girlfriend should know her way around his apartment.

Ginny walked across the orange carpet of the living room and tried to make it seem like it was not the first time she had seen it, all while under the watchful eye of a small barn owl. She supposed she would have another opportunity to look at it and take in its state, right then she had to play the part, the part of Draco's concerned girlfriend come to see him.

She saw a door on the right immediately after stepping into the hallway and considered it for a long moment. Was it his? She could not guess and be wrong, his mother was eavesdropping.

Looking over her shoulder carefully she saw a bathroom to her back left and another door that was closed and on her left at the end of the hall.

“Shit,” she said, balling her hands into fists. She had a feeling to try the other door first and make it seem like she had just gone to use the bathroom if she happened to be wrong, but she took a gamble and knocked on the door while opening it.

“Draco?” she asked.

Leaning in she saw him sitting up in bed, blankets over his lap. He had a wholly green jumper on and looked terribly ill. He normally looked good in green, but the jumper only made his face look all the more thin and his color all the more lacking.

“Hello there,” he said, looking up at her, his hair long and tangled looking over his right shoulder like he had just pulled it out of his collar. Despite how deplorable his health seemed, he looked pretty welcoming.

“I, I just came here to…”

“Well come in, sit down,” he said, an edge of command to his words. Ginny wanted to fight that, not liking being ordered about but seeing the sense in not standing in the half-open doorway with Draco's mother trying to listen in from the other room.

Ginny stepped in the rest of the way and turned to close the door while looking through the gap, seeing Narcissa in the living room, pretending to tidy up the already neat and organized place while listening in.

“My mother said my `girlfriend' was here to see me,” he said and Ginny's face blushed brightly while her back was still to him.

“About that, I'm sorry. I couldn't think of anything else to say that would get her to let me in,”

“Or anything that could possibly make her madder,” he said. Ginny got the impression he was angry with her, but when she peeked over her shoulder she saw amusement on his face.

“It just sort of came out,” she said, turning to face him now.

“I'm flattered then,” he said with a smirk. “She did not give me your name, she simply said my `girlfriend' and I had to take a guess who on earth would make such a claim,” he said with his arms crossed over his chest.

“And you guessed me,” she said, not making it a question.

“Well, since you are the only woman I have recently snogged, I did not have a long list to choose from. I also noted my mother's outrage and knew it couldn't all stem from simply not being told I was, supposedly, seeing someone. You being a Weasley and the ex-Mrs. Potter seemed to compensate for that nicely,” he said with amusement.

“I'm sorry if I have caused some trouble between you and your mother,” she said, feeling guilty now, again.

“She will get over it. She has wanted me to date for years but has been unsuccessful in persuading me. I suppose she can complain all she likes about who I apparently picked, but not that I haven't finally done what she has wanted for so long,” he said wish a shrug that seemed to cause him some amount of pain. It was subtle and well hidden, but Ginny had been looking him in the eyes, and while his face had remained largely unchanged, a tension appeared around his lips and eyes that gave away his soreness at the simple movement.

“You really haven't dated?” she asked, a little shocked. Draco had said as much on their lunch date, but she had thought he meant serious relationships, not all dating in general.

“Surprised?” he asked.

“Well, I mean, I just thought…you know…after getting out of Azkaban you would want to, well, see some women and stuff,” she said, not wanting to flat out say that she had expected him to get out of Azkaban like some randy animal, ready to shag any woman in his path, but she certainly had expected him to have seen someone in the three years he had been out.

“Well, it is hard to get a date when you are Draco Malfoy: Death Eater and Werewolf, and I could only imagine the disaster a blind-date would be, if I had friends to set one up for me that is. I rather not inflict myself on others, and I have other responsibilities in my life that take precedence over my somewhat lacking romantic-life, making it somewhat easier to push aside,” he said, sounding comfortable with that but Ginny getting the feeling he was hiding how he truly felt about the matter from her. Surely it hurt him to be unable to meet women because he was a werewolf and a “Death Eater” and a prisoner out of Azkaban.

“Oh,” she said, not sure what to say.

“Well, I assumed you had a legitimate reason for coming here and giving my mother a coronary,” he said with a smile, clearly happy to see her, and possibly hoping she had come just to see how he was.

“Well, I would like to say I came here just to see how you were feeling, but that's not true. I came here for another reason,” she said slowly, Draco's face not falling but something in his eyes shifting. How could no one but her see how much he guarded himself? If one knew what to look for he was obvious and his emotion apparent. He was disappointed that she had come there for reasons other than to just see him.

“And what would that be?” he asked coolly.

“I needed to ask you something,” she said, Draco's eyes closing off like a door shutting. It hurt her to see that.

“You are here to ask something of me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“I see,” he said, bitter at the last, thinking of Reamann and how he had come only to ease his own mind and ask more of him.

“I wanted to ask you,” she said, starting slowly, looking away, “If you wanted to, you know, um,” she said, words failing her at that point, her stomach in knots.

What was with her?

She had asked a guy out before.

Her mother may have thought it improper for her, a girl, to ask a guy out, but Ginny considered herself a modern witch and woman and she did not hold tight to the traditions of the past. Women could ask men out…so why was she tongue-tied?

“No, I don't know, Weasley,” Draco said smoothly.

Ginny cleared her throat. Draco addressing her by her last name enough to pull her out of her slump and continue on.

“Well, you said you didn't have a girlfriend just now, so I guess I'm kind of free to ask you…I mean, to enquire if you're interested in any way…of, well,” she mumbled.

“Why, Weasley, are you asking me out?” Draco asked, the surprise honest in his voice, but his tone able to recover enough to be mocking.

“I realize it's crazy, and sudden, and if you are not interested I fully understand…”

“No,” he said and Ginny looked at him, that not being an answer but him just trying to stop her rambling. “It's not that, I'm just a little stunned. Are you not with Reamann?” he asked and Ginny flushed.

“Well, okay, yes, but hear me out…” she said, moving over to his bed and sitting on the mattress, at the foot so there was still as much space between them as possible.

Draco's expression looked like he just could not wait to hear the explanation for this.

“Yes, I'm with Reamann, but you know from our…um…lunch date, that things between him and I are not too glamorous at the moment,”

“So you are dumping him to see me,” Draco asked, knowing that was not the answer.

“Not exactly,” she said, feeling uncomfortable. “I can't break things off with Reamann,”

“I know this, we talked about it in length already,” Draco said.

“And I can only imagine how well it would go over with, well, everyone should I start dating you,” she mumbled.

“Draco Malfoy: Death Eater and Werewolf,” he stated simply and Ginny felt awkward. Draco was as laidback as ever, but she knew he was bothered.

“But I can't continue to be with Reamann and just be miserable,” she said and Draco nodded slowly. “I understand this is a terrible thing to ask of someone, but, well, I was hoping, you know, we could discreetly…you know,”

“Weasley, are you asking me to help you cheat on your boyfriend of three years, who happens to be my partner, less than a week before Christmas?” he asked, looking at her up and down like he had never really seen her before in true light.

“Well, when you lump it all together like that it's gonna sound bad,” she flushed, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously.

“No, it's not that I think it's terrible… it really, really is mind you…I'm just surprised. What happened to that noble honest streak in all Gryffindors?” he asked, sounding mocking again.

”We tend to be rule breakers,” she said with a blush.

“I can see that,” he said, smiling, feeling the same was true about Slytherins. Really, the two houses were not that different in the end, Slytherin was just better, not that he was biased or anything.

“I just really like being around you, and I really thought we had a connection that night, back before the final battle,” she said, looking anywhere but at his face at that moment. Draco shifted a little too in what looked like obvious discomfort.

“Well, I'm not sure how well this would all work out,” he said softly. Ginny looked up at him. “There is a level of discomfort here between us, you see” he said and she gave him a look, him using her words against her now. “Don't deny it, you feel it too or you would not be flushing and shifting, and avoiding my gaze,” he said, pointing at her like she was about to accuse him of just making up excuses. “I'll admit, awright, I had been honest with you that night,” he said, painfully clearing his throat before continuing. “I honestly did not expect to live and had given up on everything, ready to just go out with wands blazing, but, thanks to you…” he said, not finishing the thought but just shrugging stiffly.

“Are you ungrateful?” she asked, getting the sense he felt that he had failed in his plan, plan to die a hero rather than live to be shamed as a traitor. Something told her he felt shame, but not because of others' opinions of him, but in that he had failed in something.

“No, no. I appreciate it. Nearly died and would have without you,” he said, lightly, almost raising the mood a bit, “but now I have to live with the fact that you know all my little secrets,” he said, leering at her, hissing that last word.

“You make it sound like letting someone in and see the real you is a bad thing,” she said, leaning back to take him in fully though it was not necessary with the distance already between them.

“I don't trust people,” he said flatly.

“You don't trust me?”

“I have put myself in a position with my carelessness that I have to, now don't I?”

“You think I would blackmail you or something, knowing what I know?”

“You saying you wouldn't?”

“What do you have that I could want?” she asked, not meaning to imply that he was so meager that he had nothing she would want, but the idea of blackmailing him was just that ridiculous to her.

“Other than my hot body?” he teased and she playfully leaned over to slap his leg.

“Prat!” she laughed. She knew he was making a joke at his own expense, knowing full-well that he was not looking all that glamorous at the moment in his oversized jumper with the moth-hole near the collar and his tangled wasit-length white hair. She thought he was adorable however, even with the black and purple bruises blotting the skin of his throat and neck. Maybe it was that deep seeded mothering instinct in her she had inherited from her mother, but she just wanted to scoop Draco up and baby him, take care of him.

“You really feel so disinclined to go out with me that you would only do so through blackmail or the threat of it at least?” she asked.

“Well, you are a Weasley,” he simply stated and she bared her teeth in a playful growl. He had said before that Weasleys crossed the line when it came to the limits of whom he would date, but then, he didn't really date at all.

“You kissed a Weasley, and I didn't blackmail you into that.”

“Just one more piece of blackmail worthy material you have on me, Weasley,” he said, leaning in a little.

“Are you agreeing to this, Malfoy?”

“Do I have a choice, Weasley?” he asked, still implying that she was blackmailing him.

“No, I guess you don't. You better be ready to spend a lot of afternoons and evenings with me because I'm going to blackmail you until we are exhausted and weak in the knees,” she said, leaning in so their noses brushed. Draco liked what she was implying, and rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. Most people would call it an Eskimo kiss, but to him, or any werewolf, it was nuzzling, and he liked it.

“You manipulative woman, you would have made a fine Slytherin,” he said, sliding his nose over her cheek to speack softly into her ear.

“And you showed quite a bit of courage befitting a Gryffindor those years ago,” she said and he breathed and laugh while their faces were so close together and pulled away so their nosed were just barely touching again. Ginny leaned forward the rest of the way to kiss him then, and he pressed right back, deepening the kiss and her allowing it when his tongue slipped out to trace across her bottom lip.

They kissed for a moment, each leaning over the gap between them, but when Ginny shifted to move closer he broke the kiss and looked away.

“No,” he said, “I'm not feeling well,” he confessed, shifting and not hiding the pain in his face that time.

“Do you have something for it?” she asked, looking at him and feeling her heart pull. Hermione had said he was not allowed potions. Would Muggle painkillers help any?

“On my dresser. I was about to take it when you showed up,” he said, looking at the little potion bottle that was so close and yet so far away. His jumper had been under the covers by his knees, him having taken it off and on all morning as he went from hot to cold rapidly. He was still hot, but he had thrown the warm jumper on so that Ginny would not see him like Reamann had. He did not want her seeing him. He was self-conscious enough about how he looked to put his discomfort aside. He was supposed to be strong and confident…but he wasn't. His Malfoy ancestors would be shamed.

“I'll get it for you,” she said, him not having to ask or even hint that he would like her to get it. She made it an offer. Draco would have refused on principle, so as not to look weak and helpless, but she was already striding over in those few steps to the dresser and he had to admit, it was a nice chance to check out her bum, a bum he had just agreed to date, and it was nice to be babied by someone who was not his mother.

Speaking of which, his mother was just outside there door, frozen in the hallway, prepared to act as though she were on her way to the bathroom if she were to be discovered. She was trying to listen in, but Ginny and he had talked too softly for her to have been able to hear much of anything.

“Mother, a little privacy please. Ginny I will not be doing anything inappropriate, I assure you, but this is quite rude,” he whispered into her head. She huffed a little and moved on to the bathroom to close the door firmly, even though she had not needed to go there in the first place. Draco knew then she had not heard anything, otherwise her thoughts would have been angry, not indignant.

Ginny sat beside him this time, close enough to be warm and affectionate without being too forward or leading to a misunderstanding of her intentions. She had missed the whole exchange between Draco and his mother.

Draco allowed her to sit close, and suppressed a smile.

Okay, so he had just, sort of, agreed to date the Weasley girl. Girl no more, a woman really. Something told him he should be screaming at himself for this, but it was surprisingly quiet in his head. There was no inner conflict, no “Malfoys don't do this, or that,” just a content peace he had never realized he had been lacking.

Now that his voices were not arguing over the fact that he liked her and him denying it, there seemed to be nothing but ease there.

He knew he had had a serious crush on the girl in his sixth year, even if he had denied it for months back then, and he had made a move once that night so long ago it seemed…but he had not realized it had lived on all these years, through his marriage, and jail time, and children.

Draco felt his stomach drop out.

His children! Oh shit.

“Draco, is everything alright?” Ginny asked, looking at Draco's suddenly horrified face, him having yet to take the potion she had fetched him. She was tempted to ask him how he had gotten it since he wasn't supposed to have any, but she didn't want to know, especially if he had acquired it through some illegal means. It was easier to ignore when she didn't know the truth.

“Oh, oh, it's nothing. Just dreading the taste,” she said, holding the vial up a little to indicate what he meant.

What was he going to do?

He had just agreed to date a woman that did not realize he was a father of two!

She knew he had been married, but he had not mentioned that in the three years he had been married he had had two kiddies.

Draco took a long gulp of the potion with a tip back of his head like it was a shot glass, scrunching his eyes closed at the foul taste.

The children were not home at the moment, but if they had been, would she have still asked, or would she have turned away?

There were more than just the reasons he had detailed to Ginny as to why he did not date. Most women that could deal with his past, and his personality, and disorders, did not want the extra baggage of a man with two children already. The few that wouldn't care, would mind that he was a Death Eater baring the Dark Mark and a werewolf with some serious issues with a lot of things. He just could not win.

He had to tell her, but sitting there, her so close, he feared she would reject him, and he liked having her there.

He would tell her later.

He wanted to enjoy this, having someone, however brief a time.

Let him have a girlfriend for a night. It was nice.

Draco leaned over and kissed to corner of Ginny's mouth. She smiled and turned a little to kiss him on the lips but he kept the kisses light and chaste. He did not need to share with her how foul the potion was. The taste wouldn't have been so bad, it the texture had not been so grainy. It was enough together to make him consider the pain as a better alternative. Almost.

Ginny carefully wrapped her arms around Draco so that she hung on his shoulders and arms a little, careful not to put too much weight on him, his hair tickling her cheek.

Draco surpassed a happy giggle. Malfoys did not giggle. But he had never gotten snuggles and such from his wife. They had sort of been separated by space, and bars, for the extent of their relationship, and his only other girlfriend, Pansy, had been affectionate, but he had not felt anything for her, so their embraces had felt sort of hollow and empty. Numb. He liked this, and he did not want it to end. He tilted his head a little so that it was leaning atop of hers so he could nuzzle her hair a little and she giggled for them both. He was grateful.

“I want you to come to the Remembrance Ball,” she said suddenly, Draco becoming utterly still in her arms.

“What?” he asked.

“I know, it's strange to ask, but I really think you should go,”

“Um, Weasley, darling,” he said, still calling her by her last name but adding “darling” to keep things light, “There is a reason as to why I was not invited to my Hogwarts ten year reunion,” he said, looking down at her and her pulling away enough and leaning less so that they were looking right at each other.

“Draco, I know there are people out there that think of you as, well, a bad guy,”

“The majority, actually,” he corrected for her.

“But you have a right to be there. You should have been one of the people honored, and it is open to all that work at the Ministry, so you cannot be denied.”

“Even if I were to go, and somehow manage to get in, I think most would be insulted and infuriated by my presence. Being unarmed in a room of grudge-bearing witches and wizards is not my idea of a good time,” he said.

“I would be there,” she said.

“Reamann so dimwitted that he would not catch on to his bint bringing another date to the ball?” he asked.

“No, see, I will talk to Reamann, I will have him talk to you, and invite you, so he will think it was his idea that you are there. He and I would be on your side at least,” she said.

“I'm not so sure about that,” he said, Ginny looking at him questioningly. Draco went into a brief explanation of the “fight” he had just been in with Reamann and why he was angry at Reamann in the first place.

“Oh, Draco, you have to forgive Reamann. He really has a problem with asking the first questions that come to mind without thinking and realizing it comes across as rude and nosey. He is just incurably curious. He means well,” she said.

“That doesn't make it any better, or make me feel any less violated,” Draco grumbled, picking at the edge of the little bottle where there was a knot in the cord that held the cork.

“Give him another chance. He needs you,” she said.

“I know he does,” Draco said, sounding defeated and mildly depressed. Ginny wrapped her arms around him and kissed the side of his nose.

“Come with me to the ball,” she pleaded.

“Oh, don't do that,” he wined.

“Please,” she begged, pouting and batting her eyelashes.

“No, no…with the eyes, and the pouting, damn you! My mother does this to me. You damned, manipulative women,” he said, almost mentioning his daughter just then but catching himself. Ginny didn't need to know just yet that his daughter had him wrapped around her little finger with the slightest of pouts.

How was it that he was such a softy when it came to women? No means no. He kept telling himself that, but he already felt himself cave in.

“Please,” he pressed, pouting her bottom lip out as far as it would go in a silly pout that he just had no defenses against.

“I have nothing to wear,” he said, sighing at his defeat, Ginny smiling.

“If I found you something, you would go?” she asked, sounding excited.

“I am a glutton for punishment,” he said, glancing over at her out of the corner of his eyes. She grinned broadly, rewarding him with that smile he had fallen in love with back at Hogwarts.

Oh how long he had waited to be the cause of such a grin. He had seen it from a distance, but had never been its lucky recipient.

Before he did something truly embarrassing like grin back at her stupidly in a moment that would be so damn fluffy and mushy for him to stomach with his tummy full of nasty potion, he swooped in for a kiss. Turning carefully despite his pain he kissed her, and she kissed him. She fell backwards onto the bed, and he followed, not breaking the kiss, but straining his bruised neck because he had to move slower.

He laid himself partially on top of her as they kissed and she had to make a conscious effort not to grab him too roughly, as roughly as she wanted to. She did not want to hurt him.

Their kissing peeked at nearly ravenous, and settled to being repetitive pecks on the lips as he laid there on her, looking down, his hair draping down on the right side like a curtain it so often resembled.

“Thank you,” he said, Ginny caught of guard between two kisses with him saying that.

“For what?” she asked.

“For saving my life,” he said.

“Draco, we have been over this before…you saved mine first, we are even,” she said, already having tried to explain this to him.

“There is more than one way to save a man's life,” he said, giving her another, lingering, kiss.

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Author's Note:

There you go, D+G action! Official, and fluffy, and oh so delish.

Reamann got yelled at, which was what you all had been wanting, Ginny and Draco have finally hooked up, which you all wanted, and you got to see Narcissa be a mummy, and the kids again. Yay for this chapter! Was it relatively angst free? So Draco is apparently a little thin, but I find that smexy. :)

REVIEW! IT'S GOOD KARMA

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14. Chapter 14

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Fourteen

Draco stood in the room with Harry Potter at his feet: disarmed, bleeding, and helpless, Draco's wand pointed down at him. To Draco's back was a Death Eater, Macnair.

“Prat,” Harry spat at Draco, surprisingly calm given the situation. Draco was not calm. On the outside he looked it, relatively, but on the inside he was in the midst of a full-on panicked episode.

“Do it, Malfoy. Do it,” Macnair encouraged, wounded and disarmed himself -literally- at that moment. His right arm was gone, but none-too-cleanly, thanks to Harry. Draco had been there to overtake the boy-who-lived in all the distraction and now Harry was at his mercy.

“Would your precious Dark Lord really want you to kill me? I thought he wanted to have the pleasure,” Harry spat, glaring at Draco, able to see the weakness in Draco's eyes and trying to exploit it at that moment. He had seen how poorly Draco had performed under pressure on the rooftop of the Astronomy Tower; he did not honestly feel Draco was the real threat to him in that room. He worried about Macnair getting Draco's wand from him. Harry saw his own wand on the floor, against the far wall where Draco had banished it with the disarming spell.

Harry tired to “Accio” it silently, but silent spells were hard enough even with a wand.

This was the first time Harry Potter had come face to face with Draco Malfoy since that night. It was now December and Draco seemed as uncertain as ever and very ill. His hair was grown out to his shoulders, and was far less sleek and shiny than it used to be. Draco was also very thin looking, like Lupin often looked, with the sunken-in cheeks and dark circles under his fair eyes. The war had not been kind to him it seemed while he was on the run from the Ministry.

“Do it,” Macnair said, growling, Draco looking between the two as each spoke to him.

“You're not a killer, Draco,” Harry said and Draco's attention reeled over to him. His eyes widened and he looked at Harry as though haunted.

“What did you say?” he whispered.

“Let's go, Malfoy,” Macnair shouted.

“No!” Draco said, snapping over his shoulder at the man, “No, what did you just say!” Draco demanded, pointing his wand at Harry firmly despite how his insides quivered.

“You are not a killer,” Harry repeated. Draco looked at him for a long moment, making very purposeful eye contact and Harry knew he was a Legilimens as well as an Occlumens, and opened himself up more -more than he probably needed to- to remind Draco of that night Dumbledore had died, making it known to Draco that he had been there, that he had seen Draco's wand lower slightly at Dumbledore's offer. He would have said more out loud, but not with Macnair there with them…he could not do that to Draco, he was sure Draco had suffered enough at the hands of the Dark Lord already for having failed in his task that summer.

“Stun him and let's GO,” Macnair ordered, Draco looking over at him helpless at that point, torn. Harry's plan was working, Draco had looked into his mind and was now uncertain and hesitating, faltering around the edges.

“Draco, you considered his offer, even for just a moment, that night,” Harry reminded him, careful not to say too much, using Draco's name, trying to appeal to Draco's need to cling to someone, Macnair certainly scaring him enough that he could possibly turn to him, Harry, for shelter. “I saw you struggle with your task throughout the year and that night, I saw the effect his words had had on you,” he said and Draco looked away, feeling exposed, feeling vulnerable and naked, atop of conflicted and unsure.

“Shut up, Potter! Draco, silence him,” Macnair said.

“You know this is wrong, Draco-”

“Kill him-”

“You can't do it-”

“NOW!”

“DRACO!”

Draco closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists on either side of his head, still clutching his wand, Harry and Macnair both yelling at him, him trapped in the middle and unsure what to do. He wanted to run away, he wanted to flee and be no part of this. He couldn't though. What could he do?

Draco, without opening his eyes, pointed his wand and sent a curse. It was a full body-bind.

The flash of light passed and Harry was left kneeling…Macnair tipped over.

Harry was counting on Draco to attack Macnair, but he was still mildly surprised that he had actually done it. He made to stand and Draco rounded on him, pointing his wand at Harry and Harry froze.

“Draco-”

“Shut up,” he snarled, eyes a little wild. “You were there that night?”

“You know I was, you saw it, you saw my memories,” he said calmly. “I know Voldemort,” -Draco flinched- “threatened you, and your family. I know you were doing only what you had to, to protect them,” he said and Draco looked away.

“Who have you told of that night?” he demanded.

“No one,” he said, lying of course while at the tip of a wand, the one wheedling it none-too-sound-of-mind at the moment. He had told Ron and Hermione.

“You are lying,” Draco glared back at him, wand still pointed, and Harry sighed. He supposed lying to someone who could basically read his mind was a little futile and unwise. He really wished he hadn't blown Snape off with the Occlumency lessions at that point.

“If you know that, then you know I told no one of any significance to you, of your secret,” he said calmly, trying to talk Draco down so he would lower his wand.

Draco had a nasty crescent bruise around the outer edge of his left eye and a split but healing bottom lip. Harry himself was bruised, nose bleeding still. They all looked a little worse for wear. With every day there being more fighting, running, falling, jumping; there were just too many little minor injuries to heal.

“What secret?” Draco spat.

“That you are not a killer, that you are not a true Death Eater,” he said,

“Shut up!” Draco shouted, looking over at Macnair. He was unconscious from the fall hitting his head, but still, Harry should not say such things, such lies! “I have been serving the Dark Lord faithfully for months! I have endured his trials and passed his tests!”

“You have, and I don't doubt that you hate Muggle-borns and `Half-bloods', but I saw you consider Dumbledore's offer. That's why you are here now, talking to me rather than cursing me. I know it's true, Draco. You are only here because you are being forced into this, with threats, with intimidation. You did not choose this any more than I chose to be `the-boy-who-lived,'” he said and Draco looked ready to curse him at that point.

“You know nothing about me, Potter. NOTHING! I chose to serve the Dark Lord, it is what I wanted! I got desperate, and I buckled under the pressure that night, but I'm stronger now. I will do whatever it takes, whatever is asked of me!”

“Then why did you curse Macnair and not me?” Harry quipped and Draco's eyes widened just a touch.

“Shut up!” he shouted, his logic failing him.

“Draco, I know you are a good person, somewhere deep, deep down. It's probably a part of you that you have suppressed and locked away because you were raised to believe that it is a weakness to let it be known that you care about others, that you have compassion, but Draco, I see it in you.”

“What do you want from me? I'm not you, or one of your great Gryffindor crusaders.”

“You could be,” he said, not meaning Draco could be him, but a “crusader” for good.

“You offering to protect me now? Dumbledore tried, but he could not even protect himself, and you are disarmed and helpless as he was…how are you to protect me?”

“I would try.”

“What do you want from me?” Draco demanded again.

“In offering you help, do I have to want something from you, in return? Other than for you to maybe lower your wand?” Harry said, trying to calm Draco like a man on the edge. Draco looked at his wand as though he was surprised it was still in his hand let alone pointing at Harry. He lowered it slowly to hold it at his side.

“Nothing in the world is free and no one offers anything without expecting something in return. Everyone wants something in this world, everyone wants something from me it seems,” he said.

“I don't think that's true, Draco,” he said calmly, “but, how about a little honesty from you? That a lot to ask if I must? I'm sure you are not as bad and as merciless and cruel as you try to be, but I am not truly sure what side you are on.”

“Don't be condescending, Potter,” Draco warned.

“Explain to me what happened that night. How could I have misjudged you for so many years?” he said and Draco swallowed hard. Still looking torn, edging anger. That anger spilled over quickly.

“I'm a coward, is that what you want to hear, Potter? I'm a bloody coward!” Draco snapped, pointing his wand back at Harry and Harry holding his breath. “I have never had to do a thing all on my own and I have always had someone at my back. I'm sure when you are in a sticky spot you would like someone at your back too.”

“I have been in sticky spots, and I would have liked to have my friends with me, but it always seems that, in the end, I have to stand alone against something terrible.”

“Well, forgive ME for my first stand going so wrong. I couldn't act alone, I had to linger there until the Death Eaters could join me, but in the end I couldn't do it even with them there. I'm sure you are so disappointed, like everyone else, that I couldn't manage to kill Dumbledore,” he seethed, his eyes looking harsh, or on the verge of tears.

“Draco, it is no shame to not be able to kill. Most would see that as a redeeming quality,” he said and Draco scoffed at that.

“What do you want from me, Potter?” he asked again, hiding his eyes from the other boy with his pale hair so he wouldn't see the weakness in them his emotion gave, knowing that had been a weakness Dumbledore had explaited on that roof top.

“The truth,” he said firmly, feeling courageous despite the wand pointed at him. “For once in your life speak for yourself, about your own feelings, not tainted by what others have told you to say or do, or because it's what is expected of you. Tell me what you really want.”

“I don't know what I want,” he said, sounding closer to tears now, lost and small sounding. “I have never gotten what I wanted. I mean, not when it comes to my life. I grew up offered every material thing I could ever want, but I had no control over the outcome of my life. I don't know what I want, because I have never before been in a position to think for myself, all by myself.”

“What did you want all those years, while people were telling you what to say, where to go, and how to dress? Surely you resented it. What did you want then?”

“Honestly?” Draco said, daring a glance over at Harry again, his wand only vaguely pointing in the direction of the other wizard at that point. “I wanted to be you,” he confessed and Harry blinked.

“What?” he managed. That was not the answer he had expected in the least.

“Harry Potter who could do no wrong, so perfect, so untouchable. Adored and admired by everyone, for what? Because your mother cast a clever charm before she…died?” he asked, bitterness coming through in his voice now to hide his embarrassment. “Oh how I resented you all those years at Hogwarts. You, who time after TIME broke school rules with minimal, if any, punishment, you who was the favorite of Dumbledore and the other teachers, you who was always on the lips of every gossiping student, you who made the Prophet time and time again. You, a poorer student than I by far, but who got all the glory for luck and circumstance while I worked my arse off to get little if any recognition! The only name I could make for myself was the boy that hated YOU!” he said and Harry looked taken aback. He had no idea any of this. He had figured Draco had hated him for all sorts of reasons, but because he was jealous? He had only humored that idea for a short time year and years ago. Draco's persistent loathing of him he figured to have deeper roots than just envy.

“I extended to you my friendship when we were young, at the start of our first year, and you turned me away, humiliated me!” he said and Harry felt his stomach irk. It was more than just envy, Draco felt rejected, he was scorned. “I then spent the rest of the year being showed up by you over and over again! You on the Quidditch team, getting me detention because of YOUR rule breaking, winning the House Cup for Gryffindor because of yet more rule breaking! And then that damned Mudblood Granger, showing me up in every class. Oh how my father loved to berate me for being second in the class to a Muggle-born!”

“Draco-”

“What do I want, Potter? To, for one time in my LIFE, be appreciated for what I am capable of, not only recognized because I'm one of the few people not willing to bend over and kiss your arse!" he shouted, his wand pointing at Harry firmly again and Harry was sure he was about to be cursed.

“You are capable of more than this, this, servitude of the Dark Lord,” Harry attempted.

“You'd have me serve the Order of Phoenix instead? That'd be so much better?” Draco retorted and Harry sighed, trying a different angle now.

“You are a talented wizard, Malfoy, a good student,” he said.

“Glad someone acknowledges that now,” he said bitterly.

“You made Prefect-”

“So did Weasley,” he scoffed.

“You could use those skills you have for good,” Harry offered, not losing a beat when Draco shot him down. Draco was an Occlumens and Legilimens, that was very rare. And though clearly new at it still, Draco was very talented, he could be so useful, and very powerful, if only he would stop clinging to his failing ambitions and to do the right thing, for once.

“Good and evil is all relative, Potter. It's how you look at things that makes it bad or good.”

“Surely you can't see what you are a part of now as good,” Harry argued.

“It is familiar, and safe…something I have known my whole life and can hold to. It's one of the few things I have left.”

“I can offer you more.”

“Still pushing that offer?” Draco spat.

“It never left the table, not since Dumbledore placed it before you those months ago. He saw something in you, and I trust his judgment.”

“He also trusted Snape,” Draco said, cutting Harry deeply with that remark. Harry had to be silent for a moment to regain himself. He hadn't seen Snape since that night, but Draco had. Draco didn't trust that man, and couldn't understand why Dumbledore or the Dark Lord had or did. If Draco was uncertain, Snape was utterly ambiguous.

“Draco, you are hurt, and frustrated, and scared. I see that, I know that now. But things won't be any better for you if you stick with the Dark Lord. Look at the outcome? Say the Dark Lord falls. Then where would you be? Executed by Aurors as you flee? Sent to Azkaban for the rest of your life? Say the Dark Lord wins, what would you be? A scared and oppressed follower, no slave, forever terrified of displeasing him and facing his wrath and punishments?” he said and Draco whitened.

What did Harry know of the Dark Lord's punishments?

“You don't know…you…” Draco said, looking around, anywhere but at Harry. “I can't do this. I can't help you,” he said.

“Why?”

“He will know, he will kill my mother, he…”

“I will find a way, with the help of the Order, to protect her. She is not a Death Eater?”

“No,” Draco said firmly.

“Are you?” Harry asked, looking at Draco's left arm.

Draco groaned in a helpless manner and fell to his knees. He knelt there feet from Harry, face to face but looking away. He pulled up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. Harry took a deep breath.

“I thought it was the Mark you had showed the shop keeper over the summer in Knockturn Alley,” he said softly.

“What?” Draco said, blinking.

“Over the summer before our sixth year, when we met in Diagon Alley and you had flipped out in the robe shop, we…Hermione, Ron, and I…saw you sneak off to Knockturn Alley alone and we followed. You showed a shop keeper there something on your left arm while threatening him. We didn't see what it was, but I told Ron and Hermione that it had to have been the Dark Mark, but they wouldn't believe me,” he explained.

“Well, they were right to disagree, because you were wrong,” Draco said, letting his arms fall between his kneeling legs, wand held so loosely in his left hand.

“What?”

“I did not get the Mark until after my seventeenth birthday, after the whole mess on the Astronomy Tower. What I showed Mr. Borgin in Borgin & Burkes were scars, not a Dark Mark,” he said, turning his arm over to reveal the horrific werewolf scars there, feeling worn out and empty at that point.

“Scars?” Harry asked, not fully understanding while staring at Draco's arm, the scars there.

“You didn't hear, or remember by chance, the name I dropped while showing him my arm?” Draco asked, still looking down.

Harry thought for a moment, and it then hit him.

“Greyback,” he gasped. Draco made no reaction what-so-ever; he just knelt there, staring at the floor to Harry's right, looking outright depressed. “Draco, you're a werewolf?” Harry exclaimed, not exactly making it a question.

“I don't think even the Order could help me now,” Draco said, still staring at that spot on the floor.

“How…when did this happen?”

“Earlier that summer, the night I had gotten home from Hogwarts actually. It was the Dark Lord punishing my father, because you sent him to Azkaban,” Draco said, glaring finally at Harry and Harry gulping.

“Draco, I, I had no intention of…I did not know that…” he said, trying not to look at Draco's wand so as to maybe draw attention to it.

“You can't help me, nor can the Order. The werewolves have sided with the Dark Lord, and they are all that I have,” he said.

“No, not all the werewolves have. We, the Order, have Lupin and some others that have followed him,” Harry urged.

“Lupin, Remus Lupin, our old, sickly Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will protect me?” he said, obviously lacking faith in the man. He had seen him since the summer, preaching to the wolves in the underground about the promises the Order of the Phoenix was offering. Draco had paid the man no mind and had carefully avoided him for months.

Harry stood slowly, preparing for Draco to try and stop him, but he didn't. He stood before Draco and looked down.

“Draco,” he said, holding out his hand in a reversal of the second time they had met. “I know this is not exactly an extension of friendship, but come with me, join the Order. It is a better option than what you have now. At least it is an option, one you can choose to take, one that actually has a possibility at a happy outcome,” he said. Draco looked up at him. “I can't promise you much, but I can promise you a chance…a chance to do the right thing, for once in your life…even if it is just to help yourself.”

Draco looked up at Harry for a very long, drawn-out moment. Draco stood, ever-so-slowly, never breaking eye contact. Harry's hand was still extended between them and Draco glared. Harry did not flinch or look away, knowing this was a test and Draco's next actions hinged completely on his firm resolve, on his firm gaze. Draco raised his right hand, his wand in his left still, and he very slowly reached out to Harry.

They gripped hands in a very firm but very brief shake, both holding very serious and slightly mistrustful glares.

“I want to be free of him, by any means necessary…even if that means dying. There are fates worse than death, even if he doesn't believe so,” he said, speaking of the Dark Lord.

“I will try to not get you killed,” Harry assured.

Draco woke with a gasp to find himself alone in his bed. Ginny was not there with him.

Had she been part of the dream? Well, what he had just woken to had not actually been a dream, just another terrible memory.

He rarely dreamed anymore.

Mostly he remembered.

It was an unfortunate side-effect of being a Legilimens.

Rolling over with a groan he saw a long red hair on his pillow. He picked it up in his fingertips and smiled.

She hadn't been a dream, and that realization came with a wash of relief.

That was enough to get him to forget his terrible memory that had woken him and actually smile.

He tried moving a little bit more and he was stiff, but there was less pain.

Thinking that was good he attempted to stand. He got to his feet and swayed. To stop from falling he took a few quick steps which left him beside his dresser.

That wasn't as easy as he would have liked it, but he managed.

Standing there, feeling sluggish and quivering like his blood sugar was low, he cursed when his knees gave out suddenly. He braced himself on his dresser, but his knees hit the front of it hard, causing the bottles, picture frames, and hairbrush to rattle and him to curse again at the pain.

The potion Reamann had made him certainly had helped, as had the nap, but he was still weak. A potion meant for healing could not help that.

Draco, having just thought of Reamann, groaned. Would he have to apologize to the other man? He hated apologizing, to anyone, but especially when he had been perfectly justified in his anger. He had to make nice though, because he was now apparently dating the same woman as Reamann.

That seemed a little awkward. He could only imagine how much fun going to work was going to be.

That made him think. Ginny lived with Reamann, how did she plan on getting away to see him? Sure Reamann would be busy with the case, but that would also mean so would he. When would they have time to do, well, anything?

He decided to leave all that to Ginny. She was the one that wanted to cheat on the guy, so he would let her hammer out the details. He had far too much on his plate already.

There was a ball in less than four days that he would apparently be attending.

Had he really agreed to that?

He was such a softy, it was pathetic.

Walking slowly, stiffly, with much aid from his cane, feeling chilled now and wrapping his free arm around him to pull his wooly jumper closer, he left his room to walk straight into the living room. His mother was there, sipping coffee and reading a book. It must have been early evening, how long had he been asleep?

“Mum?” he said softly. Narcissa looked up from her book while still curled up in the squishy and slightly lumpy chair with the afghan across her lap.

“Oh, Angel, baby, you're up finally,” she said, marking her page and closing her book as she stood. “Are you hungry? I'll make you something,” she offered, walking over to him, feeling his forehead for a moment and then sliding her hand down to cup his cheek and chin.

“Where did Ginny go?” he asked softly, smiling faintly at his mother's predictable fussiness.

Narcissa's face remained remarkably unchanged but she scrunched her nose up a bit, like there was a bad smell directly below it. “Oh, Mother, don't do that,” he said, putting his hand over hers that held his face. “Please. Where did she go?”

“She was here for nearly two hours after you fell asleep but then had to leave. She didn't like leaving without telling you, but she didn't want to wake you, and I wanted you to sleep,” she said, trying not to make a disgusted face as she spoke curtly about her son's girlfriend.

Draco felt a little embarrassed for having fallen asleep with Ginny there, but they had curled up together and she had been so warm and comfy, and he had been so achy and tired. He had rested his cheek on her soft breasts and closed his eyes in his contentment and not realized he had drifted to sleep until he had woken hours later.

“Please don't be angry, Mother,” he said, tilting his head towards her hand a little while holding it there with his own. “I was going to tell you about Ginny, I swear,” he said, not about to tell his mother that Ginny had lied to her about being his girlfriend and then asked him out. She did not need any more reason to hate her, and she would have been affronted by the idea that a woman had asked him out. She would have ranted on about how improper that was, and what a hussy, a tramp, a tart, Ginny must have been. The fact that Ginny was still dating another man was something he would keep quiet as well, lest he wanted his mother to go to Azkaban for killing her.

“When were you going to tell me? When there was another grandbaby on the way?” she snapped.

“Oh, Mother, that is not fair, or nice,” he said, pouting a little and dropping his hand away.

“I'm sorry, Angel, I didn't mean to hurt you and bring that up in such a way, but she is a Weasley! Of all women…I'm glad you are finally dating, I think that it is important for you not to shut yourself off from the rest of the world like you have been, but honestly, her? Why her?” she asked.

“She was there for me during those final days of the war, when everything fell apart for me,” he said and his mother knew what he was talking about, her heart aching just a bit at the memory. “Ginny and I spent a night together-”

“Draco!” his mother gasped.

“I did not mean to imply that I slept with her, well, I did,” he said and his mother turned around and then back around to face him again, looking breathlessly outraged. “I did not mean sleep with, as in sex, Mother. We spent the night before the final battle together, talking, I swear! Nothing inappropriate happened, I assure you. We shared a kiss I'll admit, and we slept huddled up to fight off the cold,” he said, trying to ease his mother down from the verge of the nosebleed she was about to give herself.

“Draco, honestly, you had me worried there for a moment,” she said, her hand over her heart.

“You raised me better than that,” he said, trying to commend her and lighten her mood.

“Not well enough,” she said, fanning herself. Draco's face fell.

“You love Michael and Claire,” he said, pouting and letting the hurt he was feeling show on his face.

“Oh, I did not mean that. I'm sorry. This whole situation with the Weasley girl-”

“Ginny,” Draco cut in,

“…has got me rather flustered,” she said. She typically did not bring up the “circumstances” of how she became a grandmother with Draco, and tried not to use them against him in such a way, but Draco knew she was still terribly affronted by the idea and disappointed in him for what had happened. He knew she loved his children, he just could not help but feel she loved him just a little less because of his actions. He was still being punished for it, even if his mother did not realize, or acknowledge, it.

“Ginny doesn't have a problem with my past, she doesn't think I'm some evil, loathsome Death Eater, and she has known I'm a werewolf from all the way back then. She is fine with that,” he assured.

“And what does she think of your babies?” she asked and Draco flushed. “I had a feeling you haven't told her,” she said.

“I'm working up to that,” he said.

“You better make it soon, Michael will be off, back to Hogwarts, come January first.”

“I know,” he said, biting his bottom lip.

“What would you like me to make you to eat?” she said, pushing food on him again.

“I'm not really hungry…”

“You must be,” she said but was then interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who could that be?” he asked.

“It's too early for the children to be returned,” she said, frowning at the wall clock.

Draco timidly stepped backwards, back into his bedroom to peek around the corner. Visitors for him tended to be bad news. He was having a relatively good day, surprisingly better than he expected thanks to Ginny, he did not want that ruined by some Ministry Official showing up to hassle him.

Narcissa strode over to the door and answered it, blocking whoever was there from Draco's view and theirs of him at the same time.

“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. Is Draco home?” she asked and Draco froze. A woman? A woman that wasn't Ginny? Who was at his door?

His mother's prolonged silence was enough to really get him wondering.

“This is totally inappropriate of you, how dare you,” his mother finally said, going off and Draco sighing. He would have to defuse the situation.

He crept out from his room and across the living room to stand behind his mother, only just a touch taller than her. He placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered into her mind to calm down. He then looked over her shoulder to see Hermione Granger standing on the front steps, looking rather cool headed despite the harassment his mother had just started dishing out.

“Granger?” has asked, surprised. Did everyone now know where he lived?

“Hello, Draco,” she said, trying to be civil and friendly.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, not feeling quite the same warmth himself as she was presenting and letting it be heard in his voice.

“I'm Ginny's best friend and I wanted to talk to you about, well, some things,” she said, not wanting to say much in front of Mrs. Malfoy.

Draco swallowed hard, not wanting too much to be said in front of his mother either.

“Right, I suppose you would,” he said, holding onto his mother's shoulder with his one hand as he stepped back and urged her to follow. “Come in,” he said, really wishing he could just slam the door on the Mudblood's face.

“Thank you,” she said, knowing that she was not really welcome but not about to show any discomfort. She had learned long ago that nothing annoyed the people that hated her more than her being nice in return.

“Um, why don't we talk in the bedroom, for a little bit of privacy,” he suggested, turning to his mother. “I'll only be a few moments,” he said, kissing her cheek to ease her down further. She looked ready to claw Hermione's eyes out, and though he really wouldn't have minded it, he really did not think the poor carpet needed any more stains any more than their permanent records did.

Draco glanced over at Hermione to follow him and he stalked off to his bedroom, trying not to lean on his cane too heavily with Granger watching him. Narcissa caught Hermione's upper right arm and held her there in a tight grasp for a moment.

“Listen to me, Mud-uh-Granger. I don't like you, and you know damn well why,” she said, actually cursing, showing how angry she really was. “You have expressed before your desire to `make things right,'” she said and Hermione just looked at her. “A start would be going in that room and convincing my son to eat something,” she said. Hermione blinked at her, and the odd request, and was tempted to ask if she were being serious, but the tightness to which Narcissa was holding onto her was indication enough that she was not.

“Alright,” she said, nodding.

Narcissa released her and stepped backwards just as Draco peeked out to see what was taking Hermione so long. Hermione followed Draco into his bedroom and closed the door behind her.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said.

“Oh, it's my pleasure,” he said sarcastically.

“Okay, if there is going to be this sort of hostility between us, I think we have other things to talk about before we get to you and Ginny,” she said, pointing to him and then herself.

“You have five minutes, Granger, and not a moment longer,” he said, holding up his left hand with his fingers spread to show five. “Say what you came here to say,” he finished, then folding his arms up to his chest and leaning against his dresser. He tried to make it seem relaxed and confident, but in reality it was because he was sure he would fall over otherwise and he did not want to sit because that would call for him offering Granger a seat, and he didn't want the Mudblood on his bed.

Hermione took a deep breath but complied. Her relationship with Draco was not what ultimately mattered so she pressed on.

“Ginny confessed to me yesterday that she had this crazy desire to start seeing you,” she began.

“I know, she was by already, around noon, and we talked.”

“Yes, well, I know that. I wouldn't have come if I had thought she hadn't already talked to you,” she said. “You agreed, agreed to what she proposed,” she said, not making it a question but him answering anyways.

“Yes, I did.”

“You understand that this is mental? She is with another man,” she said, hoping she could have come there and talked some sense into Draco at the very least. She wasn't about to try and break this up for Ginny, that was not something best friends did, but to get Ginny and Draco both to think clearly and to come the their sense on their own was her goal.

“I'm aware of that, we discussed it already, and I work with Reamann.”

“How could you do this to him if you work with him?” she asked.

“I'm doing nothing. If you have some moral indignation about all this, talk to Ginny,” he said smoothly.

“But Reamann is your friend.”

“He sure as hell is not,” Draco said resentfully. “I may work with the chap, but we are in no way mates.”

“But-”

“Look, Granger, talk to Ginny about your troubles over this. If you fear that I won't treat her right, do not worry there, my mother and father raised me to be a gentleman towards women.”

“Really,” she said, not having to say “what about me?”

“Mudbloods don't count,” he sneered.

“You are such an arsehole,” she spat.

“Takes one to know one,” he quipped.

“What are you, ten?” she retorted.

“And yet still so much better in Arithmancy.”

“Yeah? Well, you're short.”

“Slag,” he pouted.

“I didn't come here to trade insults,” she said.

“No, you came here to satisfy or quash that persistent nagging in the back of your head that keeps telling you that I'm evil and can't be trusted and that I will hurt Ginny in some elaborate plot to somehow punish you for ruining my life. I must say, that is terribly narcissistic of you to think such a thing. I would expect such a `the world revolves around me' attitude from Potter, the boy-who-lived-to-be-self-righteous, but not from you, Mudblood,” he said, calling her “Mudblood” again, as he had several times already, trying to upset her.

“It's rude to read another's thoughts without asking, Malfoy,” she flushed.

“It's rude to visit unannounced,” he quipped.

“I don't want Ginny to get hurt, but honestly, that will be what happens if anyone were to find out you two were seeing each other.”

“Thus why she is still dating Reamann. He is our cover,” he said.

“Don't be thinking you will be her primary relationship and that Reamann is just a front,” she said and Draco glared. “She is dating him, she is seeing you on the side. You are her fling,” she said. Draco buried his hurt at Hermione's blunt words with anger.

“Since you are no part of this relationship, I do not think you have any say on what happens in it.”

“Don't tell me you are seriously trying to make Ginny a real girlfriend, Malfoy,” she said. Draco looked at her, looked at her face, and then looked way with a scoff and an air of indignity.

“Of course not,” he said, pompous as he ever was back at Hogwarts. Hermione couldn't see through it. “This is just a fling, but one too nice to pass up,” he said, still hurting from the idea that was what it was to Ginny. What was she getting at then when she talked about making a connection all those years ago? Darn he felt a little foolish.

“Well, so long as you understand that,” she said, sighing. Ginny was a grown woman and could do as she pleased, but there were far better guys to have flings with than Draco Malfoy, men with far less emotional baggage.

“You may leave now,” he said, making a shooing motion with his hands at her.

“Your mother wanted me to tell you to eat something,” she said and Draco froze for a second and then looked angry.

“Get out, Granger,” he warned.

“She is apparently worried, and honestly, if you were any thinner you wouldn't exist,” she said, able to see through the obscuring bagging pants and jumper. It did not give him bulk; it actually made him seem smaller with all that material hanging off of him.

“I said get out. Get out, get out, get out,” he said, shooing the whole time.

Hermione opened the door and allowed Draco to shoo her all the way to the front door.

“Malfoy,” she said, turning to face him while on the front steps, him standing in the door way.

“I would say this was a pleasure, but that would be a lie,” he said, interrupting her before slamming the door in her face. Hermione stood there for a second, balling her hands up into fists. She wanted to call him a prat, among other things, but she really could not blame him for his bitterness. Well, she understood his bitterness at least, not really wanting to excuse his rudeness for the rest of their lives.

There would come a point when he really had to deal with things and attempt to get over it, just so as to move on with his life.

Draco turned away from the door to see his mother standing in the doorway to the kitchen area on his left, looking hopeful, and sighed.

“Mum, would you make me a peanut butter sandwich…please?” he asked, putting on his pouting, helpless, “I need my mummy to take care of me,” voice that she just loved to cater to.

“Of course I will,” she said, smiling and turning into the kitchen to get right on that.

Draco looked after her and sighed.

He hated that he worried her so much.

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Authoer's Note:

Draco's conflicted nature is really brought forefront in the flashback.

I mentioned Snape in this chapter. No, I haven't forgotten about him.

-->

15. Chapter 15

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Fifteen

Draco dreaded going to work that morning more than any other day he could recently recall, and it was not just because it was a Friday. Oh how he wanted nothing more than to stay home, curl up on the couch with the children, and watch the telly all day, but that was not an option. He had taken two days off for the full moon and now he was expected back at work.

It wasn't the “work” part that got him down, or the day of the week, or the fact that he had to visit his probation officer and “Support Wizard”; it was the having to talk to Reamann.

No Malfoy ever admitted they were wrong, or apologized.

The worst part was: he hadn't been wrong!

He hadn't been unjustified in telling Reamann to basically go to hell.

He would have to make nice though, and that was not something he was particularly practiced or good at.

Rolling out of his warm bed with a groan due to his stiffness, and shivering in the cold of his bedroom he dressed in the dark. A pair of blue-jeans, green t-shirt, and his sweatshirt, as always, was what he threw on. No need for light when his wardrobe was so simple.

It seemed like no time at all that he was in the Ministry. It was early, before sunrise, Reamann wouldn't be in yet, and he couldn't see his mandated caretakers, so he made his way down towards the Hall of Records. He would get some work in as a means of distraction before he had to swallow his pride and ask Reamann to take him back.

Draco groaned at the very thought of it.

It was for Ginny.

He kept telling himself that, over and over.

It was for Ginny.

Above that, he had other problems at hand.

He had a lot to confess to Ginny (even though he really didn't want to) before they attempted to take their “relationship” any further, even if he was just some fling to her.

He couldn't hide them from her, but he didn't want to introduce Ginny to his children. Ginny could handle it…maybe…but he did not want his children to become attached to a woman, a woman that was just a fling, and then have to deal with her not being around anymore.

That was not fair to them.

“Draco,” Coderdale said while taking off his own cloak.

“Morning,” Draco said, letting his tired frustration be heard.

“I didn't expect you in until later, since it's Friday. How are you feeling?”

“Better than usual,” Draco said, throwing his cloak over the back of his chair and flopping down.

“So helping that Mr. Rossiter out has paid off?” Coderdale asked, sitting down across from Draco in their bubble of shared light, speaking of the potion Reamann had undoubtedly made for Draco that had him up and functioning. Draco was usually little better than a zombie, and about just as friendly, the first day back to work after the full moon.

“Suppose so,” Draco said, not happy about being reminded of Reamann after he had just so recently driven the man from his thoughts.

“You just be careful. That Sebastian was nosing about yesterday, wanting to know who Mr. Rossiter's “informant” was. If he figures you, or finds out Rossiter is supplying you with magical potions, you two will both be in a whole lot of hot water.”

“I know,” Draco said, having forgotten for a moment that Reamann had confessed to the Aurors that he had an informant. He could not understand why Reamann had been unable to take all the credit for himself and look all the more valuable and smart while keeping the secret. He supposed Reamann was too Gryffindor for him to expect the man to be so deceitful. Gryffindors certainly had their faults.

The first few hours of work went by at a steady pace, faster than usual because Draco was dreading having to go see Reamann. If he were looking forward to going home, the hours would have dragged on.

Draco left at eight to see his probation officer, Laura, and lied right to her face, again.

He felt guilty about it and could not imagine why. Lying rarely made him feel guilty, but Laura trusted him, she didn't bust his balls, make him use truth potions, treat him like a criminal…he hated abusing that trust…but he couldn't admit to her that he was getting a steady supply of potions.

After that Draco had to check in with his Support Wizard, Marcus. Draco did not have to put on much of an act for the man. Lying to Laura had put him in a foul mood that was only intensified by the visit to the fourth floor, and though he had taken a potion the day before, he still felt like shit. He did not have to fake a limp. The potion might have been strong enough to relieve his general aches and pains on a typical day, but not the agony of the second day after the full moon.

By ten o'clock Draco was back in the Hall and fidgeting. Malfoys did not fidget and Coderdale knew this, so he inquired.

“Draco? Are you alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” Draco said, right knee bouncing still.

“You do not look it,” Coderdale said, looking down over his glasses at the much younger man across from him.

Draco took a deep huffing breath and then cursed softly. He dove down over the arm of his chair, opened his left-hand-side drawer of his desk, and reached into the very back behind some ink-wells and spare parchment. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and drew one out with his lips as he sat up though still hunched over. Coderdale looked at him firmly.

“What?” Draco asked, the cigarette bobbing from his lips precariously in a fashion only well practiced smokers could manage.

“You said you quit,” Coderdale said.

“I did,” Draco replied, the cigarette still in his mouth. Coderdale's expression only hardened and Draco groaned, plucking the cigarette from his lips and crumpling it in his first. He tossed the ruined cigarette onto the desk top and slumped his head and shoulders, leaning forward until he was resting his forehead on his desk.

“What's wrong, Draco?” Coderdale asked, softly, fatherly.

“I want a fag,” he whined.

“They will kill you,” Coderdale said, knowing that was not really what had Draco so upset.

“I'm afflicted with any number of things that will kill me long before smoking would,” he pouting, voice muffled slightly by the desktop. He had a life expectancy of a ripe and cheery age of about sixty, if he was extremely lucky. Some died before forty and Draco knew that was just about his luck.

“What's wrong, Draco?” Coderdale asked again, expecting the truth this time.

Draco took a deep breath while rolling his head to the side so that his cheek was on his desk now, and went into a longwinded explanation into what exactly was going on at the moment with Reamann and him, only at the very end muttering quickly and softly the bit about him and Ginny seeing each other, hoping, but not counting on, Coderdale missing it.

“Draco…” Coderdale said, outrage, shock, disbelief all fighting for dominance in his tone and expression.

“I have to go upstairs, soon…now…and talk to Reamann, to get him to take me back and allow me to work on this case again, and I don't know how to do that,” Draco said, voice a little small.

“Draco…” Coderdale repeated, words failing him.

“Coderdale…” Draco said flatly, sitting up now.

“Draco-”

“Coderdale-”

“Alright, alright,” Coderdale said, stopping Draco from repeating his name in annoyance by stopping his own repeating of Draco's in shock. “I had always thought you were better than this.”

“Ouch, Coderdale, very ouch,” Draco said, using his thumbnail to pick at some spilled wax on his desktop, not wanting to look at the older man. Coderdale was one of the few people that actually did have a high opinion of him, and it bothered him to not live up to that.

“I never thought you, of all people, would consciously take part in such a disgraceful relationship,” he said.

“You sound like my mother.”

“She not happy about this either?”

“She doesn't like Ginny…she doesn't know about Reamann.”

“Draco-”

“Coderdale-”

“Alright, alright,” he said again, not about to start that again, “but this is madness.”

“I really like her.”

“Don't do this to yourself, Draco,” Coderdale said sadly and Draco looked up at him. “Don't be in this kind of relationship if you really like the woman,” he warned.

“Why would I be in a relationship with someone I didn't like?” he asked, not following.

“No, I mean, you like her.”

“I just said as much.”

“You are her other man,” he said, and Draco's eyes darkened. “You will end up liking her so much more than she likes you and you will end up hurting again.”

“I really hate it when you use my marriage against me like this; it's something I would expect from my mother…not from you.”

“I thought you would have learned from that…that, bad experience.”

“I was young and foolish.”

“It seems that all that has changed is your age.”

“That's not…”

“She lied right to your face and led you on while in you were in Azkaban. How could you have hurt and hated to learn that so much, and then be a part of a relationship such as this?”

“Coderdale…”

“Draco…”

“Damn it,” Draco said, pulling on his hair, tired of all the back-and-forth between them. “It is just a fling. I know that, I can handle it, I won't get attached this time since I know how Ginny feels about this and I know she can do better than me if she wanted a real relationship,” he said and Coderdale gave him a sad but frustrated look, hating that Draco would belittle himself in such a way, something he did just a little too often. It was a residual effect his wife had left him with as near as he could tell. Coderdale had never met the woman, but hated her for that and all she had done to Draco to make him feel and see himself in such a way, and hated it that Draco could not manage to hate the woman, even though he more than anyone had enough reason to. “But the problem of talking to Reamann still remains.”

Coderdale took a deep breath.

“It's your life, you do with it as you like,” he sighed. “I just would have thought you would have had more consideration for your children…this is no more fair to them than it is to you, and they are not choosing this,” he said and Draco's chin dropped a little.

“I am still working on that aspect of it. I don't want them upset or hurt,” he said, feeling a little queasy. Coderdale looked away.

“Well, as far as Reamann Rossiter is concerned, he was really the one in the wrong as far as what you quarreled about yesterday, but you snapping at him did not help. You need to swallow that temper of yours, and your pride, and I think you both need to apologize and move on.”

“I'm no good at apologizing,” Draco said, though that was already known between the both of them.

“Well, you better learn. Practice…all the way up to his department, it's a long enough walk,” he said, standing at that point and walking towards the mass of shelves with his handful of notes, about to go pull some texts. He did not really want to deal with the mess Draco was making for himself at the moment.

Why did Draco have to sabotage everything in his life this way? Sometimes he really did feel Draco was a glutton for punishment. He wasn't sure Draco would know what to do with himself if he were ever just simply happy.

Draco sat there and stared at his old, slightly crunched, pack of cigarettes for a long moment. With a sigh he stood and rubbed his eyes.

It was going to be a long walk.

By the time Draco was getting off the lift on the fifth floor he had thought of exactly what he was going to say, but making his way to Reamann's office and standing before his door, his mind became a total blank.

Shit.

He was going to knock, but Sebastian Aurum's voice from the interior of the room stopped him.

Shit, shit.

Caught in the open, Draco cursed under his breath a few more times.

Sebastian already had reason enough to suspect him because of the hair he had left at one scene, and if he was looking for Reamann's informant, Reamann had basically given him up already having said he had sought him, Draco, out for some assistance on the case already. It wouldn't be hard to connect the dots. If all Sebastian was looking for was proof, Draco showing up outside Reamann's office seemed evidence enough.

Draco did not want to be dragged in front of a bunch of angry, old Aurors and interrogated and threatened and intimidated.

Looking around, he ducked into a nearby office across the hall from Reamann's. The witch in there looked surprised.

“Excuse me?” she said, standing from her desk slowly.

Draco peeked around the edge of his hood slightly with one silver eye and held a finger up to his lips in a “shh” gesture. The witch's brow furrowed as she sat back down, staring at the stranger in her office. Sebastian's voice was suddenly louder, Reamann's office door opening and spilling his words out into the hall for them to overhear.

“I will expect better organization on your part from now on, Mr. Rossiter, and I do not repeat myself, so take notes if you must,” he said, condescending and authoritative as ever.

The witch whose office Draco was intruding on seemed to understand now why Draco was hiding, and said nothing, watching from her seat as Sebastian walked past, Reamann having yet to say anything since the door had opened.

Once Draco felt it was safe he gave a nod to the witch at her desk, which she returned, and he crept across the hall to Reamann's open office door. He stepped in but Reamann did not seem to notice. His head was down; hair gripped firmly in his hands as he apparently read something before him, or simply stared at the desk top.

Draco closed the door behind him so that he was holding the handle still behind his back and waited. Reamann looked up at the sound of the latch and froze.

“Hello,” Draco said softly.

“What are you doing here?” Reamann asked, sounding surprised, his hair sticking up ridiculously from his fingers mussing it up. The oil that had kept it slick and smooth, now kept it stuck up and messy.

“Sebastian giving you a hard time?” he asked, avoiding Reamann's question, delaying his apology.

“He was just here, laying the rules for working the case along with him, you know, since he is my partner and everything,” he said, sounding bitter.

“I'm sorry,” Draco said, just blurting it out. No pretenses, none of the witty, smarmy, patronizing remarks he had planned to make, not remaining cool and sophisticated. He just said it, and then flushed a little. Damn it.

“What?”

“I did not mean to chase you out yesterday, I have a temper…if you had somehow not known,” he said, refusing to look at Reamann, the whole scene embarrassing and hard enough for him already. He did not like admitting he had any faults. Malfoys did not have faults, they just has personality quirks that tended to hurt other people's feelings. “I was not feeling well and used you as an outlet for my frustration.”

“You had every right to be angry, I was abusing your, um, kindness,” he said and Draco blinked at him. He looked at Reamann for a long moment before his shoulders shook in a held-in laugh.

“Kindness,” he managed, trying to not laugh.

“Draco-”

“No, no, I just…wow,” he finally laughed. “I never would have imagined someone ever saying that to me. Taking advantage of my kindness…doesn't that paint a pretty picture of me,” he chuckled.

“I didn't mean it in a bad way, I just…I feel awful for having treated you so badly.”

“Nothing I'm not accustomed to and have come to expect,” he said with a shrug. “I am only helping you out for my own selfish gain, but the laugh was nice,” he said, holding up his hand to stop Reamann from saying anything. “Hush,” he said, Reamann a talker, and one that would get going and never stop. “We have both been very, let's say, unprofessional about this case so far. You're too preoccupied with me to give the case your full attention, me more concerned with getting my potions than solving this mess…I think we both need to reevaluate this all and start fresh,” he said.

“Draco-”

“Don't get me wrong, I still don't give a hoot about the wee-Muggles, and I still want my potions…have any with you?” he said, sounding a little desperate but then shaking his head and getting back on track. “But I will do my best to do what I can.”

“Sebastian is being difficult.”

“It's what he's best at,” Draco said, mockingly yet so serious. He was good at being smarmy, and it felt better than feeling embarrassed. He would stick with smarmy.

“I don't know how long I can keep turning to you for help without him figuring something.”

“Leave that to me, I'm the sneaky Slytherin of the two of us, and I have, well, hidden my dealings from other's in the past,” he said, having spent the war convincing both sides that he was sincerely and exclusively serving them. It had been quite a feat that had nearly cost him his life.

He impressed even himself sometimes.

There was silence for a long moment.

“You know, I finally remember you,” Reamann said and Draco blinked at him, missing a key part of Reamann's thought.

“Care to expand on that a little?”

“I'm younger than you, but we went to Hogwarts at the same time. I was a first year Gryffindor in your sixth year,” he said and Draco blinked.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I didn't have much of a memory of you because you were in a different house and so much older than me. You never seemed to be around either. I can only remember seeing you a handful of times in the Great Hall at meals and such. Your hair made you stick out some, and people talked about you,” he said.

“Well, when you're popular,” he said airily. Reamann just looked at him, expecting a real answer to his unasked question. “I was a little, well, preoccupied that year.”

“Yeah, I read,” he said.

“This little confession have a purpose?” Draco asked, himself being one of his least favorite topics of conversation.

“Well, I mean, I guess it's my round-about way of getting back on the topic of you not being a Death Eater-”

“You're just going to pound that out as often as you can in hopes of finally believing it, aren't you,” Draco said but Reamann talked over him.

“And you really have a right to go to the Remembrance Ball,” he said and Draco blinked.

Ginny had talked to him about that already? Damn, she worked fast.

He did not have to act all that surprised that Reamann had just invited him to the ball because he was honestly caught off guard…but he would act, and play hard to get. He would rather enjoy watching Reamann beg him to come.

“What?” he asked, easily sounding surprised and a little defensive.

“I was talking to Ginny last night about the ball and you came up. She thinks quite highly of you, you saved her life in the war?” he asked.

“It was a mutual life-saving-thing,” he said offhandedly and Reamann looked at him questioningly. “You know, it's a rush…once you start, you find yourself doing it again and again, like an adrenaline junkie,” he said with a shrug, being mocking.

“Well, yes, well, she told me about it, a little…should I thank you?”

“If you must,” Draco said simply.

“Would inviting you to the ball be a good start to thanking you?”

“Putting me in a position where I will be surrounded by people who hate and mistrust me, where I will be ostracized and ridiculed, is your idea of thanking me?” Draco asked, not sure if he was playing hard to get or just being impossible. He had already agreed, he couldn't build too strong a case against Reamann's offer or Ginny would be sad.

“Well, yeah, I mean, that's true,” Reamann said, slightly crest fallen. Draco sighed, folding his arms up and leaning his upper back against the door.

“Well, since you're twisting my arm over this,” he said with a bored tone, Reamann looking up at him. “I suppose I could make an appearance, you know, just to royally piss off the attendees and irk the Ministry something fierce,” he said, making it all out to be his desire to be a thorn in the Ministry's side. Really, it partially was.

“Really? You would go?” he asked.

“I don't get out much,” he said, shrugging, looking up at the ceiling.

“You have something to wear?”

“It is a formal occasion, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,”

“I'll find something,” he said, not sure how he was going to go about that but that being none of Reamann's concern.

Draco left Reamann to his work, receiving from him a hefty file-folder from the newest scene. He would have a lot of reading to do that night, and that made him grumpy. He wanted to spend his night with the kiddies, not on the case, as adorable as the case was.

Draco's mood remained cantankerous until he entered the Hall of Records and saw Coderdale entertaining Ginny again.

He froze for a second, then blinked, then moved to allow the door to close properly after it hit his shoulder.

“Draco,” Ginny said, smiling, her eyes becoming luminous with joy just at seeing him. Draco had to admit, his tummy made a similarly warm fluttering sensation upon seeing her, but he was good at keeping emotion off his face, and muted from his eyes. His eyes were his only true weakness, windows into his soul or some rubbish like that.

“Ginny,” he said, recovering from his surprise. Ginny was sitting at his desk, her long green robes open to reveal a black pencil skirt, white blouse, and one of those silly, little, lacy ties that women sometimes wore to the office that was supposed to be like a female version of a man's necktie but failed miserably at being serious and equivalent.

She looked nice though, her hair pulled back into a careless but probably highly styled bun. He kept forgetting that Ginny worked at the Ministry.

Coderdale was sitting at his own desk, looking pleasant. One would not have known of his objections to Draco and Ginny's relationship by looking at him.

“I came down to see you, I'm on my lunch, and I found that I had missed you. I did not have to wait long though,” she explained with a smile as Draco neared. He leaned to place his file on the desk, but she seemed to get the impression that he leaned to give her a kiss, so she ended up kissing him, in front of Coderdale, and though Draco enjoyed kissing Ginny any chance he got, he was feeling dreadfully uncomfortable with the man watching him in the act.

Draco pulled away first, making sure to smile, trying not to let his unease show. He buried that all under a cool, smug mask.

“I'm glad you stopped in,” he said, that being true, for the most part. God he loved looking at her, the realization of “this is mine” immeasurably pleasing his greedy, spoiled inner child, but still, he was a little tentative. She didn't feel the same. Right?

“You were just up seeing Reamann?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How do you slip up there and back without anyone questioning you?” she asked.

“Fringe benefit to being a Legilimens, I can prevent straying minds from paying attention to me,” he said. “It doesn't work if someone actively seeks me out, but it stops the passing glance and the recognition that would follow.”

“That's handy.”

“That's tricky,” he said simply. Technically, Legilimens are supposed to use discretion and follow a code of ethics when it came to using their abilities, and though they are not specifically regulated by the Ministry, misuse of the skill can land one in Azkaban for a short stint. Draco did not see it as “unethical” to chase people away from him using his abilities in Occlumency and Legilimency, but if anyone were to complain about some of the other things he did, like tormenting Potter every chance he got, he might be brought up before the Ministry's board of Ethical Use of Magic.

“Reamann talk to you about the ball then?”

“Yes, and aren't we eager? I did not even have to demonstrate my award-worthy acting skills; I was legitimately caught off guard.”

“Well, we have to make plans fast. It's already Friday, the ball in on Christmas Eve, and this Tuesday is Christmas day,” she said, sounding a little stressed, only the weekend left to finalize all her plans. “I talked to Reamann last night, about the fallout you two had had, and urged him to apologize to you, and then convince you to come to the ball,”

“Well, I went and apologized,” he said and Ginny blinked at him like she did not believe her ears.

“It's true,” Coderdale added, noting Ginny's response.

“You, you apologized? You?” she said and Draco was caught between amusement and indignation.

“Yes, I am capable of such a thing, believe it or not.”

“Wow,” she said, not even apologizing for her shocked reaction.

“You're hurting my feelings, Weasley,” he huffed.

“I just did not think you would do that, I mean, Reamann was the one that had been insensitive,” she said.

“Well, I feared he would just avoid me after I snapped at him.”

“Draco has a bit of a temper,” Coderdale interjected.

“So I went and spoke to him,” Draco finished.

“I'm so proud of you,” she said with a grin.

“Yeah? Well, if you're impressed by that, wait until I tell you I tied my shoes this morning, all by myself!” he said mocking her and Ginny putting her hands on her hips as she sat there at his desk.

“Prat.”

“You know you love me for it,” he said, making a shooing motion to get her to vacate his seat. She stood, but before he could make to sit she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the shelves, away from Coderdale.

“Weasley,” he said, being tugged along for a moment as she led him deep into the dark cavern of the room. “Weasley darling,” he said again before he was pulled around Ginny and pushed up against the shelves. “Ouch, that hurt,” he complained, his back hitting one of the shelves particularly hard. “I don't have a lot of padding,” he whined but Ginny pressed her lips against his to silence his irate complaints.

Draco had half a mind to push her back and tell her he was still on the clock, but that half of his mind went a little numb as Ginny pressed her body against his in a way that made his body a little…excited.

Seemingly getting the reaction from him she wanted, without breaking the kiss Ginny reached down to unbutton Draco's jeans. She got the button with ease and was on the zipper before he could reach down and stop her. He turned his head away to break the kiss and held her wrists down so that they were no longer pressing against his bulging trousers.

“Ginny.”

“Draco?” she asked, looking confused.

“As enticing an offer as this is, I can't,” he said and Ginny frowned.

“What? Why?”

“It is no offense to you, but the location…” he said, tilting his head, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

“You worried about Mr. Coderdale? We could move farther back, this place is like a maze, and I'm sure he wouldn't seek us out having a fairly good idea what we would be…”

“No, no, well, it is that to some extent, but no…I just,” he said, pausing, his cheeks suddenly pink. Damn it.

“What?”

“I rather not say…let's just take a rain check on this and-”

“No, no, tell me, what's wrong?” she asked, stepping back to give him some breathing room, his hands still around her wrists, his pants still undone slightly.

Draco was quiet for a long moment.

“I would just, for the first time we, uh, you know…I would like a little more romance. A bed would be nice,” he said.

“You want to do something romantic?” she asked, not having thought Draco would want their fling to start so formal. Wasn't having a secret love affair about going off and doing things one would not normally do, like shag at work, while on the clock? The excitement was what made it worth the risk.

“You not into romance? I'm not talking about candles and rose peddles and such…unless that's what you would like…but a bed, a bed would definitely be nice.”

“Oh, well, yes, I guess that would be nice, but beds are hard to come by in the times we are free to, um, spend time together. I live with Reamann, I can't spend the night with you, Reamann would notice,” she said.

Draco looked uncomfortable.

“A bed would really mean that much to you?” she asked.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat with his fist in front of his mouth, having let go of her wrists by then. “Would it help my side of the case, or hurt it, to admit to you that I have never had sex in a bed?” he muttered, looking very flushed and very uncomfortable.

“What?” Ginny asked in total disbelief.

“I did not fool around at Hogwarts…I know about those rumors, Pansy started them but they were complete codswallop,” he said with firm and righteous annoyance. “I was in Azkaban for the extent of my marriage and I had only two opportunities to, well, be with my wife, and neither time was in a bed,” he said, softer at the last.

“Wait, you were serious yesterday? Totally serious…not pulling my leg, or omitting minor instances…you never dated after getting out of Azkaban?

“Never,” he muttered.

“Surely you had to have had sex since then,” she said and he shook his head silently. “You have not had sex since…since your wife? That's what, eight years?” Ginny asked, managing to be even more astonished than before.

“Almost twelve, actually,” he said, refusing to look at her. He would not admit that he knew the exact number of days, hours, and minutes since he had last had sex.

“Holy shit,” she said.

“You know, you really know how to make a guy feel good about himself,” he scoffed, flushing now rather than blushing.

“Oh, oh I'm sorry,” she said, leaning towards him and wrapping her arms up around his neck in a hug. “I didn't mean to make you feel bad.”

“I'm sure you didn't,” he said, resting his hands on her lower back and patting them a little as though to sooth her.

“But, why?” she asked, pulling back and Draco blinked.

“Why what?” he asked.

“Why did you not at least have sex since getting out of that place?”

“Are you signifying some sort of surprise that I did not mindlessly hook-up with random women, or worse a prostitute, after being granted probation?” he asked. Ginny looked a little abashed. “Do you really think that low of me just because I would agree to your little fling?”

“No, I didn't mean…” she said, flushing at him calling it a fling, “it's just, most guys…”

“I'm not most guys…and even if I had the money for hired company of the pleasurable persuasion, my mother raised me better than that,” he said, nose up a little.

“Does this mean no sex?” she asked timidly.

“No! Oh-God no,” he assured, looking at her with wide eyes, practically shouting at first. “Just give me a bed and it's on,” he said with enough passion to get Ginny to throw her head back and laugh.

“Oh, you're precious,” she laughed, pressed up against him again, hard enough to get him to grunt a little.

“Weasley, darling, since there won't be any sex between us at this moment in time, do you think you could give me a little air before I lose my resolve, or more embarrassingly, my bodily control,” he said, forcing the words to be calm through his teeth. Ginny just pressed a little harder at just the right angle.

“How good is your resolve, and control?” she asked, face inches from his.

“Not that good,” he wheezed, grabbing her upper arms and forcing her to take a step back, the distance helping, but the problem still present.

“I could take care of that, um, little problem for you, if you like.”

“We already agreed on waiting,” he said.

“I wasn't talking about intercourse,” she said with a mischievous smile. Draco blinked at her and the answer dawned on him and he blushed. Damn it. She saw it too and her grin only widened. Damn it, damn it.

“You've never had one before, have you?”

“I should most certainly say not,” he said, trying to hold himself proper, looking affronted by the very notion or suggestion.

“I have respect for your mother in her conviction in raising herself a good son, but you are far too prude for your own good.”

“Being prudish is a bad thing now?”

“When you're fifteen? No…but when you're thirty? Definitely yes,” she said, kissing him before he could object to her teasing him on his propriety anymore.

He was a little grumpy, and more than a little embarrassed, which did not combine well with his discomfort. He jumped a little when he felt her hand slip down the front of his jeans. Ginny pulled away from their lip lock with a sort of bedroom laugh and placed the side of her face against his so she could whisper in his ear her assurances that it was not as bad as he was making it out to be.

Draco did not like how patronizing she was being, and he did his best to relax, but he felt very exposed doing something like this out in the open. Sure they were two of three people in that hall at the moment and Coderdale was smart enough to keep himself busy at his desk until he saw them reemerge from the shelves…but still…there was wide-open space and tall book shelves in all directions. Standing there with his pants open seemed more than just a little indecent. His heart was racing, like he had just sprinted, and that made his body down below throb, or was it Ginny's touch that did that?

Ginny's thumb hooked into the waistband of his knickers and he felt just the briefest of graces of her skin against his lower abdomen. A shudder ran through his body and now, no matter how embarrassed he was, he could not tell her to stop, wanting so much for her to make that happen again.

Ginny turned her hand to slip down between his body and his clothing and he let out a very soft groan again and she smiled into his ear.

“I would make a wager that you are quiet in bed,” she said and he did not know what to say to that. “I bet I can entice some sound out of you,” she said, cupping his groin just hard enough to make him stand up on his toes just a little and grunt.

“Damn you, woman, stop being such a tease. It hurts my Slytherin pride to see a Gryffindor act more devious and more manipulative than I,” he whined.

“Don't worry, I'll strip you of this last innocence and I think we will be on a more level playing field. I never considered myself an overly experienced woman with only having a handful of sexual partners in my life…I had actually expected to learn a great deal from you in this little affair, but I guess a nun would feel slutty compared to you,” she teased.

“Hey, I'll have you know that I am down right naughty…just been distant from the singles scene for the last, well, twelve years,” he said, Ginny's hand on him and making it difficult to form coherent, let alone witty, thoughts or statements.

Any hope of saying anything more, clever or otherwise, was lost when she kneeled before him suddenly. He was caught by surprise by that, her standing against him, cheek to cheek, and then suddenly vanishing below his belt, but having himself pulled out from his pants overshadowed even that surprise.

As Ginny went down on him, Draco just fought to maintain control. He was sure climaxing quickly was not the best way to go about impressing a girl, but damn it, he had years of pent up sexual frustrations that he alone had been unable to fully slake. His body was aroused and throbbing with a tightness that was almost new to him. He had been aroused before, but this was hardly comparable to things that he had done while alone in the shower.

Draco had enough conscious thought to wonder what to do with himself, more specifically, his hands. Did he just stand there unmoving while she did things? She wanted him to make sounds, and that was not about to happen, well…he let out a low groan before swallowing hard.

Ginny seemed to notice his uncertainty and looked up at him with only her eyes, reaching up to hold his right hand for a moment before directing it to rest on her shoulder. He did not need any further direction from there, he just held her shoulders, his back to the book shelves, and did his best to enjoy himself, which wasn't difficult.

Draco let his head tip back onto one of the shelves and moaned then, a little louder than he had allowed himself to before. His hips wanted to move up to meet her as she stroked and handled, sucked and licked, and she encouraged it a little, allowing him to move slightly. The pleasure she derived from knowing she could make him buckle with a flick of her tongue or the twist of her grip satisfied her and made her feel powerful. She handled him, pumping her hand over his length quickly between the times she took him into her mouth, touching all his sensitive areas and rolling them in her hands, enticing small muted sounds from him.

In no time at all, Draco felt it coming and he was not sure if he should warn Ginny. He had heard somewhere that that was vastly appreciated, and so managed her name with a moan.

“Ginny, um, yeah,” he said, panting as she continued to pump away on him, stimulating just his tip with her mouth and tongue in a way he had never envisioned possible. She seemed to know how to stroke him better than he did himself. He was not complaining, but it was a little intimidating.

Ginny looked up at him, only her hands on him now as she rolled him in her grasp. She smiled and stood, holding him tight between them, still stroking him quickly, pumping to grant him that climax he was already edging. Draco tilted his head back again and she kissed at his throat and the underside of his chin where there was the slightest hint of scruff, like he had missed it while shaving but the hair too fair to see.

With a shuddering breath Draco released himself and Ginny smiled while her lips remained pressed against his neck. She bit her bottom lip while grinning, taking in the scent of his hair, it very satisfying to bring him to climax, she only would have liked him to cut loose a little bit more. She supposed she still had some time to break him of his charming prudishness.

“There, now that wasn't so bad, was it?” she teased, making it sound like she was his doctor and she had just given him a vaccination.

“Don't be patronizing, woman,” he breathed, panting a little, head still leaning on the shelf. “Sorry about the…mess,” he said as a slightly timid afterthought, lifting his head to stand properly now, looking down at his still exposed and slick manhood grasped, but lightly, in Ginny's hand still.

“It comes with the territory. Thanks for the heads up,” she said, withdrawing her wand and casually flicking away the sticky evidence of their little deed from her hand and him. “You impressed me,” she confessed and Draco blinked at her.

“In what way?” he asked, sure that was his line, he having done very little. His heart was still pounding from her.

“I had refrained from commenting, not sure if it would be in good taste,” she explained. Sure, what she had done in general was not in good taste, but that was not the point. “I wasn't sure remarking that I was nicely surprised by your, let's say, stature…would have made the situation more awkward for you,” she said and he blinked, her leaning in to kiss his neck again.

Draco blushed.

“Well, thank you,” he said, not sure exactly how to respond to that without sounding arrogant, or was cocky better used in a situation such as this? As a guy, however, he did like coming across as impressive and it only made his confidence swell to hear he had impressed her.

“Would it please you further to know that you are better hung than Harry?” she asked softly, her nose brushing his earlobe.

Draco craned his neck down to look at her then, still pink cheeked but interested now despite his propriety.

“Really?”

“Yup,” she said with a grin.

Draco felt a swell of pride that only a man could know and fully understand.

“How about Reamann?” he asked and Ginny laughed. “I don't know, it's hard to compare without them side by side.”

“Not gonna happen,” Draco said flatly and Ginny laughed again.

“No, I did not mean to imply…no…I'm just saying, you are a really thin person, so it's a little deceptive in your favor just by contrast, but you are definitely bigger than Harry, and possibly Reamann, I would definitely say you are thicker, but Reamann is quite respectable all on his own, so you should still feel proud.”

“Oh, I always have, but a little more now than before,” he said with a smirk.

Bigger than Potter? Oh, life was good.

“I feel a little cheated though,” he said and Ginny looked at him. “As amazing as you were and it felt, you have seen my naughty-bits, and I have seen nothing of yours,” he pouted, poking out his bottom lip slightly. Ginny grinned mischievously. She stepped back a few paces while she unbuttoned her blouse. Draco watched her and by the time she was three steps back she was able to open her shirt and unclasp the front of her bra to expose her breasts to him -like a flasher- briefly. Her nipples became instantly hard as her cheeks became instantly flushed, and she closed her shirt quickly with a girlish giggle.

“Very nice,” he teased while approving completely. Ginny had very nice, full but still relatively perky, breasts. She was not a willowy woman, not like the women in his family, she had full round breasts, and hips, and a bum that swayed when she walked. Just thinking about that body, and how much he wanted to put his hands on it, threatened to make his exposed manhood hard again.

Ginny clasped her bra and was buttoning up her shirt as she stepped forward, Draco smiling at her. Draco realized he was still just hanging out there, and tried to tuck himself away with Ginny standing right close again. He wanted to turn his back while doing so because she was watching him in a way that would have gotten her punched in the face if she were in a public toilet with him, and she were another man, of course. He supposed she had seen it, up close and personal, so there was no harm in her watching.

Nudity was not a bad thing; it was very, very natural.

“You know, Pansy offered this once, well, more than once,” he said once finished, indicating vaguely his now closed trousers, and Ginny looked at him, interested to hear how that had obviously not worked out. “But, you know, with a face like hers, I honestly would consider it with a Red Cap before I would with her, maybe a garbage disposal,” he said and Ginny threw her head back and laughed openly at Pansy's expense. Draco really was quite harsh to that poor girl…woman.

“You are terrible,” she laughed and he just leaned his head in to nip at her bottom lip playfully once, then twice, pulling on her lip slightly the second time.

Ginny kissed him, and for a second he was upset by that considering where her mouth had just been, but then, that was not only insulting to her, but himself. He knew where he had been, he was clean, and it had clearly caused her no harm. He found his hands sliding down her back and she did not stop him. He paused at her lower back as they kissed and then just went for it, sliding his hands over her smooth posterior until he reached its fullest point and gave both sides a firm squeeze. Ginny approved apparently by how she moaned into his mouth, and he enjoyed himself, wrapping his right arm around her lower back while patting her bum with his other hand.

“Okay, so when are we going to see each other? I want to see you before the ball,” she said, right up against him again, but in a completely different way than before. Before had been all sexual and teasing, now it was just her looking for comfort and affection in his closeness. He enjoyed that. He had enjoyed the first as well, but this was just so nice. He had been a sex object before; it was comforting to know he had other uses. Too bad he was just a fling, and no, he was not bitter.

“I have to work tomorrow, and I'm busy all afternoon and evening after that, but what about Sunday? Will you come out with me Sunday?” he asked.

“Come out with you where? We can't really be seen together anywhere,” she said.

“I want that to remain a surprise. But could you? Would you be able to clear your schedule so that we could spend Sunday together?”

“I, I don't know, I mean, it would be hard such short notice to get the whole day.”

“I could make it worth your while,” he said, reaching up and holding her face with his right hand, grabbing her ear gently and rubbing her earlobe between his thumb and finger, his knuckle against that spot behind her ear where her hairline ended that was so sensitive. Her knees became weak and she felt a shudder run through her body.

“I could work something out with Hermione, as a cover story,” she said and Draco smiled.

“Excellent,” he said. “And make sure you dress warmly,” he advised, his hand surprising him by being back on her bum again.

Draco and Ginny reemerged from the shelves, hand in hand, and Coderdale refused to look up at them. Draco knew the man believed they had just gone off and had sex, and he was not about to admit otherwise. He had convinced Ginny to linger with him in the shelves for a while for the sake of appearances. He did not want to vanish and come back in twenty minutes fully dressed. It would make him look bad. It was a guy thing.

“I'll see you around…definitely on Sunday,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. Draco liked that she was shorter than him; it made him feel good about himself. She was quite good at making him feel good about himself, and he enjoyed it.

“I look forward to it,” he said softly, speaking with his lips against hers, making little smacking kisses with their noses squished together.

He knew Coderdale was now the one who was uncomfortable, and Draco reveled in that. He made a show of kissing Ginny because it made him feel better. Being a smarmy arsehole felt so much better than feeling guilty and embarrassed.

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Author's Note:

This chapter was basically my response to all those fics that have made Draco out to be some over-sexed, sex-god, narcissist, womanizing, Satyr. (Nymphomaniac is a woman obsessed with sexual pleasure, the male equivalent is a Satyr. I can't tell you how many people get that wrong.) As much as I love a good, self-assured and arrogant Draco, and as much as I sometimes enjoy a good (as in well-written) smutty fic, I honestly think Draco's mother would have raised him better than that, and I always pictured Lucius to be rather scrupulous. Sorry.

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16. Chapter 16

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Sixteen

Draco sat in his living room that night with Clarissa and Michelangelo when the telephone rang and distracted him from his reading.

“Claire, turn down the telly,” he said over his shoulder, her complying with a nod and quick action. She was on the couch, Draco on the floor in front of her. She used the zapper to turn the movie volume down so that Draco could reach over and grab the phone from its cradle on the floor. His hair was…styled…thanks to Clarissa, and she went back to her craft as soon as Draco was sitting upright again and had the receiver to his ear.

“Malfoy,” he said simply.

“You did not tell me you have a telephone.” It was Reamann. Draco sighed and switched to his right ear so he could cradle the phone in his shoulder and sit more comfortably.

“It is part of my utility package if I wanted cable. I do not use it much,” he said, forgetting himself sometimes that he had a Muggle phone, the television a requirement to keep the kiddies happy. Opening the file he balanced it on his knees again.

“I was wondering if you had a chance to read the file over yet.”

“Ouch, don’t tug,” Draco hissed to Clarissa softly, hand over the mouthpiece for a moment. “Yes, I have it right here actually,” he said now to Reamann, looking over the file like he had been for the last hour as the children watched their movie.

Michelangelo was in the chair that was slightly ahead and to Draco’s left, bored with the movie he had not wanted to watch in the first place. He had gotten control of the entertainment the night before, and it was now Clarissa’s turn. That meant they were watching Annie, and to keep Michelangelo from giving her a hard time about singing along, Draco had joined her and sung too. Oh what being a father had done to him.

“Well?” he said, expectantly.

“You expect me to discuss this with you over the phone and offer you my summary?” Draco asked, Michelangelo looking over at him in curiosity.

“Humor me, I need to have a better clue than I do now if I’m to go in tomorrow and work with Sebastian. I dealt with him already today, I can’t deal with that man talking down to me again,” he said.

“Get enough of that from me, huh?” Draco asked, being difficult.

“He’s new to the case and I already get the impression that he knows what’s going on better than I do,” he said, the frustration in his voice carrying over the phone quite plainly.

“He’s a clever one,” Draco said wistfully, flipping through the folder.

“Draco.”

“Just relax and give me a minute,” he said shortly and Michelangelo smirked, enjoying overhearing his father reprimanding another adult. “We know it was the Cruciatus Curse used,” he said and Reamann just made an indistinct noise of agreement and encouragement. “This whole scene is reminiscent of the tortures back in the original war well over two decades ago. It is almost like someone is trying to pin this on the Death Eaters.”

“Pin it on the Death Eaters…no Death Eater a part of this?” Reamann asked and Draco sighed, closing the folder and straightening his left leg out in front of him while gripping the phone, his right leg trapped up against his chest by the coffee table.

“Reamann, there are no Death Eaters still left from that original war. They are all either dead or still in Azkaban. The only supposed Death Eaters out and about today are second generation and family members, none of which took part in any of the grotesque grievances of the first war,” he said simply, Michelangelo looking on, interested in his father’s words.

“You’re positive about that?” Reamann asked and Draco pulled the phone away from his ear to glare at it.

“Sod off,” Draco said, slamming the phone down to hang up on Reamann. Michelangelo smirked and Clarissa covered her mouth and giggled.

“Don’t repeat Daddy’s foul language,” he warned and they both nodded, Michelangelo with a sort of rolling eyes that gave Draco the impression that he already made practice of repeating a lot of the things he had heard him say when he lost his temper. He would be bothered by that a little more, if he hadn’t had a dirty mouth at twelve as well. So long as Michelangelo didn’t cut loose in front of him, or worse, his mother, he would not fret it much.

Draco put the file aside, refusing to look at it anymore because Reamann was a dingbat, and sat there, watching the movie as Clarissa braided an awkward piece of his long hair and used a sparkling pink clip to tack it up and work on another piece.

The phone rang and Draco ignored it.

It rang a dozen times and he did not pick it up.

It could ring all night and he wouldn’t answer it.

Unfortunately the same was not true for Michelangelo.

He leaned over the arm of the squishy and abused brown chair and walked on his hands so that his body was suspended over the ground, his feet still in the chair, and grabbed the receiver. His quickly backtracked his way back into the chair in reverse and held the phone up.

“Malfoy residence,” he said sweetly into the phone.

“Michael?” Reamann asked.

“This is, whom may I ask is calling?” he asked, knowing exactly who it was, and smiling at the glare his father was giving him. It wouldn’t have been so funny if it weren’t for the hair.

“This is Reamann Rossiter, I was over for supper the other night and came to visit yesterday? I work with your father and I had just called…”

“Right, right, right, I remember,” he said, cutting Reamann off in one of his longwinded explanations. “May I please have the nature of this call?”

“I need to speak to your father.”

“He a bit busy at the moment.”

“What is he doing?”

“Weeping,” Michelangelo said and Reamann was quiet for a moment.

“Weeping?”

“I am not weeping, give me the phone,” Draco said, leaning up to snatch it from Michelangelo. Michelangelo squatted up on the chair though and attempted to keep it out of reach.

“Oh, right, weeping. It’s really quite awful, what did you say to upset him so? I have never seen him like this,” he said, standing and hopping down off the chair while talking, the effect not ruined because Reamann could not see his grinning face. Running the long way around the coffee table, dragging the phone along with him by its long cord, Michelangelo tried to evade his father.

“Michael, put your father on the phone.”

“Give me the phone you little Hinkypunk,” Draco warned, running after him. Michelangelo ran out of cord and the base that sat on the floor could reach no further on its cord that plugged to the wall.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, honestly,” he said, Draco almost on him. He grinned and tossed Clarissa the receiver as Draco grabbed him around the middle. Clarissa was standing on the couch and bent at the knees slightly to catch the phone low. She put it to her ear and talked very calmly into it, her sweet voice chiming.

“Hello Mr. Rossiter, it’s so nice to hear from you again,” she said.

“Awright you two, enough of this,” Draco said and Michelangelo attempted to keep him from reaching the couch.

“You caused quite a reaction in my father, and he said a naughty word. I hope you are proud of yourself, causing a man to curse in front of children,” she said, leaning back in a last-ditch attempt to keep the phone from her father.

“Give…me…that,” he said through his teeth due to his effort, reaching for her, holding Michelangelo around the middle, upside down so that his bent legs were in the air as he laughed, in his other arm.

Clarissa was grabbed around the ankle and her feet were pulled out from under her. She giggled as she landed on her bum with a plop and a bounce on the couch cushions. Draco tossed Michelangelo next to her so he was still arse in the air and laughing. Draco smacked him in the face with a pillow as he panted and got the phone from Clarissa.

“Reamann…Reamann, are you there?” he asked, trying to balance himself, his file now spilled out across the floor where the papers had spread out from being trampled.

“Draco, is that you?” Reamann asked.

“Yes,” Draco said, trying to wipe away a chunk of his “beautifully” styled hair from his eyes, “Yes,” he managed, tripping over the phone cord and stumbling slightly, it pulled tight and long while wrapped around the table and strung across the space between it and the couch like a trip-cord.

“I did not mean to insult you just then,” he said, still unsure of all he had just heard happen on the other end of the line.

“Your insensitivity never ceases to amaze me,” Draco said, signaling with just his finger for the children to get ready for bed. He snapped and then pointed to each of them firmly and then in the direction of the hallway.

“It’s a hard-knock life, for us,” Clarissa started singing loudly as she jumped off the couch, Michelangelo joining in just to be disruptive while his father was on the phone. Draco glared at them and pointed more to get them to leave the room, the whole time Reamann was talking on and on into the phone about how he did not mean to be insensitive.

“Instead’a treated…”

“We get tricked!” Michelangelo replied.

“Instead’a kisses…”

“We get kicked!”

“It’s a hard-knock life!” they sang together on the top of their lungs so that they would still be heard loud and clear from down the hall.

“Sorry, sorry,” Draco said, hand over his free ear to block out the sound of his children being a pain in his arse. “Listen, Reamann, don’t mention it. But I have to go now. I will have a report ready for you by the time you come into work tomorrow. Don’t bother coming by, it’s not worth the walk. I’ll just send it up in the middle of some texts so no one will be suspicious, awright?” he said, not giving Reamann a chance to say anything, because if he did, he would never shut up. “Awright, night,” he said, hanging up the phone.

He stood there for a moment, his papers a mess on the floor, the movie still playing on the telly though nearly muted, and his hair “styled” and hanging in his face a little.

“Awright you little Horklumps,” Draco called, marching himself down the hall, the sound of his children’s laughing meeting him all the way from their bedroom. He was not angry, he was actually smiling as he mockingly pushed up his sleeves, ready to rough his children up by picking them up, flipping them upside down, and dropping them onto their beds as they laughed and wrestled with him.

They had only meant to cheer him up, and they had. Reamann’s potion gave him the energy to do this, and he supposed he should take advantage of it and make the best of it while the potions lasted.

He doubted he would be getting many potions from the man once Reamann found out about him and Ginny.

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

Saturday at the Ministry passed rather uneventfully.

Draco sent up to Reamann his summary of the scene, Reamann apparently, thankfully, taking Draco’s advice and not coming down to see him.

The case was complex, and Draco honestly had no idea what to expect next. There was no pattern, and the cases no longer followed a reliable timeframe so they did not even know when to expect the next attack. What was seriously lacking was a motive. It was almost like the attacks had no purpose, that they were there just to keep them busy, or because someone really enjoyed harming others.

Not wanting to dwell on the case and drive himself mental, Draco got a lot of shelving done, a lot of backed up organizing, and even managed to tidy up his desk area some, it still not being properly set right after the Ministry bullies-er-Guards had had their way with it.

The highlight of the workday came in the form of a note from Ginny at around two in the afternoon, her cute bubbly lettering expressing her excitement about spending the following day with him, explaining her lunch with Hermione and their plans for how they would cover up her time spent with Draco.

Apparently the plan was to have some kind of “girls’ day out” or something.

Hermione would pretend to spend the day with Ginny; doing whatever “girly things” women did in a day’s time. While Ginny and Draco would be off doing…things…Hermione would buy some stuff and take notes on what Ginny supposedly did and saw, so she would have a cover story for all who would ask.

Draco was sure Hermione was just looking for an excuse to take notes on something. That woman seriously needed a hobby other than being a know-it-all nerd with bad hair. Could having incurably bad hair be a hobby?

Draco was excited over spending his day with Ginny, and he could not deny it. He wrote back in his own long and elegant script expressing this, only not nearly as giddy as he felt. He kept it cool and suave. This was a fling to her; no sense in acting like it was anything more than that by being overly sentimental.

Somehow, that thought bummed him just a little.

Otherwise, his day was looking up, but Coderdale managed to bring him down a bit, more than the truth about his relationship did.

He was not exactly giving Draco the “cold-shoulder,” but he had simply lost a certain sparkle in his ancient eyes and kept all conversations between them extremely brief and work oriented.

Draco did his best to not let Coderdale’s frigidity get to him.

Coderdale needed to deal.

He had said so himself: Draco was an adult and allowed to live his life however he wanted.

So why was he not talking to him, and why had he taken his fags away? He needed those!

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

It was Michelangelo’s birthday.

He was twelve…twelve.

Draco groaned at the thought.

He was much too young to have a twelve year old. God, Michelangelo was a year away from being a…gasp…teenager.

Draco actually learned that he was the first of his year to become a parent, though that had hardly surprised him given how young he had been when Michelangelo was born. But still, to learn he had also overshot the two years that had graduated ahead of him, he felt a little awkward. No wonder his mother had pitched a fit.

Draco got off work on time to head home and spend the late afternoon, evening, and night with the family. It was a small affair, his family being small, there only being the four Malfoys left and the Blacks even more limited then that at that point, but there was ice-cream cake…chocolate and vanilla layers…and some presents. Draco did not believe in combining Michelangelo’s birthday with Christmas just because they were so close together. It belittled the special-ness of Michelangelo’s day and he was sure Jesus wouldn’t appreciate it either.

Michelangelo and Clarissa were special to him, his whole world really, and they were grateful for all they had. Most children would complain over getting only a few small gifts, mostly clothing, but his did not. They were humble and thankful, and Draco had a lot to thank his mother for in regards to that. She had raised them for him for a long time. Christina had dumped the children onto his mother (once his mother was out) while going off to do her own thing, while he sat in prison. His mother hated her for that. In all honesty, Draco had a suspicion at first that it had been his mother that had killed her.

Never mind all that, Narcissa was like a mother to them, and doted upon them as best she could. She was the one that had brought the cake.

What would Ginny do to their dynamic? Their little family? The children were too young to properly remember their true mother, Draco did not like talking about her, and his mother certainly would never mention her, certainly not in a kind word.

If he introduced them, the children, to the idea of Ginny, would they take it well?

Yes, Ginny was a fling, but he had never dated before. His children needed to get used to the idea that there could quite possibly be a woman in his life, and Ginny could be a steppingstone for a more serious relationship, right? He could bring her around a little bit, test the waters with them; see if they could welcome a woman into their home. Maybe things would go well with the children, Ginny and him would move on, and he could bring home a more proper girlfriend.

Draco’s heart sagged a little then despite the excitement in the room and the noisemakers popping and spewing glitter and streamers.

“Michael, don’t point that at your sister when you pull the string, it’s dangerous,” Narcissa scolded.

Why did the thought of Ginny just being a steppingstone in his reentry into the dating scene make him so sad? Why did the idea that she was not a proper girlfriend make him sadder?

Was it because he really liked her?

Was Coderdale right about him hurting himself with this?

No, certainly not.

But some part of him did not believe that, and curled up sadly inside of him to become a dull weight in his stomach.

“Dad, cheers!” Clarissa shouted, popping her own party favor over his head and showering him with its magical contents, everyone laughing, Draco smiling through the streamers that now draped from him and over his face.

“I suppose I have your aunt Nymphadora to thank for these,” he laughed, grabbing Clarissa, pulling her onto his lap, and tickling her.

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

Ginny Apparated to the safe point nearest Draco’s home and walked down the snowy sidewalk. It was early; the sun was bright and reflecting off the snow harshly.

Draco stood on his front steps, waiting for her, bundled up warmly.

“Draco,” she said with a smile, holding up her arms as she moved towards him, embracing him at the bottom of the steps and giving him a thorough kiss.

“Morning,” he said, smiling down at her once they broke apart.

“Why did you wait outside? It’s freezing,” she said, shivering as though to emphasize her point. Draco did not say it was because he did not want to invite her in and have her discover his children.

“My mother is over, and I figured our departure would go smoother if we avoided a scene,” he said and she nodded.

“I suppose so.”

“Are you up for a drive?” he asked, pulling away to walk towards the street where an old, red Mini Cooper sat. He was wearing black fingerless gloves and he twirled a set of car keys around his long middle finger of his left hand before then grasping them in his palm.

“You can drive? You have a car?” she asked, standing there, rooted in her spot in surprise while Draco Malfoy: Pureblood Prince of Slytherin walked around the little Muggle car to look at her over it.

“Yes I can drive, but no, I do not have a car. This is my mother’s car. Do you really think I’m a Mini Cooper driving sort’a chap?” he laughed and she looked at him. “Come on, I’m a licensed driver so don’t fuss.”

Ginny nodded, and climbed down into the car. It was more spacious than it looked from the outside, but not due to magic, just clever Muggle engineering. She had that familiar fuzzy feeling in regards to Draco she got whenever he did something terribly normal. The idea of him learning to drive, getting his picture taken for a Muggle license, it was all too funny for her to bear. She managed though to only smile while he wasn’t looking.

“The drive is not terrible, Sunday traffic should be easier too,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

“We have to travel west, to Wilts,” he answered.

“We are going to Wiltshire?” she asked in disbelief.

“That we are,” he said simply.

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said through a smirk.

He started the car, drew his seatbelt down across him, and pulled out from the curb. Ginny followed suit with the seatbelt and looked over at Draco, not sure exactly what to say right then.

Using the term “fling” made her think “sex” and that had not been her whole intention when it came to Draco, but she had possibly given him that idea Friday. She loved the idea of going on a date, like they were apparently doing now, but they were still practically strangers. They fancied each other, they shared a past, they connected on some level…but they didn’t know a lot about each other still. That made things awkward, for her at least.

“If there is something you would like to know about me, Weasley darling, you could just ask. The worst that could happen is I just refuse to answer,” he said simply, an edge of amusement to his voice that filled the otherwise very quiet compartment. It made Ginny jump.

“I don’t…”

“Please, don’t try and lie to me, t’won’t work,” he said, signaling and changing lanes. “If you feel we know so little about each other, just start asking away. I’ll answer you your questions if it will put your mind at ease so you can enjoy our day once we arrive.”

“You were reading my thoughts, weren’t you?”

“It’s habitual,” he shrugged.

“It’s rude,” she quipped back, sounding a little testy.

“Ah, now there is that fire in you I loved so much those years ago,” he said with a smile, glancing over at her through the corner of his eye.

“How much did you like me those years ago?” she asked.

“You need to be a little more specific over what years you are talking about, Weasley darling,”

“The timeframe not obvious enough for you?” she asked and he smiled, looking over at him then. She had meant the night they had kissed and those days preceding the final battle, he obviously had feelings for her that extended far before those cold nights if he was unsure of when she was talking about.

“I just inadvertently admitted too much now, didn’t I?” he laughed.

“You liked me before the war?”

“A little,” he said dismissively.

“How much is ‘a little’?” she asked.

“I would occasionally imagine you starkers,” he teased and she blushed, reaching over and pinching his arm though it was not as harsh as usual thanks to her gloves and his coat.

“You’re making fun of me,” she accused.

“No, I’m not,” he laughed, “I swear, I am not. You really came into your own after your fourth year,” he said.

“You liked me since your fifth?”

“No, well, not all that year. I was with Pansy and that was the first year I really felt, I don’t know, more at home in my skin and more willing to explore…things. Unfortunately, the problem right there was what I just said, I was with Pansy. The time in my life when I really would have enjoyed exploring the opposite sex some and I was attached to her.”

“Come on, Draco, she wasn’t that bad.”

“Her face could have been fixed with a few spells, or a pillowcase with eyeholes cut out, but her personality was tremendously wearing. Short stints she was fine, even enjoyable, but she was so possessive, and clingy. She was also rather dumb, or rather, did not have a mind for anything I found remotely interesting, so unless we sat together, spewing our mindless bigoted dribble and harsh ties about our fellow students, we hadn’t much to talk about at all.”

“So, you started liking me, of all people?” she asked.

“Well, I think that is a little strong of an assumption. It wasn’t like you were a beckon of light that shone whenever we were in the same room together. I just happened to admire a few girls from afar, and you were one of them, a favorite, I’ll give you that much,” he said, looking over at her.

“Really, I did not know this, or that it had extended as far back as Hogwarts,” she said, blushing. The most sought-after boy in school after Cedric’s death had fancied her…her? She felt butterflies even though the pressures of social existence and acceptance in Hogwarts were long past.

“Well, you were Potter’s girl, everyone knew that, even when you two were not an official couple. Honestly, I think you two, possibly that dimwitted…sorry…brother of yours, were the last to realize you two were a couple. The rest of us knew,” he said and she laughed, forgiving Draco for slipping up and insulting her brother, just so long as she didn’t have to make a habit of it.

“Yeah, well, I admired you a bit too,” she admitted, batting her eyelashes at him.

“Did you now,” he asked, not sounding terribly surprised and her flaring up at how pretentious he was, that being oddly attractive about him while managing to be utterly annoying.

“Well, the entire female populous of Hogwarts did really,” she said.

“Some of the faculty too, so was rumored,” he said with a grin that was so reminiscent of him back in those days it was enough to make some adolescent part of her deep inside flutter with her girlish crush. He had had the best smile in school, if only he had used it more often, and not when he was being a prat.

That little part of her on the inside was squealing in excitement: she had him! She finally had the unreachable, untouchable Draco Malfoy! Maybe Hermione was right, and she was drawn to his “bad-boy” image, but could anyone really blame her? He was cute and cunning while charmingly conceited and charismatic.

“I have to admit, you were nice to look at,” she said.

“Were, as in past tense, as in, I no longer am?” he asked, not looking over at her. Ginny’s smile faltered. She had not meant to imply that. She looked him over, really looked him over, and felt he was really actually bothered by that and was not just teasing.

“No, no, I enjoy looking at you, I’m looking at you right now aren’t I?” she asked, trying to regain the mood they had had going. They were doing so well, their trip had been fun so far…she did not want it to stop. Apparently Draco did not either.

“Sorry, was I defensive? I did not mean to be,” he said bashfully. “Keep talking about how pretty I am and how much you longed for me in Hogwarts, I liked hearing about that,” he said and she laughed, looking out her window and then back at him.

“God, you are such a prat. I can’t tell if you are joking or being serious because you sound so sincere.”

“Oh, I’m being quite serious. You keep calling me a prat, yet I don’t get the feeling you are even using it for its intended purpose of being hurtful. Is that your pet name for me, Weasley? It’s very clever…so fitting and accurate a descriptor of me and one you can let slip in public and not leave people wondering,” he teased.

“God, you are so full of yourself, you are impossible to insult aren’t you,” she laughed.

“I would only be insulted if you started calling me ‘snuggle-bear’ or something along those lines and equally as embarrassing,” he said and Ginny could not stop laughing.

“Snuggle-bear?”

“It was the first thing that popped into my mind, shut up,” he said defensively while pouting cutely and staring intently at the road ahead.

“No, no…I like it. Or hunny-bunny,” she said,

“Oh, God, no…I forbid this, woman. You make no mention of these names to anyone or so help me God,” he said and she just laughed.

“Okay, okay,” she said before smirking mischievously, “…Schnookums,” she tagged on and Draco groaned.

“Stop this, you horrible woman. I will call you Red, don’t think I won’t,” he warned.

“Ugh, God,” she said in disgust, that being her least favorite epithet people used in regards to her. She was not “baby” or “doll” or “sweet thing” to guys that would hit on her. No, those were all belittling and insulting, but she was always, always, “red,” and she hated it. Draco knew this, thus why he had threatened to use it against her.

They had recovered nicely. The atmosphere in the car was light and pleasant again, both laughing, but Ginny more than him. He seemed to prefer to keep his laughs quiet and sophisticated. Respectable and polite. Ginny felt she really needed to break him of all this culturing his mother had done to him.

“Now, speaking of your crush on me back in Hogwarts once again, how often did you imagine me starkers? Once a week? Twice a week? Every night with your wand set on vibrate, Ow!” he said, gripping his arm after she pinched him again. “No pinching, God, you are worse than a child,” he said, swinging his left hand at her, not daring to take his eyes off the road at that moment and his aim thusly compromised. He playfully slapped at her as she blocked him every time, him finally managing a hit on her leg.

“You are such a prat. Prat, prat, prat, and I mean that!”

“You are only upset because you can’t deny it, notice that you did not try,” he said and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Whatever, you’ll think what you will anyways, no matter what I say.”

“So, I crushed on you a little, and you crushed on me a little, what would have happened if we, say, met in an empty corridor, late at night? Me doing my Prefect or better yet, Inquisitorial Squad, rounds and duties, you out past curfew,” he said and she blushed.

“Draco-”

“Come on, use your imagination.”

“If you made a pass at me I would have hexed you,” she said.

“Ah, so you are into the kinky-rough stuff. Awright, I’m game…you hex me, I hex you, I choose the Ventosus Spell, it’s known to blow people’s clothing off if used just the right way.”

Ginny tilted her head back against the headrest and laughed.

“Fine, so you have blown my robes off, now I’m in my knickers and furiously hexing you with Furnunculus Spell, then what?”

“Ouch,” Draco said, having a smile at the mental image of Ginny in her knickers and imagining just what kind she would wear. Pastel pink cotton would have been fitting. Or purple, he liked purple. “Well, while all oozing with my hairy boils? Probably not much. You are no fun,” he pouted.

“Alright, alright. Lets try it this way…we, by some mistake, book the Quidditch Pitch at the same time,” she said.

“Awright,” he agreed.

“We are both already dressed and psyched up for a personal practice, but meet each other on the pitch.”

“Awright,” he said.

“What happens next?”

“I call you a Blood-Traitor and tell you to get the bloody hell off my pitch before I damage one of you four brain cells you share between your family, or would that be Galleons?” he said.

“Ouch, Malfoy.”

“Hey, you asked,” he said defensively.

“There was really no way we would have ever hooked up in Hogwarts, is there?”

“I really don’t see it, no,” he said, sounding a little disappointed somehow.

“Well, okay, so you fancied me, I fancied you. When did it stop being a passing fancy and become you wanting to kiss me?” she asked and he blushed.

“Oh, that,” he said.

“Yes, that,” she teased.

“Awright, I said I would answer your questions,” he said with a sigh. “To be honest, it was a growing thing…you approaching me that first night I showed up with Harry to the Order’s camp with my, well, tail between my legs, you offering to help me when I was hurt, fighting along side me against the Giants…” he said, looking very attentively at the road. “I did not realize it though…or maybe just ‘refused to acknowledge’ is more accurate…until, well, just before I kissed you. I don’t mean to be harsh or belittle it in any way what we did, but I really did think I was going to die. I had given up on everything, and did not care anymore. I really did think that was my last night. That was all that gave me the courage to do what I did. I felt I had nothing to lose and just went for it,” he said, looking very intently on the road before him.

“My-my,” she said, smiling at him.

“Oh, shut up, you kissed me right back,” he retorted in an accusing manner.

“I did,” she said, agreeing easily.

“Why did you let me kiss you?” he asked, softly now.

“Why?” she asked and Draco just glanced over at her. “Because, well, I felt that it could very well be our last night, and I had day-dreamed about kissing you before, and having it actually happen was, well, something far too good to pass up.”

“So you did it because it was fulfilling some girlish fantasy, not because you really had feelings for…”

“No, no, I did not say that. Goodness, you are defensive,” she said and he flushed. “I never would have thought Draco Malfoy, the most boisterous and pompous boy in Hogwarts was so insecure,” she said, almost a little annoyed that she could not say one thing without him taking it wrong and her having to explain herself and assure him otherwise. He was like a woman, she was half expecting him to ask her if she thought he was fat when he obviously isn’t, and for him to get mad at her regardless of her answer.

Draco just grumbled under his breath. Had he been reading her active thoughts when she had compared him to an unappeasable woman? He had been looking at her. She almost hoped so, if that meant he would ease down some on the defensive he always seemed to coast on.

“I liked you, but a major part of me was confused at that time. I honestly did not know what I wanted. All the fighting, all the death, all the pain…your kiss was a release from all that, and a needed one. You made me feel safe when nothing else around me could.”

“I’m touched,” he said softly, though there was a dryness there, he not as keen on the idea that she had simply used him to comfort herself as the idea that she had secretly fancied him for years. Both were apparently true, but he’d rather think he were irresistible, not convenient.

“Why didn’t we have sex that night?” she asked and Draco twitched a little.

“Excuse me?”

“We were so close, you there on top of me, hands groping me through my robes and shirt, we could have done it right there, blamed it on passion and the heat of the moment later -”

“Heat of the moment? It was freezing out,” he interrupted but Ginny talked over him.

“-if we felt we had to, but you pulled away. I remember you pulling away and looking pained, but not from any sort of physical affliction. What had happened?” she asked.

Draco’s profile looked uncomfortable.

“My mother raised me better…”

“Oh, now, I know that’s true, but I know that’s not the reason. You were not thinking of your mum out there, while with me, in that position,” she said with utter confidence and certainty, cutting him off.

Draco sighed.

“I did not want to...I did not know at the time…” he seemed to be uncertain about his words. Ginny said nothing, giving him space to collect his thoughts. “I was…am a werewolf, and you knew that so that wasn’t my problem, but…I did not know…I mean, I was not sure if I would get you sick if we…” he said, still stumbling over his words, something that seemed so unlike him.

“You were afraid you would infect me, through sex? Is that possible?”

“Blood to blood contact will,” he said. He clearly needing to discuss this with her now, it was a pretty relevant issue. “I was not sure if my other…fluids…would infect you, or could carry the illness…I thought I would be dead by the next evening, but you could have lived, and that would have been a very shitty thing to do to you, die and leave you with lycanthropy, or even leave you pregnant, because of a moment of ‘passion,’” he said.

“I understand your fear, but pregnant? Come on, Draco, on our first and only time?”

“It’s possible,” he said dismissively, not wanting to linger on that point too long while fighting not to think about Michelangelo…or Clarissa. “I think we really need to talk about this though, if we are going to have a sexual relationship,” he said.

“Talk about pregnancy?” she asked,

“No…well, yes, okay, but in the prevention of it,” he said, looking over at her, hoping she agreed there. She apparently did.

“Can you really get me sick, just by having sex with me?” she asked.

“Ah, well, that’s a complex question. I would say no, but there is a tiny, microscopic, nearly nonexistent, possibility that something could happen that would make it possible,” he said uncomfortably.

“You said blood to blood contact?”

“Yes, that is basically the only way of contaminating another while not in wolf-form. I don’t get the vibe from you that you are into bestiality, so I don’t think we need to talk about cautions while having sex when I’m not in a human form, right?” he said and she flushed and slapped his arm. Draco was able to smile, despite the seriousness of what he was about to say. “Every part of me carries the illness, hair, skin, saliva, et cetera, but nothing but my blood is infectious when I’m just a man.”

“But being bitten or scratched by a werewolf is how you get infected, so I thought.”

“We are contagious in beast form. In that form the condition extends to all…fluids, like saliva, and other things, like hair and nails.”

“What if you bit or scratched me as is? My brother Bill got tainted…”

“Oh yes, William Weasley,” he said, nodding. “He was tainted, not infected, which is different,” he said.

“How did Bill get sick if Greyback had not been a wolf when he attacked him? What is it to be tainted, not infected?” she asked. Draco licked his lips.

“I’m not infectious in the state I am now, and terribly infections in the wolf state…so the state in-between, that is: if I were to be partially shifted, I would be able to partially infect you, or in other words, taint you,” he explained. “To be tainted is just to have some of the characteristics or habits, without having the shift, or being contagious yourself.” Ginny nodded. “Greyback was capable of partially shifting, and that was his state when he attacked your brother,” he said.

“Can you partially shift?” she asked.

“Why?” he asked, suddenly very defensive again.

“I need to know.”

“You worried I could hurt you?”

“I’m curious,” she said, part of it being, yes, she was a little nervous about him possibly, accidentally, making her sick. She did not have a problem with werewolves, really, she just really did not want to be one.

“Greyback was a Greater-wolf, making him very strong and powerful,” he said. Ginny looked at him. “I am a Greater-wolf myself, but I have not …embraced…my illness like Greyback had. As a result, my potential is not met.”

“But can you?”

Draco looked over at her, very serious.

“Yes,” he admitted and then pressed on. “But I have control. Though I have the illness and it extends to every part of me, I can’t harm you or anyone with my teeth and nails as they are now,” he said, holding out his thin left hand to her so she could see his short manicured nails. “You only have to fear my blood. If I get a paper cut, I’ll warn you,” he said, trying to make light of the situation. Ginny almost smiled.

There was silence in the car for a long moment.

“If this makes you uneasy, we don’t have to continue,” he offered and Ginny looked over at him.

“What?”

“If me being a werewolf is just too much for you to handle, then we don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice calm and indifferent, his insides pained at his words.

“No, no, I mean, it is something I need to understand and take precautions for, but I…I don’t see why we can’t keep going…”

“You’re scared of me,” he said simply.

“Damn it, stay out of my head,” she said fiercely.

“I did not have to read your feelings to know, you are wringing your hands and refusing to look at me,” he said calmly and Ginny cursed.

“It is just a very new thing. I mean, I have nothing against werewolves, I happen to be friends with a few.”

“Lupin?”

“Yeah, he is one,” she said and Draco nodded.

“I just, I have never dated one, or had sex with one before, and I did not realize I would have to…worry.”

“You shouldn’t worry too much, or be so anxious,” he reassured. “My ‘Support Wizard’ at the Ministry assured me that, if I wanted to be as careful as possible…given that I’m a Greater-wolf and thusly my contagiousness is proportionately higher, though very, very slight still…and if my partner were uneasy, I would only have to wear a condom. He assured me that just about guarded against any mishap, and would protect against pregnancy at the same time,” he said.

“So, you’ll wear rubbers and all is set?” she asked.

“Um, yes, I suppose,” he said, feeling like he should say more, but not wanting to scare her anymore than she already was.

Really, the chances of her getting in any way sick (tainted or otherwise) was very slim…but he felt that he really should make sure Ginny understood that there was a very, very, very small chance still, that even with precautions like condoms, something bad could happen. Nothing was ever one-hundred percent…well, except abstinence, but he was sure he was just being overly paranoid.

He had a condom in his back pocket.

Would they use it that day?

He was not sure, but he had it with him just in case.

He did not care how badly he wanted her; he would not have unprotected sex with Ginny. The chances of him getting her sick were microscopic, but the chances of him getting her pregnant seemed high with his track record so far and her family’s reputation. Most of her brothers had paired off and started their own litters. In one generation the family had grown exponentially. Draco himself was two for two, and that was a record he would willingly let die.

“So you stopped that night, for my sake?” she asked, leaning her head back to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I liked you too much to hurt you.”

“That’s really touching that, in the middle of it all, you would still think of me first,” she said, reaching up with her right hand to stroke the side of his face. She ran the back of her knuckle over his high cheekbone and down his shadowed and slightly sunken-in cheek.

“I think you are making a bigger deal of it than it was,” he said, blushing, eyes on the road.

“I never would have tagged you as the modest type either,” she said with a soft smile, tucking his hair behind his ear for him, letting her hand drop a little to just play with his long ends by his hip.

“I’m just full of surprises apparently,” he said, watching the road so Ginny missed his smile while she played with his hair.

There was quiet for a long moment, and Ginny finally spoke up,

“What was your wife like?” she asked. Draco did not react badly, but his lack of a reaction gave Ginny the feeling that he had closed himself off so she would not see his reaction.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, you offered to answer my questions, and you only mentioned that you had been married before, and that you had loved her more than she had loved you, but nothing more. No name, no details. You know Harry, and about my marriage, but I don’t know anything about your wife, or your marriage,” she said.

“There isn’t much to say on the matter,” he said.

“Well, okay, I can understand that it hurts to talk about the relationship itself, but how about, what did she look like? What was her name?” she asked, voice soft as she leaned on her seat, twisted to face him partially, stroking his hair softly. She didn’t want to be like Reamann and jabbing her curiosity into Draco’s still healing wounds, but there wasn’t a woman out there that wasn’t curious about her man’s past flames and how she could quite possibly stack up. Draco had obviously loved his wife, probably still did since he wore his wedding band to this day, and Ginny was not jealous…much, but she knew there was some amount of competition there for Draco’s heart. Once you have loved someone, a piece of your heart always will love them, and Ginny wondered how much of Draco’s heart she had to work with.

“Her name was Christina,” he said simply.

“Christina? It’s a pretty name,” she said, waiting to see if Draco would offer a last name, but he didn’t. “What did she look like?” she then went on to ask.

“She was freakishly tall,” he said and Ginny managed to not laugh too hard at that.

“Really?”

“She was taller than me at least, so that did make her rather tall for a woman.”

“How tall are you?” she asked. Draco was quiet. “Draco?”

“About five-foot-nine,” he mumbled.

“That’s not bad, no really, it isn’t,” she assured. Draco did not look convinced. “Well, what else did she look like? She was tall…”

“Honestly?” he said and she waited. “She looked a lot like you,” he said and Ginny leaned away from her seat and stopped petting his hair. “Green eyes though,” he said, looking over deeply into her brown ones for a moment before watching the road again. “She was scottish, nice thick accent. Her hair was red, like yours is, but curlier, very curly,” he said, thinking of the curls both his children had inherited from her. “She had warm skin, like you,” he said, reaching over to place his hand on her cheek while glancing over at her. Ginny tilted her head into his palm so it rested in it. “She had a lot of freckles when she was young for sure and still had them on her shoulders. She was pretty, but she was also older than me,” he confessed.

“How much older?”

“Sixteen years,” he said and Ginny’s eyes widened as his hand dropped away from her face to hold the wheel again.

“Wow,” she said, that being all she could manage. Age difference becomes less of a big deal over time, once both are matured adults, but she knew Draco had been young when he had married, widower by twenty-two. A wife sixteen years older when he was not even twenty yet was rather…unusual.

“I think I was attracted to her so strongly at first because, honestly, she reminded me of you,” he confessed, not mentioning how scared he was of her upon their first meeting and introduction. Ginny didn’t know what to say to that. “You have a better personality though…but she was very smart, smart enough to make me feel dumb sometimes.”

“I find that hard to imagine.”

“Which part? That I can be intimidated or that there are people smarter than I?”

“Both.”

“I’m flattered, Weasley,” he smiled.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, not able to insult him yet again.

“You’re putting up with me,” he pointed out.

“Well, alright, so your wife reminded you of me. Is that a good or bad thing in regards to our relationship?”

“I don’t follow,” he said, her thoughts and feelings conflicting. Her feelings were warm, and fuzzy, and loving, but her thoughts were insecure and intimidated. It made her hard to read and he had to stop trying lest he confuse himself.

“Will I invoke bad memories because of some shared resemblance?” she asked.

“Oh, well, no, I don’t think so. Just don’t break my heart, awright?” he said, very clearly teasing at that point, but some part of him being very serious about that.

“I will try,” she said, smiling over at him. “You know, I think I started to date Reamann because he reminded me of you a little,” she confessed and Draco looked over at her.

“Oh, I fail to see the resemblance,” he said flatly.

“No, you two are very different, but you two have a lot of the same nervous habits. The way Reamann fusses with his hair, it reminds me of you,” she said just as Draco ran his fingers through his hair, to push it out of his face and eyes. He realized that was what she was talking about and looked over at her.

“You are dating Reamann because you fancy his hair?” he asked.

“It makes up for the fact that he sometimes talks too much and is a little tactless, but he really is a sweetheart,” she said and Draco laughed at that. Ginny felt Reamann’s hair made up for the fact that he was damned annoying and inconsiderate. It was very funny to him…it gave him hope at least. Maybe his hair would save him from being truly unendurable.

“I think you are a sweetheart too, if you would only let people see it more.”

“I think that is just wishful thinking on your part, Weasley darling,” he said and she leaned against her seat.

“We’ll see,” she said, confident in being right.

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Author’s Note:

I did a little cliche crushing in this chapter, sorry if I shot down your favorite D+G cliche.

My fic is trying to stick to canon as much as possible, I’m going for an alternate ending sort of deal as though DH never happened, so in Draco and Ginny’s conversation in the car -of course- they would have to dismiss the idea that they would ever have hooked-up at Hogwarts.

Michelangelo turned 12 in this chapter, on Dec. 22nd. Yes, it might be odd to you that Draco was singing along to Annie with his daughter, but anyone who has actually had kids would be able to back me up on this: once you are a parent suddenly you are constantly referring to yourself in third person as “mummy” or “daddy”, you are singing along with Disney movies and know all the names of the different Wiggles, and you catch yourself calling your stomach a “tummy” while conversing with other adults. It happens, even to Draco Malfoys. :)

17. Chapter 17

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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18. Chapter 18

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Eighteen

Reamann had spent all of Sunday at the Ministry working, reviewing files, meeting with Aurors, “translating” Muggle statements, and visiting St. Mungo's trying to talk to the most recent victim. That was no use, it was all no good. The man was insane and content to try and catch the “pretty colored balloons” in the room that weren't really there.

He felt guilty about spending the day at work, a day he normally had off, but Ginny had found ways of amusing herself. She and Hermione had gone out in the chaos for some last-minute Christmas shopping and a “girls' day out.” He wouldn't be caught dead near a department store the day before Christmas Eve, but what could he say? Girls were mental.

Ginny had come home excited, but seemingly very distant. She had snuggled with him the whole night so he assumed she was no longer mad at him, for whatever reason she had been mad at him in the first place, but she hadn't gone into any great detail about what she had done with Hermione. She seemed to just want to cuddle and sleep.

She was gone now, off with Hermione and “the wives” to a salon. They were getting their hair and make-up done for the ball. Hermione joked that it would really take them the whole eight hours to get her hair presentable, and Ginny had talked for hours about what colors she should wear that wouldn't clash with her hair and what style she should try that would “flatter her hips”.

Things were so much simpler for the men.

“Do these dress robes make me look fat?” Ron asked, holding his arms out, as Harry, Neville, Reamann, and Fred all laughed. They were in the back of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, away from the rest of the customers. There were fringe benefits to being “celebrities”, they were taken aside and allowed to do things in private rather than deal with the hustle and bustle of the common witch and wizard. Reamann got a free ride whenever with the group, his only claim to fame being that he was dating Ginny. He had to admit, he had saved the copy of Witch Weekly that had run a story on him a few years back, about “Ex-Mrs. Potter's Hot New Man,” and he saw his name pop up every now and then in the gossip columns, but he was a far cry from any of the other men he was with in that dressing room.

“You're fat, Ron, those robes can do nothing for that,” George mocked, looking rather dapper in his robes. In their thirties, Fred and George could not resist dressing alike. Some twins did their damnedest to be individuals, but Fred and George wanted to be “Fred and George” or “the twins” forever it seemed. Drove their wives nuts.

“This ball is a welcome break from the mess we have been dealing with this past month,” Reamann said, everyone agreeing.

“I hate to ask how things are going,” Neville said, tugging at his own robes, trying to get them to lay nice while looking at himself in the mirror, him being the fattest one there by far, but unbothered by it. He was round, and balding, but happily married with an exceedingly attractive wife and a few young tots of his own.

“Yeah, well, I would say it's just going bad, as opposed to positively dreadful, but none of you have to work with Sebastian Aurum,” Reamann sighed and the group gave a collective groan of sympathy for him.

“That is one right-foul git if I ever saw one,” Fred said, using George as his mirror to examine how he looked in his dress robes.

“He's been wheedling his way up through the departments, his eye on the Minister's office for years,” Harry said.

“He's not a bad bloke though, right?” Reamann asked, looking to all the men around him.

“Just insufferable,” Neville said, turning and limping over to them a little. “He came to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes a year or so back, acting as though he ran the place just because a small case of his overlapped our jurisdiction,” he said, not looking pleased.

“I wouldn't say he is a `bad-guy' but I also wouldn't say he is a `good person'. He seems too much like someone that would do anything to get to the top,” Harry said, looking in the mirror and not too happy with his blue robes. He would have preferred green, if they had had any still. Apparently Christmas season put green and red dress robes in short supply, even for Harry Potter.

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

Orla Quirke…now Longbottom: Neville's wife, chatted up Angelina Johnson…now Weasley: Fred's wife, while they sat side by side and got their hair done. Ginny and Hermione were together, talking quietly while under magical “hair relaxing” dyers.

“You have yet to give me any sort of details,” Hermione said, hers and Ginny's magazines ignored and forgotten on their laps as they twisted to face each other in their seats.

“I really wouldn't know where to begin,” Ginny said awkwardly.

“Well, start with what it was like, come on,” she said, and Ginny blushed.

“We didn't have sex.”

“You didn't?” Hermione said, looking surprised.

“No.”

“Why not? You were gone from morning until night. I had run out of things to do,” she said, not understanding how they could manage a whole day and not do what seemed so obvious their relationship had meant to entail.

“Well, we went for a drive-”

“You don't drive-”

“He drove-”

“He can drive?”

“If you are going to interrogate me like this through the whole story it's going to take hours and I'd rather not bother,” she said and Hermione held up her hands in a silent withdraw. “We drove to Wiltshire,” she said and Hermione gasped.

“He took you to Malfoy Manor?” she asked and Ginny blinked at her.

“How did you guess that…?”

“Well, everyone knows the old manor is hidden over there…I couldn't imagine him taking you to see anything else there in the middle of the winter,” she said and Ginny just shrugged that off. She had been surprised by their destination, no wonder that had amused Draco so much.

“Well, yes, I saw his home, and met his House-elves.”

“House-elves?” Hermione asked, still retaining a soft spot for the little creatures.

“Yeah, you wouldn't have liked'em though; they talked like any other blood supremacist wizard and liked serving.”

“I'm sure they only like slavery because they don't know any other kind of life,” Hermione said stubbornly.

“Yeah, well, they have served no one for fourteen years, if the idea was going to warm up to them, I think it would have by now,” she said and Hermione “humph”ed at that. Hermione had not seen the little elves' reaction to seeing their master; she would not understand what great of a need it apparently was for them to serve. “It was rather enjoyable. We got to talk a lot, and got to know each other…learned some interesting things about each other.”

“Like what?” Hermione pressed; interested in this part more than the rest so far, even the elves.

“Well, I learned that he is actually terribly insecure and defensive, not to mention prude, but I think his mum did a lot of that to him,” she said and Hermione patted the back of her hand.

“The first thing you got to do with a man is get rid of all the crap his mother did to him,” she said and Ginny laughed, because she agreed.

“Well, we talked about why we liked each other and how that all possibly started,” she said and Hermione nodded.

“How did it start?”

“You know, admiring from afar, passing fancy, that sort of thing.”

“When did it become whatever it is now?”

“I think it was the night before the final battle.”

“That's when he kissed you?”

“Yeah.”

“This is all just mental,” she said with a sigh.

“Hey, you are supposed to be supportive here.”

“I'm trying to be, but that doesn't mean I can't maintain my opinion on the matter.”

“I think he's charming,” Ginny said defensively.

“I think you would alone in that.”

“I don't care,” Ginny said stubbornly.

“You still going through with this, this, taking Draco to the ball?” she asked, dropping her voice as Orla and Angelina passed.

“He already has a nice set of dress robes,” she said, not sure what they looked like but sure that if they had belonged to Draco's father, they were damn spiffy.

“Really? I was under the impression that he would not have been able to afford anything terribly fancy, certainly having difficulty getting his hands on something so late. The boys' last fittings are today and the selection was seriously limited three weeks ago.”

“He nicked them from the manor during our visit; they were his father's.”

“He took things from the manor?” Hermione asked, looking slightly mortified.

“He was joking to me, saying he was going to bring his House-elf Mickey back with us to live with him and look after his place. He even teasingly offered me one as a Christmas gift, but I didn't see him smuggling any magical creatures back with us. Just the robes…and some weird little stuffed bunny with little felt antlers, a jackalope I guess, he wouldn't talk about. On the drive back, he even denied it existed for a while and tried to convince me that I was mental and that it wasn't sitting on his lap,” she said, laughing at the memory of her calling him a prat and pinching him again.

“A bunny you say?” Hermione said with a smirk as though she was containing a laugh.

“Definitely something his mum did to him,” Ginny laughed, their conversation having to end there as they were gathered up by the beautician witch and taken to have their hair styled.

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

“Dad, why can't we go?” Clarissa whined as she leaned over the arm of the couch, Draco sitting there, making adjustments to his dress robes and easily thwarting his daughter's attempts to guilt him into taking her along at every turn. He was well practiced at this, and could remain firm, just so long as she didn't start crying.

“Do you work for the Ministry of Magic?” he asked smoothly, not looking up from his task.

“No,” she pouted.

“Then you can't go,” he said and she huffed.

“You have never gone before, why are you suddenly interested this year?” Michelangelo asked, talking to his father like an adult while his sister, less than a year younger, baby-talked her daddy, as always.

“Mr. Rossiter invited me to go because I have been working on the case with him so much lately and wanted to show some gratitude. I would have said no, but the opportunity to be a pain in the Ministry's side while doing nothing technically wrong, is too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“But it's Christmas Eve,” Clarissa sulked.

“I'm here now aren't I?”

“Yeah, working on your stupid robes.”

“Hey, be mad at me, but don't take it out on the robes,” Draco said in mock-seriousness, holding his one hand out over the robes in his lap as though protecting and shielding their feelings.

“We still on for Christmas though, right? Not blowing us off for that?” Michelangelo asked, sounding bitter.

“Oh, now that's not fair,” Draco said with his own pout then. “Am I not allowed to have a life outside of work and you two?” he asked.

“No,” they said in unison and Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise as he looked between them.

“Come on now.”

“We want you home with us, not out at this stupid ball,” Clarissa moped, leaning over the couch arm again. She thought the idea of a ball was romantic, like in Cinderella, until she was informed that she would not be going. Then it was suddenly the “stupidest thing of all time”.

“What will you two do when I start dating?” he asked, and they both made a face.

“You don't date,” Clarissa said, sticking her tongue out and scrunching her nose up in a grossed-out expression.

“You never have before,” Michelangelo said, making much the same scrunched face (something they learned from their grandmother) but just hugging his knees to his chest as he sat in the squishy brown chair. “And `when' you start, as in you are already planning to?”

“Well, I'm allowed to consider it, aren't I?”

“No,” Clarissa said firmly.

“You serious about that?” Michelangelo asked.

“What would you two do if I brought a woman over?” he asked, curious.

“Put a horned toad in her teacup,” Clarissa said with an excited smile.

“Oh no you would not,” Draco warned, looking at her firmly, already having expressed his firm dislike of the little creatures in the past and always forcing Clarissa to get rid of them when she brought one home. He suspected his cousin was the one supplying her.

“You really would bring a lady into the house?” Michelangelo asked.

“It's not that uncommon for single parents to date you know. It's been a life time, yours actually, since I have had someone. Don't I deserve someone?”

“You have us,” Clarissa said, climbing over the couch arm to hug her daddy's right arm, talking in her baby-talk.

“You should do what makes you happy,” Michelangelo said, sounding bitter and none-too-keen on the idea of his father dating.

Draco did not feel this was a promising start to introducing Ginny, or any woman for that matter, to the children.

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

Ginny stood alone. She had arrived with Reamann to the Remembrance Ball, greeted everyone, gushed with the girls over how fabulous they looked like she had not seen them hours before partially done-up, and was now waiting out in the hallway, everyone else having gone in.

Reamann had showed up as Ginny's date, greeted everyone, and had left Ginny to go pick up Draco. Draco was getting ready on his own and the plan was that Reamann would Apparate directly into Draco's home and bring him back to the Ministry by Side-along. It shouldn't have taken more than a handful of minutes, but Reamann had been gone for nearly ten and Ginny couldn't imagine what was taking them.

What was the holdup?

She could imagine Narcissa giving them a hard time, she not being particularly fond of the Ministry of Magic…and she could imagine Draco was a high-maintenance kind of chap with impeccable standards that would take a little longer to get ready than most…but this waiting was driving her mental.

Was it because she was nervous?

She was certainly excited, but she kept running her hands over her dress robes to make sure they were lying properly, and fussed over her hair far too much. It had spells in place that would last well past midnight that would prevent any mussing, yet she still kept reaching up to touch it, like the curls might fall down any second.

Her back was to the hallway as she faced the doors. Inside everyone could be seen, already socializing and having a good time. She turned when she heard footsteps from behind her in the echoing hall.

Ginny was caught with her mouth hanging open.

Draco stepped up, looking like a vision of what he once was so many years ago…like the portrait she had seen of him in his old home.

His shiny hair was gone, away from his face, slicked back and short, in a style like the one Reamann currently sported, drawing attention to his perfect and high cheekbones. A few extra pounds would have helped his pointed face become striking for more of the right reasons, but he looked far from bad. His eyes sparkled with the knowledge that he looked good and the smirk he wore was reminiscent of him back in Hogwarts when so many thought he was “the-shit” and he new it.

He was clothed in the dress robes he had taken from his home, and he had managed to tailor them to fit just perfectly. The robes were absolutely black in color, and his fair skin looked milky and radiant beside it, not “cold and sickly” like he had complained just the day before. He looked very healthy actually, even the typical dark circles from under his eyes gone.

The outer robe he wore was double-breasted and formfitting from neck to waist, making his body look long and thin...not that it wasn't already. Two rows of black buttons lined the middle of his chest, starting at his throat and ending at his waist. The collar was high, and stiff, closing around this throat and making his neck look long and elegant.

The bottom of his robes fit looser and hung to the floor so that while he was standing it almost appeared that he was in a floor length gown, but when moving it billowed out from the waist where the buttons ended to gap and reveal black trousers with a black satin stripe down the outer edge and highly polished black shoes.

“Wow, Draco, you look,” Ginny said, breathless as Draco approched, trying to think of a word that sutibly descibed him. Dapper, chic, suave, classy, dashing, debonair…? She just could not settle on one. Draco smiled at her, seemingly awair of the list of words she was cycling through mentaly, and then whispered into her mind so as to exclude Reamann from their conversation.

“You are going to make me blush, Weasley,” he said, getting her to blush then.

Draco grabbed her hand, leaning down while bringing her knuckles to his lips, planting upon them a soft kiss, his eyes locked with hers the whole time.

“You look absolutely stunning, Ginny, I love you in green,” he said aloud with a soft voice lower than usual because he was nearly whispering and her blushed doubled, a shiver running up her arm from his touch to shoot down her spine and make her tight in places that were private.

She could see while he was leaning down where all his hair had gone. He had not cut it, and a part of her was relieved. It was pulled back in a loose French braid and it fell down his back like a silken rope to be tied off at the end with a piece of black cord near his bum.

“You look amazing,” she finally said as he straightened.

“I know,” he smirked and she smiled wide. He was full of the potion Reamann had supplied him with and feeling good, which made him arrogant, which managed to be sexy.

Ginny wanted to pull that smirking prat into a kiss to silence him before he encouraged any more complements out of her that he would overly and thoroughly enjoy too much, but Reamann was there with them. He had entered with Draco but Ginny only just then registering him properly. Draco's entrance had been quite overpowering. A flock of Diricawl could have gone running by, bursting into clouds of feathers and making a ruckus, and she would have missed it entirely. Reamann looked respectable in his own dress robes of a cobalt blue color, but he just could not compete with Malfoy, and Ginny had a feeling he knew this.

“Ginny, you look lovely,” he said, Draco stepping back and allowing Reamann to sweep in and plant a kiss on Ginny. It infuriated Draco to have to watch, but he kept his face a cool and pleasant mask. He wasn't Ginny's boyfriend at the moment, Reamann was. He would probably invoke suspicion if he started punching Reamann in the face right then, and more than probably upsetting Ginny greatly, he would likely not be invited into the ball. He had not spent forty minutes on his hair to be turned away at the door.

“Thank you, Reamann, you look quite fashionable yourself,” she said, having already seen him and complementing him, but feeling his ego needed a little soothing with Draco there. She smiled, though not in the way Draco had made her smile. It pleased Draco to see and made it worth the effort…and displeasing his children…to see that.

Ginny was in a deep green gown that seemed to shift color slightly given what angle Draco looked at her. It was either a deep blue-green, or a pale spring-green, and every shade in between. It complemented her red hair so nicely that was shining smoothly in perfectly styled curls piled up on her head. A few hung down at varying lengths and two framed her face. Silver wire could be seen wrapped around the back of her head, to cage the curls in a sort of muted cone. He would have liked her better without curls, but they were a different kind of curl his wife had had, far more tame and fake, not wild and unruly, so he supposed he could overlook it.

The dress was strapless so she had a matching shawl thrown over her arms. The bodice was tight, and looked like it restricted her breathing, but it gave her quite the hourglass figure that Draco found hard to rip his eyes away from. The skin of her arms, collarbones, breasts, neck, and her hair, shimmered with what looked like a dusting of some very fine, glittery body powder. It made her, along with her dress, radiant.

Reamann offered Ginny his arm and Draco sort of lingered off to the side.

“Ready?” she asked, looking over at him.

“I don't think I will have as warm of a welcoming in there as I did out here,” he said, looking to the doormen that stood vigilant over the scene inside the hall as they waited to check guests upon arriving. There was, understandably, high security at a function like this.

“Don't worry, they won't turn you away, we'll make sure of that,” Reamann assured.

“I fear being accepted and having to endure the scene in there more, I think,” he said, not positive, but pretty damn sure that no one inside would be happy to see him.

Ginny gripped his hand, just a quick, reassuring squeeze, and walked with Reamann towards the hall. Draco lingered, shifted, and then followed after.

It was time to see if he still had enough Malfoy in him to make this work.

“Ah, Ginny, we noticed you waiting outside and were wondering when you would finally come in,” one of the wizards manning the door said with a warm smile, the other greeting Reamann.

“I was just waiting for the last of our party to arrive,” she said, smiling back. The wizard's attention redirected to Draco and his smile wilted.

“Malfoy?”

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

“I think there is a problem with the doorman,” Neville said, holding a wineglass in his good hand, Orla on his bad arm.

Harry looked over to see what Neville was talking about and saw there was some sort of congestion at the door.

“Someone trying to crash?” Ron asked with a squat glass of rum in his hand.

“It's an open invite, I can't imagine,” Harry said, already striding over towards the doors, prepared to smooth over whatever problem there was for the sake of saving the evening and keeping things positive.

“I can't imagine what the problem is. I work for the Ministry, this ball is open to any who do, so I should logically be allowed to attend.”

Harry froze upon recognizing the disembodied voice.

Pushing through the small gathering of people at the large doors he stood before Draco Malfoy and furrowed his brow.

“Malfoy?” he asked.

“That's right,” he said, smiling mischievously.

They made very direct eye contact for a moment and Draco caught a glimpse of what Harry thought of when he first laid eyes on him. He saw an event from Harry's perspective, and that meshed with his own memories of that time, giving him a very interesting and omniscient view of things.

Fleeing the scene that had almost ended disastrously, Harry met up with Draco, far from any prying eyes or eager ears. It was snowy, it was cold, and it was bright.

Harry was behind Draco and gave him a firm shove with his hands in the center of Draco's back. Draco stumbled forward but then regained his footing quickly in the snow, turning on Harry smoothly, his long, loose hair falling in his eyes as he glared.

“What the hell is up? What happened back there?” Harry demanded.

“You couldn't keep your mouth shut for one moment could you, Potter? Had to let your bigheaded inner Gryffindor take over,” Draco spat back. Their charade had been working, the Death Eaters had believed Draco was sided with them while Harry and several of the Order tried to infiltrate, only able to get as far as they had because Draco had fed them information about how to get past the Giants (without fighting) that stood guard. It had been working until Harry had apparently lost faith in Draco and tried to be virtuous and take-charge, ruining Draco's carefully thought-out and structured plan.

“You were going along with them, I was worried that…”

“You really don't understand what it means to play a double-agent do you, Potter,” he said scathingly.

“It was damn convincing that you would kill…”

“No SHIT it was convincing! But it's not YOU I'm trying to fool, it's everyone else! The Dark Lord is far more experienced in Occlumency than I! I have to keep him out of my mind while playing up to his expectations, otherwise this wouldn't work!” Draco shouted back at him, frustrated and angry. He had barely been able to salvage the situation, and he was still unsure if his cover as a mole was blown or not. Harry didn't seem to grasp the precariousness of the situation or how he had nearly compromised it all and them both with his stunt. Harry did not seem to realize that his actions could lead to him, Draco, getting killed…slowly, and painfully.

“I had to do what I thought I had to.”

“Goddamn Gryffindor.”

“Corrupt Slytherin,” Harry spat back. “You think you're clever? I want to know whose side you are on! You say you are fooling the other side with your `esteemed acting skills,' but I can't help but get this strong impression that their side is not the ONLY side you're fooling.”

“You don't trust me,” Draco said, not even making it a question. After all he had confessed to Harry that had led him to bring Draco back to the Order's camp over a week before, he still did not trust him? That irked Draco something nasty.

“I have seen you grovel in submission and lie so easily, just to nosh your own aspirations! You have manipulated EVERYONE around me, everyone thinking something different of you. What would you have me think given all that? I don't know when it is you are acting and when you are being honest, or as honest as you ever get! I don't believe you are telling me the truth any more than you are telling it to anyone else!”

“Life is not that black and white, Potter. There is no good and bad, truth or lies, there are shades between, a LOT of grey,” Draco growled.

“A lie is a lie, Malfoy, I don't care what kind of spin you try and put on it to convince yourself otherwise.”

“I wouldn't expect you to understand.”

“Draco, tell me exactly what is going on with you. Just flat out say it again if you must, I just find it hard to believe, you being such an accomplished liar and actor,” he said.

“You have never trusted me,” he accused.

“I was willing to try.”

“And I have been doing all that you asked, at great personal peril, and you seem utterly unappreciative!”

“Because I don't KNOW if the peril you face is from us or them, it all depending on whose side you are on and what side you are fooling,” Harry said firmly, glaring at Draco.

Draco was quiet for just a pause and took a deep breath as though to release some tension. Harry just didn't understand.

“A lot has happened in these last few days, Potter.”

“I know,” Harry said, nodding, ready to be understanding.

“No, you DON'T,” he snapped. Harry had no idea all that had happened to him in the last week, that he had lost his father, that he had…nearly given up.

“Then tell me,” Harry said smoothly.

Draco was quiet again for a long moment, thinking about all he could tell Harry, choking back tears long before they could surface on his face.

“I don't want to be with the Order anymore,” he finally said and Harry leaned back a little, looking at Draco's very serious face.

“What are you saying?” he asked, swallowing hard at what Draco might say.

“No one has ever deserted the Death Eaters and lived to tell about it. Igor Karkaroff made it a whole year before he was murdered. Regulus Black? Barely two DAYS! I have made it a week. How long do you think I can manage to-”

“The Order will protect you, you have to put your trust in them…” Harry attempted before Draco cut him off.

“Put my trust in THEM when they don't even trust ME?” Draco snapped and Harry recoiled a little.

“Nothing is the same anymore for any of us,” he said, thinking of his father and poor old Butler Paul.

“I know it isn't,” Harry said softly.

“You never knew me, so I wouldn't expect you to understand, but something about me has changed. It is something I can't quite explain myself…but something is just…” -he paused- “not the same,” he said, talking softly now.

He was healing, physically, slowly, his mother so upset that she had not allowed the Healer to fully mend his wound. Draco appreciated that now; the pain there of his slowly healing wound as a reminder that he had been weak and that he could not be weak anymore. Suicide was the coward's way out, and he was not a coward…not anymore…not since he had been forced to watch…Butler Paul now gone.

Draco had felt something break inside him having been made to watch that, watch something so terrible. He had fallen to his knees, unable to fight anymore, unable to blink, unable to breathe, just staring at the scene before him. Lord Voldemort had made him watch, wanting to break him, and he had, but not in the way he had anticipated, not in the way he had counted on. Draco knew now, as a result of the Dark Lord's most recent cruelty, that he could not be weak anymore. It was costing him too many people he loved and cared about. He had his mother left, she was all he had in the world now. He had her to worry about still.

He had blamed himself for his father's death, but Butler Paul's life was on the Dark Lord, it was his fault, it was his fault his father was dead too. Draco knew this now, and that gave him the strength he needed now to do what he was about to do, say what he was about to say.

“Draco-”

“I'm THROUGH with this, Potter. I am through with being bullied, and intimidated, and promised things. I'm tired of playing by the rules that the one I'm standing against doesn't even hold to,” he said firmly, making a chopping motion with his left hand, ending his train of thought there, using his hand to physically shake the mental images that plagued him. “I'm through with living a life controlled by others, and my only purpose being to please someone else, some sort of despicable, disposable, dismissible servant. I want to please myself, live for MYSELF…to trust my instincts and do what I feel is right.”

“I, I understand that, I really do, Draco, but…” Harry tried to argue.

“If I'm not some oppressed supporter of the Dark Lord, I'm some blind follower of the Order. I have gone from fearing and trying to impress one tyrant, to another. I realized some days ago that I have no more options now than I did then. I'm still stuck in the middle of this mess that I did not even start and was no part of.”

“We are ALL trapped in the middle of this Draco! And the Order is not a tyran-”

“Please spare me, Potter!” Draco snapped, narrowing his eyes, looking angry again. “It's time that I try to do the impossible, to do something that I have been raised and taught to never attempt in my life. I'm going to do things MY way,” he said, holding himself tall and firm as his words. He had been raised to believe all the Dark Lord believed, because of some vow. He had been taught to shun any personal opinions or feelings that contradicted such teachings, and he had done so without question. He felt stupid and gullible, and blind because of that. He didn't even know who he was…but he intended to find out.

“So what is it you want to do then Draco? What is it? You don't want to support the Dark Lord, you don't want to be a part of the Order, what's left? You can't flee and hide from all this. The Dark Lord WILL find you,” Harry said fiercely while trying to understand this new Draco.

Harry didn't try and fool himself into believing he knew Draco well before, but something in him had changed, he could tell, and it scared him just a little.

“I'm through with being oppressed, through with being told there are limits to what I can do. I know I can't do everything, but how can I know what I AM capable of until I try?” he said and Harry looked at him, a little worried about what he was hearing. “I have lived too long afraid, too long fearing the disappointment of one person or another and suffering the punishments of my failures because NO ONE can possibly live up to their high demands. Living up to everyone else's expectations of me has worn me down and burned me out. I have to stand now,” he said.

Harry swallowed.

“You don't want to destroy the Dark Lord, you want to overthrow him,” he said, looking at Draco's fierce eyes with shock. What was Draco saying?

Draco seemed to think on Harry's words, like in his own mind he hadn't quite summed it up like that before, but he apparently liked the sound of that.

“He is no greater than I or any wizard really, and he is weak. He whittled himself down already for us with all his damn Horcruxes and fears death more than anything. He is talented, and intelligent, but he is nothing you or I couldn't be. All that sets him apart and makes him so frightening is the fact that he is willing to do anything, whatever it takes,” he said, his eyes on that fine edge of urging Harry to understand, and crazed madness.

“Malfoy, you can't be serious,” Harry said.

“Think on it, Potter. You are greater than him…THAT is why he fears you. The Ministry already holds you at such high regard and esteem, they would rollover and play dead if you were to show any desire to become a leader. You are no more powerful than I, but I am cunning, and able and willing to do what you are not…” he said and Harry paled. “Together, we could do what no other could.”

“Are you making me an offer, Malfoy?”

Draco just looked at him intently.

“I admit that we are talented beyond our years, but are you listening to yourself? You are having delusions of grandeur, Malfoy! This is mental!”

“Join me in this, Potter,” Draco said calmly, ignoring Harry's words, holding out his hand to him like he had back in their first year, when he had extended Harry his friendship, and some days ago when Harry had extended Draco his `trust.' “There would be no limit to what we could do once the Dark Lord is gone. Together we would be unrestricted, unlimited, unstoppable; the greatest team since the Founders of Hogwarts,” he said.

Harry had turned Draco away those years ago with his offer of friendship, but Draco could see in Harry's eyes that he was considering what he had said, truly mulling around his words.

Harry could not deny what Draco had told him as being true. Yes, they were powerful, and if they managed to vanquish the Dark Lord, little could stop them from ruling over the wizarding world…the Ministry would let him, and Draco was crafty enough to wheedle his way up to the top, he had no doubt about that.

“The people would be looking to a leader after the Dark Lord is gone, and if we were to work together,” Harry said slowly, still thinking.

The Ministry was a joke at the moment. He did not want to be the Ministry's “golden boy” because he did not stand for all they did…but what if he could take over, set things right? He was not sure he could trust anyone else to do it, the last two Ministers of Magic greatly disappointing him.

“If we stood together, there would be no fight we could not win, no desire we would not see a reality! They would never bring us down,” Draco urged.

Harry looked at Draco and considered his words, what he was offering.

Something about what he was saying seemed different than the typical malevolent plot to take over the world to Harry. There was no maniacal laughing on Draco's part; there was just this dark bitterness there, like Draco felt that it was this or nothing else. That sort of one-track mind was never a good sign when it came to one's personal mental stability and reliability.

Harry wished he could get Draco to understand that the Order was the best option for him, that they would see it all right in the end.

“We would be unstoppable,” Harry said, looking down at Draco's hand, Draco's face smiling in a way that sealed it for him.

Draco knew what the Dark Lord was doing was wrong, and that was a good start, but Draco was hurt, beaten like a dog by anyone and everyone that held themselves to be higher than him, and he had finally snapped and would not take it anymore.

Unfortunately, Draco was now insane.

Harry had heard words like his before, seen his very attitude before. When he was twelve and had met the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle Horcrux.

Draco sounded like the young Voldemort.

That was enough to snap him out of his consideration of Draco's offer and feel guilt and shame for having just briefly been seduced himself by the idea. He wanted to set the Ministry right, but he couldn't stand by Draco in this, he couldn't do it by the means Draco was proposing.

“But I can't,” he said, stepping back though there had already been a space between them. He remembered back to his first year at Hogwarts, when he had met Voldemort for the first time. He had told Harry that together they could do extraordinary things…together they would be unstoppable. Somehow, Draco's words now struck too similar a cord for Harry to bite.

“What?” Draco said, not getting the answer he had expected and looking a little surprised, a little hurt, and a little angry. Harry could see Draco's mind working through his eyes and it looked like he was closing himself off rapidly in a way that unnerved Harry vastly. The way Draco's mind worked unnerved him vastly.

“Call it me being a Gryffindor and you a Slytherin, but this is not RIGHT,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“Potter-”

“I cannot become what I have been fighting so hard against all these years. How can YOU want to be what has oppressed you, your family, for so long? You sound like Voldemort, like Greyback, like any other misguided Dark Wizard!”

“So you are to stand against me,” Draco said darkly, not even acknowledging Harry's accusations and statements.

“You are no better than him if you were to take his place.”

“I had thought that this would appeal to you, Potter…that you would UNDERSTAND. What better way to prevent another `Dark Lord' from ever surfacing and trying to take control than to already have a leader in place, a REAL leader, not some sorry excuse for a Minister that the people elected based on false promises and assurances in some joke of a popularity contest. Someone that the world would fear just enough to follow, but not so much that the people could not appreciate all that would be done for them?”

“It's not right,” he said.

“Like your precious Ministry has done nothing but `right,' Potter? This world is a mess, and simply killing the Dark Lord with not amend that.”

“There are other ways…”

“You are lying to yourself if you believe that. The Ministry will never be all that we could be.”

“You would pursue this then,” Harry said, realizing that Draco was not being swayed; he was holding strong to his ideals, his delusions, even if he, Harry, would not be joining him in it.

Draco just tilted his chin down a fraction, not quite a nod, but his eyes saying enough while wind whipped his shoulder-length hair around in his face.

“I can't say that I'm not mildly disappointed in you, yet somehow not surprised by this,” Harry said, knowing that Draco was not on the side of the Order, making him an enemy at that point. They both might have been after the Dark Lord, but they had very different reasons now.

Draco stepped back, turned, and walked for a moment; he turned back to Harry in a swirl of robes and pointed at him steadily.

“If I'm to fly solo on this, Potter,” he shouted back, “at least I know that I'm flying FREE, not a part of someone else's plans, someone else's desires, someone ELSE'S dream! You do not understand what that means, what that means to me! You have never been in the position I am in, or had things expected of you that I have had. You have had your troubles, but they are VASTLY different and incomparable to my own. You lost your family as an infant, I have lost mine right before my eyes!” he said.

“Draco,” Harry pleaded, in one last attempt to help Draco see the insanity of his words. “You have had it harder than I ever gave you credit for in the past, and I'm sorry, but this, this is MADNESS,” he said and Draco laughed bitterly. Potter had no idea, no idea just what he had been through, all that helping him and serving the Order of the Phoenix had cost him.

“I will match you, Potter, and the Dark Lord, at the very LEAST in infamy if not renown! They will talk about how I not only defied the Dark Lord, and the Ministry, but the Order and the great Harry Potter as well!” he said, pointing at Harry again.

Harry had to admit, looking into Draco's eyes so full of hurt and conviction, that he was more than a little afraid of him, maybe more than he was of the Dark Lord.

He feared what the Dark Lord would do, but he feared more what Draco might do. The Dark Lord was predictable, he knew what he wanted, and he made that known to all. Not knowing exactly what to expect from Draco was…alarming.

“Nobody in ALL the world, no witch or wizard that is now or ever was, will ever bring me down again!” Draco shouted, voice nearly cracking, his face angry but eyes wounded and almost lost despite his obvious conviction in his words.

Harry stared, and could not help but think of their school motto: “Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus,” which meant “Never tickle a sleeping Dragon.” It made him think of Draco, and for more than just that his name was in it. He felt that was what had happened. All these years Draco had been “sleeping.” This Draco he saw before him, whatever fire was lit in him now, had been dormant, and he had been “tickled” in just the right way, abused just one too many times, and it had awakened him.

“Draco.”

“Nobody is going to oppress or stop me, Potter, NOBODY,” he said, turning away at that point and stalking off.

He did not attack Harry, and Harry did not attack him. Harry should have drawn his wand to stop Draco now, while he had the chance, but he could not. Draco had offered him no violence…not yet anyways.

Harry was left there, still unsure what he could expect from the other wizard.

He was not sure he liked this new Draco much. The old had been unkind, the next had been piteous, but this last was just…terrifying.

He could not count on him helping the Order, but would he fight against them? He certainly wouldn't fight for the Dark Lord…

But would he stand alone? Him against the whole world?

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, trying hard not to think of that time.

“Well, as I just got through explaining to this lout here, I feel it is fairly obvious the purpose of my being dressed and present; I am here to attend the ball,” Draco replied, holding himself very tall, and full of self-satisfaction. He looked right at Harry, knowing exactly what Harry thought of when he first laid eyes on him, and felt indignation that, of all the times they had spoken, all the situations they had been in and shared, that was what he thought of first. It was a little insulting and he felt like it belittled all he had done for Harry. Ginny invoked memories of the final battle and her saving his life. Harry did not think of him saving his life by betraying the Dark Lord in that final turn and throwing him his wand, disarming himself so that Harry could inevitably defeat the dark wizard…he thought instead of a far less flattering time. Draco was mildly hurt but somehow not surprised either.

“You want to attend the ball?” Harry asked, surprised.

“You do catch on fast,” Draco drawled, Ginny jumping in and cutting him off before Draco started insulting Harry as harshly as he had the doorman.

“Reamann invited him. Can you please make this mess go away so we can enjoy the evening?” she asked, pleading to Harry's sense of fairness and diplomacy.

Harry looked at Draco, who had certainly done himself up nice for the ball, and to Reamann who was looking a little meek with discomfort at being fingered as the one to blame for the whole mess, and sighed.

“Alright,” he said, looking over at the wizards as Ginny's face broke into a smile.

“Just let him in,” he said.

“Harry?” the wizard asked.

“He won't start anything, will you?” Harry said, that more of a warning than a question directed at Draco.

“Certainly not,” Draco said crisply, smirking and getting Harry to glare at him for a moment.

“Just let him in,” he said, turning and walking away at that point so as not to allow anyone to argue with him, not that they would anyways.

“Harry, Harry,” Ginny called softly, running up behind him to grab his arm. “Thank you,” she said.

“Why did you bring him here?” he asked suddenly, no pretenses there.

“He has every right to be here, he deserves to be here,” she said firmly.

“I can't help but feel this sudden interest you have developed for him will cause troubles for you and Reamann,” Harry said darkly and Ginny narrowed her eyes at him.

“Don't you dare,” she warned.

“Was it you, or Reamann that invited him?”

“Reamann,” Ginny said firmly.

“He didn't mention it to me.”

“Because he was worried, and justifiably so it seems, that you would object and he didn't want everyone to get upset over something that really is nothing.”

“Draco and you…it's nothing.”

“Don't start this again,” Ginny warned, not wanting to get into this particular row with Harry again, not at the Remembrance Ball, not on Christmas Eve, not ever again.

“Well, then you shouldn't have fucked him then!” Harry hissed and Ginny looked taken aback, placing her hand over her heart before her rage set in.

“Draco and I have never had sex, Harry.”

“That was not the way things seemed when I saw you two that night,” Harry said, talking about “that night” again.

“That was a kiss, and you know it.”

“A kiss? Ginny, you and I had kissed before, and that was done vertically. Even heavy snogging between you and me had not gone as far as that,” he spat, the mental image of Draco atop of Ginny, kissing and groping so passionately forever burned into his mind. “It looked like you two were having sex through your clothing,” he seethed.

“We did not have sex! Is that what has bothered you all these years? You thought we had?”

“What reason did I have to think otherwise?”

“Reason being that I am more respectable than that?” she said, not admitting to Harry that she would have probably had sex with Draco if he had continued. That was not the point; Harry was being unreasonable.

“So, you're sticking to the story that you never shagged him?”

“It is not a story, Harry; I never had sex with him! It was just a kiss…it was just kissing!”

“Does Reamann know about you and Draco kissing?”

“No, and don't you dare tell him! Not that it is any big deal, but it is none of his damn business what I did thirteen years ago. I think you need to get over it, get over the past, and get over yourself,” she said, fighting the urge to slap Harry across the face right then before she stormed off. A few people looked over at her and at Harry, as she walked away, ready to gossip about what the row could have possibly been about.

So that was it. Harry thought that, after he had seen her and Draco on the ground, kissing, that they had had sex. That was why he had been so upset. She supposed that made sense…more sense to be upset over sex than kissing that is…but the whole thing was ludicrous from the start!

He made it sound like she and Draco were still in the throws of passion, and it angered Ginny to no end that she couldn't deny that. Harry thought she still had feelings for Draco, that she had feelings for him in the first place, and damn him, he was right.

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

“You look upset, Ginny,” Reamann said, wrapping his arms around Ginny in a gentle hug after she joined him and Draco.

“I just got through talking, no, fighting with Harry,” she said and Reamann looked pained and fought not to glance at Draco, assuming the man to be the reason behind the fight but thinking it had to do with Draco being at the ball, not some past history they all shared that he was unaware of.

“I'm sorry,” Draco said softly.

“No, it is not your fault, you did nothing wrong. Harry is just being a pigheaded troll,” she grumbled and Draco smiled.

“Let me get you something to drink,” Reamann offered.

“Something sweet?” she asked, and he kissed her forehead.

“Sure thing,” he said, making his way over to the refreshments, leaving Draco alone with Ginny.

“The fight was about me,” he said, not making it a question. Ginny nodded. “Anything new, or just the same old Harry-the-self-righteous-prat not liking or trusting me,” he asked. He certainly didn't sound bitter…much.

“Harry thinks we've had sex,” she said, crossing her arms in a huff as she glared at Harry who was across the room and talking to her brother.

“What? He suspects we are seeing each other?” Draco asked, a little surprised, a little panicked, and a little impressed that Harry was so intuitive.

“No, no, he thinks we had sex that night,” she said and Draco blinked at her.

“The night before the final battle?” he asked. It seemed her and Harry had already dubbed the night she and Draco had kissed as “that night” and Draco was just becoming familiar with that, so a little explanation was needed.

“He saw us, remember? He had left the Order's camp to go look for me, not wanting to believe Hermione when she said I had -must have- died when I went over the edge, when you had turned traitor on us. I guess he had not known you were with Hermione and me that day and had flipped out upon learning that. I guess he never really had trusted you,” she said and Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably, having just been reminded at the door by Harry of the scene that had unfolded the day before that. He supposed he had given Harry just reason not to trust him at that point…

“He stumbled on us together and, honestly, I really think I broke his heart…” she said, sounding depressed. Draco, who was standing right up next to Ginny, facing the floor, just brushed his knuckles across her hip, unable to show any sort of comforting affection in public. “He saw us, snogging like mad, and he turned away…left. I guess he assumed you and I…did it that night,” she said with a sigh, dropping her arms so she could put her hand at her side. While standing so close her full gown's green skirt and his dress robes blocked from view her gripping his hand.

“I knew he had seen us kiss, he had told me as much and he had brought it up in arguments in the past, but I had not realized until just now that what bothered him so was that he thought you had betrayed us all, faked my death, and then had your way with me off in secret. I guess that moment, that night, when he saw us, me not dead and you…yeah…he thought I had turned traitor too. After that, once he realized you and I hadn't betrayed the Order at all,” she said and he shifted uncomfortably, “he just believed I had rejected him to have you that one night.”

“Well, I am an offer pretty hard to pass up,” he smirked and Ginny fought not to pinch him. “So, Potter thinks we shagged and is wounded over it,” he said, hoping to sum it all up.

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“Excellent,” he said with a smile over in Harry's direction and Ginny looked up at him.

“Draco.”

“I think we need to amend this little problem,” he said, turning to her after releasing her hand so his back was to the dance floor now.

“I don't think you talking to Harry will really help. He will believe what he will, he is stubborn like that and once he has made up his mind and believes something is true no one can sway him, no matter how much evidence you throw at him,” she said, sounding tired.

“No, no, not that, though I know that to be true,” he said and she blinked up at him. “Potter seems to believe we had sex, but we haven't. This is a problem we need to address and amend. I'm thinking until we are dizzy and weak in the knees and unable to amend any more,” he smirked and Ginny's mouth parted in shock before converting into an open-mouthed grin.

“You are terrible,” she laughed.

“And horny, you game?”

“We can't…”

“Have other plans tonight? With Reamann possibly?” he asked, a little bitter.

“Draco,” she said, frowning up at him. “There is no way on Christmas Eve I could possibly…”

“Hey you two,” Reamann said, showing up again suddenly and stopping their conversation there. “Couldn't possibly do what?” he asked, having only caught the very end of their conversation, looking between them, a drink in each hand.

“Find a last minute gift,” Draco said, and Reamann handed Ginny the drink he had fetched for her.

“Sorry mate, I would have gotten you something, but I only have two hands and I didn't know what kind of drink you prefer,” he said.

“I can manage on my own,” Draco said dismissively, stalking off in a graceful strut to leave Ginny with her boyfriend. Was he grumpy? Not terribly…maybe a little, he blamed Potter. He couldn't help but be jealous of Reamann, however, and thus pout a little.

Draco knew he was invoking stares, and glares, and it made him feel a little uncomfortable to hear his name whispered about as he passed, but some part of him, the Malfoy part, was reveling in the attention. No attention was bad attention, that was something he had learned from a young age and probably why he had been such a snot and troublemaker.

Draco paraded across the hall in a confident swagger. The Ministry hall was done up for the occasion, Christmas lights that appeared to be real live pixies in glass orbs hung from the high ceiling that was a mass of hanging and illuminated ice sculptures like carved stalactite. Snow fell above them but seemed to vanish just before it could reach far enough down to actually touch anything. Gold and silver metallic streamers and ribbon hung from the walls and gathered in massive bows some six feet across between every tall window, the glass dark. Live music played, a string quartette.

Reaching the refreshment table Draco ordered himself a scotch on the rocks, glancing across his shoulder at a young witch to his left. She was looking at him, and he looked her up and down with only his eyes and graced her with a smile that made her visibly swoon just a touch. He gave her a wink before accepting his drink with a “cheers” and meandered off again, surveying the crowd.

“Malfoy,” a man growled at his back.

“Yes, Satan?” Draco inquired, not turning.

“Very cute, Malfoy,” Sebastian said from behind Draco still, Draco turning to face him with a very animated look of surprise.

“I'm sorry, you sounded like someone else I know,” he said, a polite smile in place.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

“Enjoying the atmosphere.”

“You enjoy being the focal point of a sea of glares?”

“Among many other things. I also enjoy the smell of laundry detergent and doing tax reports. My mother always said I had a head for numbers…”

“Enough with the wisecracks, Malfoy.”

“I have every right to be here,” Draco said coolly, dropping the sarcasm.

“Really? What gave you the impression that you would be welcome to a ball where those that died in the war and served the Ministry faithfully are honored, Death Eater?”

“The fact that I was invited,” he said casually, taking a sip of his drink.

“Who would invite you?” he said.

“Oh, come now, Sebastian, there are tens of people that love and adore me,” he said, mocking himself at that point but able to smile at it. He felt he was funny, at least.

“Don't be starting anything, Malfoy, or you will have more than just a glare to worry about when it comes to me,” he warned, already walking away.

“What happened to us, Sebastian? We used to be such friends,” he called after him is false distress, holding his arms out at his sides and causing some people to look and start talking behind their hands and drinks.

Sebastian looked flustered.

Oh yeah, he thought with a satisfied smile, turning back around to strut the floor again.

Malfoy was back.

“Reamann, what is wrong with you?” Draco demanded upon coming up to Ginny and Reamann again.

“What?” he asked, confused and unsure of the question.

“You have this lovely date and you have not yet danced with her,” he said, getting a relieved smile out of Ginny who had thought Draco's outrage had been over something serious.

“Oh, no, Reamann just is not a dancing kind of man,” she said, holding onto his arm tightly, reassuringly.

“I am,” Draco said, holding his thin hand out to Ginny. “Mind, Reamann?” Draco asked, looking only out of the corner of his eye at the other man.

“Oh, um, no, no, you two may have a dance, you would enjoy that, wouldn't you Gin?” he asked, looking over and down at her on his arm.

“Good, because I would have taken her away even if you objected,” Draco teased, looking at Ginny now, smirking, looking just like himself years ago. She remembered him at the Yule Ball. She had gone with Neville, and Draco had gone with Pansy Parkinson. She had to admit, she had stolen a glance or two at him. He had looked very nice in his black velvet robes. He had the same kind of high collar as he had then. It must have been a favorite style of his, a flattering one to say the least.

A little taller, and a little thinner now, he otherwise looked like he did back then, confident and self-assured, no doubt in his mind that she would be unable to deny him. She had half a mind to turn him down, but she, for some dark reason, liked his poise and self-assurance. He seemed to lack, or only bear a shadow of, it most of the time and this was refreshing from what she had seen of him the day before. It felt like the real him, even if it was not, or not entirely him. There was more to him than this, but she liked this part of him.

Ginny took his hand and she saw his eyes narrow, like he had known what she was thinking, that she would have refused him just to spite him, and she gave him a little smirk. She had already warned him to stay out of her mind if he did not like what he saw.

Draco led her by the hand to the floor. Eyes followed them, Draco Malfoy being the talk of the night, everyone having an opinion on him being there, most of outraged indignation.

Ginny felt a little anxious with everyone looking at her.

She avoided the papers, and tried to stay out of the limelight, not wanting to be the celebrity everyone one seemed to try and make her…but it looked like she would make the morning paper. Dancing with Death Eaters at the Remembrance Ball…her mother was going to have a fit.

“You know how to waltz?” he asked, holding her right hand in his left, his right on her waist, her left on his shoulder.

“I learned for the Yule Ball, but I haven't had much practice since or opportunity,” she admitted.

“Well, that will work fine, just follow my lead then,” he said, the music playing, his feet suddenly moving. Ginny lagged for a moment, her feet just shuffling to keep up with him as they moved across the dance floor. She caught up and tried to match his feet and the tempo of the music. After only a moment she was with him, gliding smoothly. He smiled at her.

“Quick,” he complemented.

“Arrogant,” she responded.

“Too true,” he said, Ginny once again unable to insult or offend him. He smiled down at her, surprising her by placing both his hands on her waist and lifting her up and turning around. He placed her back on the floor gently and resumed the waltz.

“Draco,” she said, not having expected him to be able to lift her, not having expected the lift at all.

“I am stronger than I look,” he said, smirking, knowing what she was thinking, knowing she was self-conscious about her weight a little, and how she felt he was a little too slender to have been able to lift her so easily. He did not take offense to that, rather reveled in his ability to impress her.

They waltzed, turning around and around on the floor while moving in a large circle. Others were dancing too, but not many. It seemed most just wanted to stand, stare, and gab about Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley dancing. At least Draco was a good dancer; they could not rip him apart over that.

Draco did not mind the attention. He was having a good time. Ginny looked like she was too, but some part of her was hung up, he could feel it.

“Relax,” he said.

“I am relaxed.”

“You are not,” he laughed softly.

“Yes I am.”

“Do not worry what they say. You do not read the papers, remember? Enjoy yourself, forget them,” he said, scooping her into a lift again and turning.

“How does it not bother you?” she asked as they moved.

“What they say about me, you mean?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“It does…sometimes…but worrying and fretting never solved anything, and it only leads to misery. You can't change how people think, or public opinion, but nothing causes the people that hate you so much discontent as to see you unbothered and happy,” he said, smirking.

Ginny laughed, finally relaxed.

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

“Harry, you're glaring,” Neville pointed out. “Ron, your stabbing your dinner…” Neville said, sounding a little more worried.

“What does he think he is doing?” Ron growled.

“What does she think she is doing?” Harry fumed.

Hermione was standing a little apart from the boys, looking over at Ginny and Draco as they created a scene. If this was Ginny's idea of being subtle and quiet about her relationship, then Hermione felt she needed to sit her down with a dictionary and explain to her the definition of the word.

She caught sight of Reamann, and though he did not look terribly upset, he looked a little uncomfortable as he watched them.

“Hey Reamann,” Hermione said, coming to stand beside him.

“Hello `Mione,” he said, still watching them.

“How is your Eve so far?” she asked.

“I can't dance like that,” he said, just saying what he was thinking and expressing how he felt quite simply and honestly. He was intimidated by Draco, and Hermione felt for him. It was always hard for a chap to be showed up by another man when it comes to impressing his lady. Hermione hadn't the heart, or right, to tell him the truth on the matter though. Hermione looked over at Draco and Ginny and then sighed.

“Draco is a socialite by nature and was bred for the singular purpose of making good impressions at revelries. Do not be intimidated, it's genetic as far as he is concerned and no one can compete with that.”

“It is nice to see him happy, or at least content…looking,” he said, Ginny and Draco ending their waltz for him to bow and her to curtsey respectfully. There were some muted claps, most passing it off as their praise for the live music, not the dancers they had been watching.

“Glad you invited him then?” she asked, unsure how happy he would be if he knew the real reason Draco was there.

“Yeah…I am,” he said, striding over to Draco and Ginny with a smile on his face.

“Good show, chap, good show! Now I really can't attempt a dance with Ginny, after that I would be more than substandard, I would be an embarrassment,” he said, praising Draco.

“Oh, you are being far too modest, Reamann. Ginny is a fine dancer, and if you wouldn't mind her leading, I'm sure you would catch on right quick,” Draco said, in a god's honest good mood right then, able to smile at the man, Ginny's boyfriend, even if just slightly so as to remain reserved.

Ginny looked radiant in her happiness and goodwill.

“I'm glad you could come,” Reamann said.

“It is nice to be out.”

“It's nearly Christmas,” Reamann said, looking at the tall clock on the wall high above them where gold and silver streamers cascaded down.

“That it is,” Draco said, holding his new drink up in a `cheers'. “I must be gone by midnight, or the spell will be broken and my ride will become a pumpkin again,” he said and Ginny laughed, fighting not to hold his hand so grabbing Reamann's instead.

“What are you doing for Christmas day?” Reamann asked as Draco took a sip.

“Spending the day with my family,” he said simply, not wanting to discuss that, not with Ginny there with them. Reamann knew about the kids, but Ginny did not, unless Reamann had told her, in which case he would feel the need to thank the man for saving him the trouble, and apologize to him after having punched him really hard in the face.

“What are you doing that night?” he asked.

“Just about the same,” Draco said, a little suspicious now.

“How about you join us, Ginny and I that is, for a late Christmas Dinner at the Burrow? The morning is all for family, but the evening is for the friends,” he said and Ginny and Draco both looked surprised and uncomfortable.

“I don't think so.”

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Honey,” Ginny said at the same time Draco was talking, them both muttering.

“Come on, the Burrow will be loaded with food, no need to worry,” he said.

“Worry only that Harry, Ron, and several other rather large, strapping males will be in attendance who do not like me much,” Draco said, taking another hearty gulp of his drink at the thought.

“They will behave, it's Christmas,” Reamann urged.

“I think it would be a good chance to maybe clear up some misunderstandings.” This coming from Ginny, looking at Reamann, and then over to Draco.

“You can't be serious.”

“Well, it's only a suggestion,” she said, shrugging, Draco not believing his ears. He would have gone into great detail about how they were both mental, but there was a commotion right then and Reamann was summoned.

“Reamann, we have to go,” Sebastian said, sounding authoritative and brash as ever.

“What? Now? What happened?” he asked.

“There was another attack.”

“It's Christmas Eve,” Ginny said, looking shocked.

“Come along Reamann,” Sebastian said, ignoring Ginny, looking at his “partner” as though bothered by the very idea that he was a necessity.

He then turned to Draco and Draco stood strong under his gaze.

“Shouldn't you be slinking off too?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” Draco asked crisply, drink in hand and nose pointing up slightly.

“You are Reamann's informant, aren't you?”

“Am I?” he retorted.

“I'm sure that's how your hair got on the scene, he snuck you in somehow.”

“I'm relieved to learn that you believe that to be the explanation of how my hair got there, rather than you still suspecting me as the one responsible, I will sleep better tonight,” he drawled. “But I'm sure I haven't any idea what you are talking about, Sebastian darling. You plagued with Wrackspurts? I hear they are quite bad this time of year,” he drawled, getting Ginny to snort a laugh which she then tried to disguise as a sneeze and Sebastian looked a little flustered, annoyed that he had been unable to shake Draco even a little.

“Where were you this afternoon, Malfoy?” Sebastian asked coldly, clearly meaning to implicate Draco then in this newest attack.

“At home, washing my hair,” Draco replied, just as frigidly but smiling innocently.

Sebastian and Draco shared a fierce glare for a prolonged moment before Sebastian broke it (few being able to hold a Malfoy glare) and snapped at Reamann to come with him. Several Aurors, including Ron, were leaving the ball at that point.

“This is awful,” Ginny said, that being the collective though of the room around them, so Draco gathered.

“This is aggravating,” he said, speaking of a great deal many things, including: him not being able to crack the case yet, Sebastian suspecting him of being Reamann's informant, him just being implicated in the newest attack, and on top of all that…the slough of paperwork he would undoubtedly have to read through and report on.

“Poor Reamann, he is probably going to be out all night,” she said, looking in the direction of where they had disappeared to.

Draco was silent beside her for a moment, and then they seemed to have a joint thought and looked at each other.

Ginny hurried over to Hermione and told her she was not feeling well and would be “heading home,” and since Reamann had been Draco's “ride” she would be dropping him off on the way.

Hermione got the message loud and clear, and she would pass Ginny's story on for her friend…but was not happy as she watched her friend hurry off to take advantage of the opportunity to have the night alone, or not alone, but with different company.

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Author's Note:

OMG, this was a long chapter, as they have been for a while. Harry is a jerk in this chapter, as always. His stubbornness is canon. The flashback was important (even if it seemed a little out of place) and I realize some of you might be a little confused as to why I put it in right there. I did it because 1) I am running out of time to tell that half of the story, 2) it shows Draco's mental-state, (now and at the time of the war) the stress he was under, and why Harry didn't trust him on the rooftop during the `Final Battle' flashback in Chapter 03. and 3) it shows why Draco HATES Harry so much still to this day. Of ANY thought or memory Harry could have had at that moment upon looking at Draco, he chose that one, a very unflattering one of Draco, and that seriously hurt Draco to learn that.

We saw a LITTLE glimpse into how the children feel about Daddy!Draco dating. Sounds promising, doesn't it? *snickers*

I hope you all enjoyed the sweet sweet Draco and Ginny action. More to come, I assure you. I bumped the rating up on this fic, if you did not notice. It was R and is now NC-17, thanks to Chapter 15 and, well, upcoming chapters. :) Reamann's name is STILL not working, and that REALLY pisses me off.

I hope you all review! If you feel the need to tell me to “update soon” or “update quickly” that's alright, but please say more than just that because I can already easily assume you all want me to update again someday.

I needs me some feedback, I have been having a TERRIBLE week!!

Also, if anyone would like to hear some of my arguments as to why I think Draco is a Werewolf, check out my reviews from chapter 17. I responded to one review with a lengthy (and I mean LENGTHY) little explanation. I hope you all look at it!

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Credits:

I used dialog from a scene from the movie “Ace Ventura, Pet Detective” because that movie cracks me up and when I wrote the scene it just fit so nicely. It was a last minute addition, the scene would have survived without it, but I would not have. It was just too perfect.

“Ventura,”

“Yes, Satan?...Oh, I'm sorry sir! You sounded like somebody else...”

“Never mind the wisecracks, Ventura…”

Then there is a very obvious reference to the song “Defying Gravity” from the musical Wicked in the flashback, mostly near the end of it with the line “if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free.” I wrote basically the whole scene, minus the ending, without having ever heard the song, then my sister bought the CD and I was like, “wow, I like this song,” and realized that it corresponded with my scene near perfectly. Funny how things like that happen. I call it fate, or irritating coincidences that make me feel far less creative and original. Whatever the case, I still have never seen/read/or listened to the whole musical/book. Just that song, so any other similarities are purely coincidental.

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19. Chapter 19

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Nineteen

Ginny Apparated them directly into Draco's living room and they were furiously kissing within that very moment. Without taking a break from their pulling at each other's robes and dressings, Draco backed her up to his bedroom door.

Kicking it open, Draco pushed Ginny inside and closed the door behind them. She smiled at his roughness that was not overly domineering, just very eager, and turned to grab the front of his robes and pull him into a strong kiss, willing to be just as rough, both overcome with their desire and passion. There was something so intoxicating about doing something you know you shouldn't be doing. Having sex with Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley, was definitely something they were each not supposed to be doing, thus why Draco could barely contain himself and Ginny was aching for him to take her.

Draco wanted Ginny undressed; problem was he had no idea how to get her out of her clothing. There seemed to be buttons, and zippers, and God-knows what else, and he did not know where to begin. He had never had to undress a woman before, and he had by no means made it a habit of wearing women's clothing himself, so he was more than a little lost. Ginny was already working on the buttons of the front of his robes and he felt like he was lagging behind.

It wasn't his fault men's clothing was so much more simple and straightforward.

Ginny managed to free his neck and upper chest, but was getting tired of all the buttons and her frustration was apparent.

“Why don't you take care of getting yourself out of that, and I will manage this,” he offered, reaching up to hold her hands. She seemed to agree, starting in on her dress immediately with just as much haste as she had moments before with him, Draco reaching up to undo his buttons.

God, why did there have to be so many?

He managed the outer, then the inner row, and his robes slipped down off his shoulders and arms to pool on the floor around his ankles. He was left in a snug, black t-shirt and his trousers, far better than Ginny, who was still in peeling so layers of too much dress.

He could sense her annoyance and smiled, grabbing her shoulders to encourage her to turn around. He kissed the back of her neck, and down between her shoulder blades, all the while unlacing, untying, unhooking, unzipping, and unbuttoning her.

Ginny closed her eyes and smiled as a shiver ran through her body, the pace suddenly slowed way down so her body actually ached more for him with every delicate brush of his lips. She held the front of her dress to her breasts as it loosened, Draco working his way down her back with every new unclasping to kiss just a little lower. When he got to the small of her lower back she giggled and turned, allowing him to stand and her to kiss him softly at first, shivers still running through her body from the ghosts of his touches.

Ginny felt conflicted. She loved the tenderness, but her body was eager, and she could feel his lust radiating off his skin, still so much clothing between them, inhibiting their touches. Her blood was pumping and she was ready to go, body hot and throbbing with a fire only he could extinguish.

She kissed him more fiercely.

She would make sure they had their tender moments another time, right now they had their bed; she wanted to get down to business. She had waited for this long enough.

Ginny removed her hands and let her dress fall in a massive heap that was knee-high in its fullness. A strapless bra and lacy knickers were all that she was left with and Draco suddenly felt overdressed. He supposed, as complex as women's clothing was, it was efficient in the end.

He smirked in approval.

The sheer and lacy boy-cut panties and matching bra were red.

He liked red…perfectly Christmassy and appropriate, particularly when combined with the green dress. If his body were not already hard for her, it would have been, upon seeing that. As it was, he was afraid he might rupture something if he didn't release soon, the pressure building as great as his need and anticipation. He would have loved to be adoring and gentle, whispering sweet nothings and exploring her in full…but it would be torture for him to wait and linger, and he could tell Ginny didn't mind if they skipped the tender foreplay this once.

Ginny grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him around her to nearly throw him onto his mattress. He smiled at that, almost laughing, clearly enjoying the fact that she was not hiding her need for him.

He liked feeling like he was desired and needed. Surely every man did.

Ginny was grinning greedily, like she was more than a little satisfied with what lay propped up on the bed before her. She straddled his legs in her knickers and high heels still so that her cleavage the bra encouraged and enhanced was right up in his face, enticing him to take notice of what she had to offer him. He looked pleased with that smirk of his in place and was looking more and more satisfied the further she leaned into him. She could feel his warm breath on her breasts and him through his trousers, and it was enough to make her kickers damp. She leaned in, grabbing that long braid of his and pulled so his head was tilted back, her neck craning down to kiss him feverishly. Reaching down she pulled and then yanked his shirt out from his waistband.

Draco had enough of a mind to suddenly be a little self-conscious over Ginny about to see him with his shirt off, but he still lifted his arms to allow her to pull the shirt away while turning it inside out. She did not look at him right away, breaking the kissing just long enough to get the shirt over his head, so Draco took advantage of that and reached around to hold her bum and slip his middle and ring fingers between her legs to cup her from behind through her damp knickers. Ginny took a sudden shuddering breath and Draco moved his fingers away. He grabbed a handful of her bum in each palm and she giggled, resting her forehead against his, noses touching, her breasts up by his chin.

“You have a condom, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, a newly purchased box in his sock drawer. That had not been as exciting a shopping tip as he had anticipated. There were more condom varieties and sizes, colors and flavors apparently, than there was candy by the checkout. The task had been unexpectedly daunting.

Ginny rolled off of him to allow Draco to go fetch, and studied his body as he stood by the dresser and opened a drawer.

To be honest, she liked lean guys, Harry and Réamann both examples of that, both seekers, both narrow at the waist and long-limbed…but Draco was seriously skinny, skinny enough for her to worry about his health now that she was finally seeing him without a shirt on. She wasn't repulsed by it or anything, but she could understand how some people would be. He resembled something like an anorexic before treatment. What only compounded this piteous look were the scars that raked over his body, starting at his neck where they were usually barely hidden by his shirt collars and long hair, and lacerated all the way down to vanish past the waistband of his trousers. It was almost odd how the scars only covered his left side and arm. Apart from one set of apparent claw marks atop his right shoulder blade, and a tattoo on his right forearm, his right side was pure and unblemished. His left side, however, showed evidence of him having been very brutally mauled. That, more than the thinness, made her stomach a little tight.

She had never given it much thought before (when he had said he was a werewolf or when she had first learned of it) but she supposed what that entailed was him having survived a very serious, violent, and vicious attack. She had never really pictured him as a surviving victim of such a thing before. It was just one more thing that made her see him in a whole new light.

“Seeing me without a shirt on that much of a mood killer?” Draco asked, managing to sound only mildly concerned while sitting down on the mattress beside Ginny, not looking at her, looking very intently at the condom package as distraction.

“You were reading my thoughts again,” she accused.

“No, just your face,” he answered and Ginny felt her stomach clench slightly, again. Had she been staring?

“It doesn't bother me,” she said, talking about his appearance, the scars. They had been over this the day before. It really didn't bother her and she made sure Draco would see that if he looked into her mind, and could feel that as she leaned over and kissed him, grabbing onto that silky braid of his again. It was just too much fun to keep her hands off of it.

Harry had scars from the war, Ron, Hermione, Neville…even her…they all had scars from the battles. It was just cruel fate that Draco's scars would be so bad. It was a result of those very scars -the illness he contracted- that he was so thin now, so she treated even that like a battle scar, a badge of courage.

Draco managed to smile at her from inches away at that thought of hers and pushed her down on the bed, not about to wait any longer to have her, not sure he could wait any longer to have her.

“Thank you,” he managed between kisses. Ginny didn't answer, not sure what exactly it was he was thanking her for but sure “you're welcome” would have been in poor taste.

Draco was thankful that she didn't care that he wasn't as utterly masculine, and tough, and robust looking as Réamann or most guys…he could see that in her eyes, in her thoughts, and that peaked his sometimes waning confidence, particularly at this moment when anyone would be feeling a little exposed and vulnerable. He knew Ginny was fretting over her thighs and tummy, so he made sure he ran his hands over them, to show her how much he actually enjoyed them.

They managed to make clothing disappear rapidly at that point, each back to furiously undressing the other and Ginny even offering to slip the condom on him.

At that moment, the scars, the width of his shoulders, the circumference of his arms, the weight in his legs, did not matter. When right up against her, the soft suppleness of her body next to the thin hardness of his, they melded and fit so perfectly, it did not matter. Just in that chaste embrace they felt connected and unified. Ginny did not seem to mind his bony back as she ran her hands up and down it, and if anything, her unrestrained and uninhibited touches gave him confidence, like his did her, and helped him forget that this would be the first time he would be with a woman in nearly twelve years, or 4,326 days, or something like 104,824 hours…not that he was keeping track or anything.

There he was, pressing into her, her body almost too tense to welcome him but so soft and warm that he had to penetrate. They maintained very intense eye contact through it. Her body actually surprising him by how hot and moist it was already, him having to push past her clenched opening, ripping a gasp from her as he eased in. It was almost representative of their lives. He had to push so hard and struggle to get what he wanted so badly, but now that they were past all confining pressures and stigmas of their respective lives…now that he was finally sheathed in her…they had what they wanted so badly: each other. It was enough to make them both moan with their first need realized, their first desire gratified. Draco actually feared he would release himself right then with that sensational climax, now that he was pushed all the way inside a woman, not just any woman, Ginny: the girl he had wanted just in this way for so many years while all alone in Azkaban.

“Oh God,” Ginny groaned, tossing her head back to sink it into the pillow, baring her smooth but still shimmering throat to him as she took all of him into her and she seemingly clenched tighter around him to hold him there, to prevent any more moving on his part at the moment. It took every ounce of control Draco had not to come with that as she moaned and wiggled her hips encouragingly while she adjusted to his fit and clenched and unclenched her internal muscles. She seemed to relax and they fell back into gazing at each other from inches away, now connected and still unmoving.

It was a deep and penetrating gaze, far more intimate and personal than his body's intrusion of her at the moment. They laid there for a while, connected and throbbing with radiating heat smoldering between them, eyes locked, both in slight awe as they came to grips with what they had just done.

They had hardly done anything that constituted as “sex” yet, but it was just so intimate that it was almost like they had already fully copulated. It felt like they had been lovers their whole lives, yet, this was the first time he had been able to do more than kiss her, or feel her body through her clothing. Draco was panting already and Ginny's mouth was open, lips full and moist, moist like other soft parts of her, and he wanted to be joined with her there like he already was below.

Draco crushed his lips against hers wish a deep intake of breath, and furiously kissed her and she welcomed him inside her there too. She gripped his back tight, nails in threat of biting into his skin but the mild pain was blissful at that moment.

They had not moved their lower bodies since he had eased in so they were left pulsing with their quickened heartbeats, her legs spread and bent up so her knees were in the air, all the while they lapped at each other, so desperate to share their need for one another without a word spoken. Draco was waiting for her to no longer be clamped around him so tight, but she didn't seem to ease. He wanted to ask her, but asking questions on the mechanics of sex, while in the middle of sex, seemed more than just a little awkward. All he knew is he couldn't remember his wife being this tight. He was sure his body was just the same as ever, so he could only assume Ginny was…narrow…perhaps. He attempted to withdraw some and Ginny gripped him tighter, but not in a way that suggested she wanted him to stop.

Draco withdrew near completely, and Ginny seemed to ease out a breath, like she could breathe better without him taking up that space in her, but he then thrust back in, apparently catching her off guard because her arms and legs clamped around him as she seemingly swallowed a whole lot of expletives. He was afraid he had hurt her for a moment, until she laced her fingers in his hair at the base of his skull and directed his face to hers, pressing their lips together as she reached down between them in his distraction to stroke herself for a moment and then grab his balls firmly, ripping a gasp from him then which broke their kiss.

Draco obliged her needy pelvic rocking, and managed even to contain himself as he moved in and out, focusing very intently on his rhythm. Ginny seemed engrossed in the sensations he was producing and evoking, but managed so smile at him, and lean up to talk into his ear.

“You can relax a little, you know,” she teased, not wanting to laugh because laughing at a guy in bed was a serious no-no and she had a feeling Draco's ego was rather fragile when it came to these things…but then, what guy's wasn't?

Draco looked down at her and she smiled, showing she was playful by kneading her fingers into his back.

“Come on, you're tense,” she then laughed, showing no discontent, and leaned up to kiss around his ear. Draco tried to relax, while controlling himself, and maintaining a rhythm, and making sure she was enjoying what he was doing and that it felt good, all while trying to enjoy himself, and appreciate how amazing this felt, and remember to relax, and it was a lot.

“Stop thinking about it so much,” she breathed, pleasure stealing her giggles from her so that she fought to maintain a steady voice.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his chin hooked over her shoulder so he could pant just above the pillow as she leaned up and away from it slightly to hold their upper bodies close while their lower bodies moved, his hips rocking and pumping into hers rapidly.

“Don't apologize…it's all natural…just follow your instincts, but…oh….do that again,” she grunted between each of his thrusts, moaning then, loving whatever he had just done when he had turned ever-so-slightly to balance himself better as he was now laying atop of her as opposed to being suspended over her like moments before. He found his hands roaming now that he wasn't supporting himself in a sort of push-up position, and realized that he was now groping her breasts, and was ready to apologize before realizing he was allowed to do that. Accidentally brush a woman's breast with your hand and you apologize immediately. It was a habit hard to break for him, even while in the middle of making love to the woman in question. Playing with her breasts however seemed to entice some new sounds out of her, and he leaned up to look down at her, hands over both her breasts, watching her squirm.

He smirked. He loved her breasts, and he couldn't tear his eyes off of them for a long moment as he watched them move and bounce with each of his thrusts. He palmed both of them again and let his fingers sink into their suppleness, Ginny's eyes closing as her head tilted back again.

“Oh,” she moaned, her body clenching around him and he gasped.

“Oh God, don't do that again,” he panted, almost losing control.

“What, you mean this?” she asked, so mockingly innocent as she clenched those interior muscles of hers again. Draco let out a shuddering breath, but surprisingly few sounds, and she did it again a few times, trying to get him to make a sound worthy of what she was making him feel.

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A romp or two…or three…later, Draco was asleep, sound asleep, his steady deep breathing all that assured Ginny that he hadn't died after the exertion they had both endured. He had cuddled, earning him some major brownie-points from her, but he eventually pulled away to sleep. He apparently favored sleeping on his belly, his arms curled under his chest, so Ginny just snuggled close, right arm thrown over him.

She now knew just where Draco stood in the manhood competition. Every girl knows that it is not length that matters, but girth. Draco was probably just average lengthwise, but he definitely had girth. She had figured as much having held Draco in her hands and wrapped her lips around him, but feeling the pressure Draco created that no one else ever had confirmed it. It had actually hurt a little, but it was so satisfying, like a gentle fire between her legs. She felt the need to tell him this, but figured he deserved a little sleep, besides, she was sure it was, seriously, in poor taste.

She had underestimated him, expecting Draco to still be blushing and prude, but once he relaxed he seemed to lose whatever reservations he had over the act and…let loose. She was sure he had not completely “let loose,” he still seemed rather modest and proper, but she could not complain…no way would she complain. Once he relaxed a little after their first go, he got a little more exploratory, a little more into foreplay, and tasting things. Far from having any need to perfect his technique, Draco seemed to have a lot of pent up sexual energy that he very amiably released on her. Sure, he had his clumsy, uncertain moments, but that was to be expected when with a new partner for the first time, no matter the amount of experience one had.

The third time had been the charm for her. Draco seemed determined to make sure she came at some point that night, his pride riding on that maybe. She had been close, building to the peak every time where she felt her muscles start to spasm, but that always sent him over the edge first. It wasn't until that last time that it had happened for her, Draco clenching his teeth to let her come first, allowing her to reach that blissful climax before collapsing on top of her to release as he trembled.

Ginny was grateful he had stuck it out.

She could not feel her toes.

Yeah, it had been that good.

They were snuggled close on the narrow mattress, side-by-side and under the covers to fight the cold, (the cold only being a factor and a problem after the fact and the deed was done, their sweat quickly chilling them) and Ginny was in that uncertain plain of not quite asleep but not fully awake when she heard the bedroom door open. Her tired mind could not make sense of who could possibly be opening the bedroom door since Draco was right beside her, but a little girl's voice met her ears and sufficiently woke her up.

“Daddy?” she asked, Draco taking a sudden deep breath through his nose as he was pulled from his sleep. Ginny's head peaked out from under the bedding first and the girl made an “oh-my” sort of exclamation as she quickly backed out of the room and closed the door, Draco's head having popped out from under the covers just after Ginny's.

“What…who was…?” Ginny attempted to ask, her mind now wide awake but just as confused as when she had first been roused. She had barely caught a glimpse of the girl, but platinum blonde hair had registered, and pink…a pink nightgown.

“Oh bloody hell,” Draco hissed, throwing his blanket off and grabbing for his knickers from the floor, looking rushed and sounding panicked. “My daughter…I thought she was staying with my mother tonight…I have never brought a woman home before and she is accustomed to being able to climb into bed with me in the middle of the night,” he managed as he pulled up the silky black boxers and rushed for the door, not bothering for the rest of his clothing, or his slippers, the situation far too precarious and serious to dwell on propriety. He threw himself out into the hall, Ginny left sitting there, wide-eyed, nude, and utterly lost.

Draco was a father?

Draco took several quick steps down the hall but realized the sobbing he heard was coming from the bathroom. He doubled back to try the door but found it locked.

“Clarissa, sweet pea, I'm sorry. Let daddy in,” he begged through the door, Ginny in his room just feet away, overhearing him.

More sobbing came through the door.

“I'm so sorry, I did not know you would be home…” he said, leaning his arm up so his forearm was resting on the doorframe, him slowly beating his forehead against the wood just below it.

“You are going to yell at me,” she cried.

“No, no, I'm not mad…you just came in at a bad time…I think we are going to have to start enforcing the knocking rule from now on. It's awright, let me in,” he assured, waiting for her to open the door. Ginny had gathered up Draco's sheets and had them wrapped around her securely. She leaned out his bedroom door and he looked over at her with helpless and pleading eyes for her not to start yelling at him just yet.

This was not how he wanted her to find out about this.

“What's going on?” this coming from Michelangelo at the end of the hall, looking tired and confused as he stood in the doorway of his and Clarissa's bedroom in his oversized t-shirt and baggy shorts he wore to bed. Ginny stared, shocked all over again, looking at the boy that looked like Draco when they had been small, only with so much unruly, curling hair. Draco groaned while bending his knees slightly to sort of bounce in place. There was little else he could do.

“Michael, please, go back to bed…Clare, let me in,” he asked, a little firmer than before, a new wave of sobs meeting him.

“Who's she?” Michelangelo asked, pointing at the barely dressed and staring Ginny.

“Bed, now,” Draco commanded, snapping and pointing to Michelangelo. Michelangelo complied with a sour look on his face as he rolled his eyes like a well seasoned teenager, and slammed his door behind him. Draco dared a glace back at Ginny before pounding his palm firmly on the bathroom door.

“Clarissa, come on, you can't stay in there all night, come out,” he said, Ginny disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door with a snap.

Draco started beating his forehead against the doorframe again slowly as he cursed continuously under his breath while he stood, closed out of all three rooms in that hallway.

“You promise you're not mad?” Clarissa asked timidly from inside the room.

“I will be if you don't open the damn door,” Draco said, wincing after the words came out, Clarissa crying again. He walked out into the living room to take a deep breath and swallow his temper. He hated it when he lost his temper with the children and snapped at them.

He heard the bathroom door open, little feet scurry down the hall away from him, and a bedroom door open and close.

Draco sighed again and rubbed his face.

He really needed a cigarette, very, very badly, or a drink, he could go for a bottle right now.

Gathering his courage, and knowing getting completely pissed at the moment would not make Ginny think any better of him, Draco walked back to his bedroom and knocked softly before entering. He peered timidly around the door at first, tail -figuratively- between his legs. Ginny was on the bed, underwear on, her dress on her lap in a heap and tangled mess. She seemed to be unable to get it right-side-out and her frustration was apparent atop her confusion, her confusion leading to anger to compound the frustration and make her seem very unapproachable at the moment.

“Ginny,” he asked meekly.

“You failed to mention you were a father, Draco,” she snapped at him and Draco quickly slinked into the room and closed the door behind him. The children did not need to hear this. He did not want to think what else they might have heard already that night.

“I'm sorry. Even with all the time we sepnt talking, I was unsure on how to tell you,” he said, all the reasons why he had not mentioned Clarissa or Michelangelo to Ginny either falling out of his mind or seeming so insignificant at the moment.

“When were you planning on telling me? Get a quick bang in before dumping this on me?”

“You implying that `dumping this on you' would be grounds for ending everything after this `quick bang'? Because, honestly, that's what I feared and part of the reason I did not tell you,” he said, biting his bottom lip in a very insecure fashion. He did not like that she was implying that he had just wanted a “bang” and then to end it. That was a little hurtful, but then again, this was just a fling to her.

“No, damn it…it's not the fact that you have children, it's the fact that you lied…”

“I never said I was not a father. I simply did not tell you I was…that is not lying, that is just omitting the truth,” he said defensively.

“Omitting the truth,” she repeated in a way that was a telltale sigh of a Mrs. Weasley blowup. “Is that what you call it,” she said, her voice rising slowly as she spoke. “What else have you been keeping from me by omitting the goddamn truth?” she demanded, voice firm now but not shouting, not yet.

“Nothing, nothing. Honestly…I have been very upfront with you this whole time I just…”

“You just what?” she barked impatiently, so close to yelling now.

“I wanted to protect my children,” he said, looking at her and Ginny furrowing her brow, trying to hold onto her anger and not succumb to those lost, puppy-dog eyes of his.

“Protect them from what?”

“From you…from being hurt,” he admitted softly, sliding his back down the door to sit on the floor, his thin arms down between his long bent legs, tousled braid over his shoulder to hang down with some slightly shorter pieces that had freed themselves around his face. “I can handle that this is just a fling to you, and I'm able to understand what that means and deal…but my children cannot. I did not want to introduce them to you only to have you suddenly not come around anymore after they have grown attached, or at the very least, accustomed to you.”

Ginny looked at him and then looked away, angry.

“Why not at least tell me about them?”

“That reason is the part where I feared you would reject me. I already have so much working against my favor when it comes to relationships, but you come along and seem interested while not being intimidated too greatly over my…condition, or my past, and assured me my insecurities are tenuous. I didn't want to reinforce any doubts you had by telling you that I have children from my previous marriage.”

“How many children do you have?” she asked, preparing herself for the answer.

“Just the two you…uh…met just now. Michelangelo is twelve…turned twelve this last Saturday. Clarissa is eleven, since mid-November,” he said softly, not looking at her. He didn't have a lot of practice or experience in introducing the idea of his children to people and so he was thusly unsure of the exact reaction to expect. He had had plenty of years to imagine it would be pretty bad though.

“Wow,” she said, her mind too boggled by all this to figure out how old Draco had to have been when Michelangelo was born.

“Eighteen,” he answered for her.

“Damn it, stay out of my head,” she growled.

“You wanted to know,” he said defensively, looking away.

“This is why you married your wife then,” she said and Draco glanced at her. “She got pregnant.”

“We got married when I was nineteen…when we found out about Clarissa coming.”

“Jesus,” she said, “I believed you when you said you had no sexual experience.”

“I never said I was a virgin,” he snapped, really wishing it wouldn't come to shouting, not after the wonderful night they had just shared.

“Yeah, but you have two kids!”

“Which constitutes two sexual acts,” he said with a flush and a grumpy glare off towards the corner.

“Wait, wait, wait. You're saying you managed two kids with only having had sex twice?” she said, understandably skeptical.

“Christina called me a `fertile little bastard' every time we saw each other. I'm not sure if she was being affectionate or not though, like you when you call me a prat,” he said sheepishly.

“Oh, God,” Ginny said, dropping her face into her hands. “And they look just like you,” she mumbled into her hands, able to see Michelangelo when she closed her eyes, his face so much like a young Draco's burned into her retinas. She only assumed the fair-haired little girl looked like him as well.

“They have some of their mother in them too,” he muttered, sucking on his bottom lip. “I can understand this is a lot to, um, take in all at once, but Réamann had…”

“Réamann knows?” Ginny suddenly interrupted, nearly shouting in her surprise.

“He came over unexpectedly and Michael answered the door. We never have company that is not family or Muggle neighbors so I did not think twice about letting him answer the door. Réamann was…surprised,” he said, not sure what other word he could use instead. Flabbergasted came to mind, but that somehow made the whole situation seem silly or humorous, and it wasn't.

“He never told me,” she said.

“Because I asked him not to tell anyone. He respected my desire for privacy in the matter.”

“This is…heavy.”

“I understand and can accept that you don't want to continue this…I had just hoped…”

“Wait, end it?” she asked and he looked at her with confused eyes. “Who said I wanted to end it?”

“I thought…”

“You're not currently looking into my mind?” she asked.

“You told me not to,” he snapped, a little angry now. She told him not to do something, and was now wondering why he wasn't doing it? Maybe there was a reason he did not date…women's logic and reason had always confused him.

“If you were you would know that I'm not thinking about ending it, but just how am I going to face your children after this…the lousy thing about first impressions is you only get to make them once,” she said and Draco couldn't help but smile at her. He pushed up off the floor and away from the door and crawled up onto the mattress to hold her face and kiss her gently.

“Thank you,” he managed between two soft kisses.

“Don't think…” she said, her sentence broken up between his needy kisses, “that I'm not…mad…at you…over this,” she said pulling away to look at him. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” she said and he nodded all too readily, kissing her again as though so relieved that she had not blown a gasket on him that he could not stop touching her, to know this was real. He felt the need to make sure her brain was kept fuzzy because of his kisses, so she couldn't form a clear thought and realize a wiser choice than sticking with him.

“We are going to sit down…” she said between his kisses, him making an “mmhm” noise of agreement between her attempts to speak, “and you...are going to…tell me…everything,” she said and he held her face and prolonged a kiss, whispering “yes” into her mind.

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Ginny needed to get home before Réamann. She could not wear her dress, but wearing home something of Draco's seemed terribly stupid if she was going to try and hide their relationship from Réamann still. She couldn't Apparate naked, that being a very stupid thing to do should Réamann already be home. That chances of that were slim, but still, if he was going to basically catch her in the act, she wanted to be dressed for the throw-down row.

Draco offered Ginny a few articles of clothing that apparently belonged to his mother that she had left there from one of her overnight visits. Draco apologized that it was “dirty laundry,” but it smelled and looked perfectly clean to her. She supposed Malfoys were more scrupulous over such things.

While he had gone to fetch them, Ginny had studied a photograph he had offered her a look at. It was of Draco and the two children. It was a Muggle picture, unmoving. She had a certain fondness for Muggle photography, a frozen moment in time, though it was incomparable to her father's love for such things. Draco was bent over slightly in the middle, a boy on his right and a girl on his left, all three grinning as though caught in a laugh, Draco's arms hooked around them in a gathering-up sort of hug, like he was actually wrangling them for the picture. It was such a simple, yet touching little family photo, and Ginny had never seen Draco smile like that before. It was so big and honest, and open, his impossibly pale eyes shining in the bright sunlight of an obvious summer afternoon. She was jealous that she had never evoked such a grin from him like his children clearly had.

It gave her something to strive for.

“Come to Christmas Dinner, Draco,” Ginny said as she gathered up her dress and tried to get her hair to stop making her look like a Gorgon.

“I can't,” he said. “I should spend the day with my children, they are upset enough as it is, and they were already mad that I had gone to the ball,” he said, not wanting to think right then what he would say to them about all…this.

“Bring them with you. Neville said he might bring his, though granted, they are a few years younger than yours,” Ginny said and Draco flushed a little at that before responding.

“Oh-no. No, no, no, no. I don't think my welcome would be warm, and certainly not with my precious tots in tow.”

“Please?”

“I cannot bring them. I have worked too hard to keep them out of the limelight and hidden in plain sight. I'm not about to throw them to the wolves now.”

“We are not wolves,” Ginny said indignantly.

“No, I suppose we are the wolves,” Draco said bitterly before continuing on in his refusal. “I cannot bring them, it would only ruin everyone's Christmas, most importantly theirs.”

“So not even Harry knows about them?”

“Potter? Good lord, no. Are you mental? He would be one of the last people I would ever let into my personal life,” he said, adding “again” mentally to himself.

“How is it that no one knows then, that Harry doesn't know?” she asked, wondering how Draco could keep something like this out of the tabloids and she couldn't gain five pounds without someone claiming she was pregnant. It didn't seem fair.

“The guards at Azkaban seemed pretty understanding when it came to my desire to not have my children's births printed all across the front page of the news paper…imagine the story: a werewolf Death Eater shacks up with a fellow prisoner while in Azkaban, a baby resulting…” he said and Ginny had to agree, the story really would have been hot news, hot enough even for her to not likely miss. “My children did not need that kind of publicity, it is hard enough that they bare my resemblance,” he said, sounding oh-so-bitter again. “I think the Cheer Charms the guards have to cast on themselves so frequently just make them all around nicer people after a while, and they helped me out some…after they stopped punishing me for the deed,” he said and Ginny had to smile at that last.

“Well, um, Michael, right?” she said and Draco looked at her. “He's twelve,” she said and Draco nodded. “He's not attending Hogwarts?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him. Draco heaved a sigh. Seemed like Réamann and Ginny both had a lot of the same questions.

“I had considered sending him to Durmstrang Institute, but my mother absolutely refused and I could not afford to send him there, the tuition for foreign students reasonable, if I had a reasonable income,” he said meekly. “He attends Hogwarts, but under an assumed name. I worked it out with Minerva McGonagall over the summer,” he explained.

“So she knows?”

“One of the few. She owed me,” he said darkly and Ginny swallowed hard. They were getting on a very sore topic: the broken promises between McGonagall and him.

“So, so there is no way I could convince you to come?”

“I should be with my children.”

“The dinner is not until late,” she attempted in her argument.

“Even if I did manage to go, leaving the children with my mother, no one would enjoy my presence there or find it appropriate. It would be dreadfully uncomfortable.”

“I would enjoy it,” she said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder. “And Réamann likes you,” she offered.

“Ginny…”

“I don't think you showing up would ruin it, like I said before, I think it would be an opportunity to maybe set things right.”

“I doubt that,” Draco said stubbornly.

“Let's make this your punishment then, for hiding all this from me,” she said and he pouted. “No, no, don't give me those eyes,” she said fighting not to look at him as he made his most piteous face of “don't do this to me.”

“Ginny,” he said softly.

“I think it would really irk Harry to see you there,” she offered as another motive.

“Are you encouraging me to torment your precious Potter?” he asked, looking at her in slight surprise.

“He really hurt my feelings tonight, or last night…” she said, not knowing the time. “And I know how much you enjoy it,” she added with a grin and Draco felt the need to groan with need for her.

“I knew I liked you for some reason,” he said, capturing her in a passionate kiss that she happily returned and carried on for a long moment.

“You coming then?” she asked after they broke apart. Draco looked conflicted.

“What time would I have to make an appearance if I said yes?” he asked and she grinned.

“After eight,” she said, hoping he would show.”

“I'm only considering it because it would mean I wouldn't have to cook,” he said and she laughed.

“A perfect excuse if I ever heard one.”

“I am going to have to talk to the children about all this. They are not going to like that I am abandoning them for a second night,” he said.

“You are not abandoning them. You are an adult; you should be allowed to have a life.”

“Ha, you try explaining that to them,” he mumbled.

“Would it help if I came over tomorrow, after Christmas day but before night, and help try and explain all this to them?” she asked.

“Well, I'm not about to be stuck doing damage control on my own,” he said defensively in a “can you blame me?” sort of way. “If I'm going to have to explain to them about you…and tell them I'm spending dinner somewhere other than with them, I'm going to need someone there to protect me.”

“Alright, alright…” she said, holding his hand tight.

They sat there for a long moment, a sort of unease falling between them with so much they still had unspoken.

“People are going to get suspicious of us,” he warned finally, wrapping his arms around her as she tuned so he could hold her from behind.

“Réamann is the one that invited you, let everyone think he is the one with the crush, he talks about you enough,” she said and Draco threw his head back to laugh.

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

Draco was in his living room, the children content to entertain themselves with their gifts by the tree, Narcissa in the kitchen enjoying her bourbon. The three of them (Draco and the children) had not talked about what had happened that night. They all woke up that morning to open presents without a mention of any of it and no one was about to mention it to Nana. Draco was not sure how to take their utter disregard for the night before, but was glad he didn't have to try and explain to them his “lady friend” on Christmas morning.

Since they were not talking about any of that, Draco had not mentioned to them yet the idea of going to the Burrow that evening. He himself was not keen on the idea, but Ginny really wanted it, and he had a problem saying no to women.

No means no.

He needed to work on that.

He wanted to wait for Ginny to come over, to be there with him as he proposed the idea, to have someone to hide behind so as to shield him from his mother.

Draco realized he should probably mention at least that she was coming over beforehand. His mother would not be happy about it, and he did not want to talk about Ginny with the children right there (unsure of how they would react) but what choice did he have?

How would they react if she just came over suddenly, without warning?

Draco's stomach clenched at the thought.

“Mother?” he called.

“Yes, darling?” she answered.

“Could you come in here and sit down with me?” he asked, building his nerve.

“Something wrong?” she asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

“No, no, just looking to enjoy your company. Sit,” he said, pointing to the chair that was Michelangelo's favorite.

Clarissa was playing with her doll she had been so excited to get. She had wanted it for months. Draco had, in his opinion, spent a ridiculous amount of money (which was a funny notion for a Malfoy but one he had come accustomed to) on the thing and had gotten one of the last ones left. Nearly had to punch some old grandmother to get it too. She got the one with the purple accessories, because the ones with the pink had been gone by the time he had gotten around to the Christmas shopping (meaning until he got his Christmas bonus) but he hadn't heard her complain yet.

Michelangelo had gotten a new football and some books he had wanted. Draco could not imagine any child that would ask for a book for Christmas, but he supposed Michelangelo had gotten his quota for toys for his birthday only days before.

Michelangelo read quietly, not looking up when his grandmother entered the room and sat.

“It was a lovely Christmas,” she said with a smile, the curtains open so the snow could be seen falling outside and the tree's merry lights reflecting off the interior of the dark glass.

“Oh yes, quite,” he said, right knee bouncing up and down rapidly. Narcissa noticed this and narrowed her eyes some.

“So, what did she get you?” she asked and Draco looked at her, knowing exactly who she was talking about.

“We did not exchange gifts,” he said, daring a glance over at the children who seemed oblivious to the conversation.

“You did not get your girlfriend anything?” she asked, looking indignant over the very idea. What kind of boyfriend didn't get his girlfriend a Christmas gift?

“No,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ear, leg still bouncing but him noticing now and stopping.

“Oh, he was giving it to her last night,” Michelangelo said, not looking up from his book. Draco turned pink from a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

“Michael!” he barked, wincing at the glare he could feel his mother giving him.

“Draco!” she scolded, using his name.

“Mother,” he said, ready to plead and beg and apologize and promise anything just so that she would not yell at him.

“You brought her…that woman…here?” she said in a firm and slightly raised voice. His mother did not shout, her voice was always a steady tone, yet, she could fluctuate that tone in just the right way to make it cutting and harsh. She could reprimand for hours because she put no strain on her vocal cords.

“I had thought the children were with you…I,” he said, tugging on his hair.

This was just terrible. Draco had a feeling this was Michelangelo punishing him, for waking him with the sounds of him having sex with Ginny, or just dating in general.

This was not how he had intended on this going down.

“That Ginny Weasley, she has a boyfriend, or so I thought. I read about them in Witch Weekly just a week or so ago…something about when he might pop the question and if `wedding bells would ring in the new-year' for them. I did not hear of a break-up,” she said and Draco dropped his face into his hands. Of course his mother read the gossip magazines, and of course Ginny would be in them, so of course his mother would know that Ginny already had a boyfriend.

“The woman has another boyfriend?' Clarissa asked, looking over at them.

Draco was cringing.

This was not happening…

Would his mother allow him to send the children out of the room before he tried to explain this, explain himself and his affair with Ginny?

“Has she broken up with that Rossiter gentleman?” she asked in her firm tone and Michelangelo looked up at them then.

“Isn't he the chap you are working with at the Ministry?” Michelangelo asked.

“Draco,” Narcissa pressed, voice very warning.

“No, no, she has not broken up with him, awright?” Draco snarled in a helpless and defensive manner, like he was disgusted by the answer he had to give in telling the truth. “Children, out of the room for a moment,” he said, snapping his fingers at them urgently.

Narcissa looked wide-eyed and stiff.

He could see the twitch starting in her left eye as her lips became pursed together in the dreaded telltale sign…she was going to blow. Children and werewolves take cover; it was going to be bad.

“Michael, Clare, leave us,” she said calmly, the calm before the storm.

The children did not argue. They practically ran from the room, Michelangelo able to smile at least.

“Draco-”

“Mother, please-”

“Do not speak until I say you can,” she warned with one slender finger held up to him and Draco hunched his shoulders and withdrew instantly. She was using his name, not calling him affectionately “Angel” so he knew this was bad, and the children recognized that too. “You are seeing a woman, forget that she is a Blood-Traitor Weasley, who already has a man?”

Draco said nothing.

“What is wrong with you? What would possess you, of all people, to do something so detestable, so shameful, so despicable?”

Draco wished his mother shouted. Shouting would have sounded better than the heavy disappointment in her calm, smooth voice.

“She approached me on this. It's nothing…it's just-”

“Please don't tell me this is just some perverted sexual escapade, Draco, that would hardly make me feel better! Dear lord, I did not raise my son to…” she said but a knock on the door cut her off.

“Did I mention she was coming over?” he asked timidly.

Narcissa's eye was twitching in her otherwise composed face.

Draco sprung up from the couch like it burned him and fought not to run towards the door. If he did he would just run out it, and down the street, and far, far away.

He was a coward…but few in their right mind would claim to not fear his mother if they had ever witnessed her temper. His father's temper he could handle, a caning was quick. His mother's temper was prolonged torture though her disappointed tones.

She could make you pay for years.

He had been paying for years for his…discretions…when in Azkaban.

Opening the door Draco saw Ginny, but her happy face quickly wilted upon seeing Draco's helpless expression.

“Hey,” she managed and Draco just looked scared.

“Hello, come in,” he said, sounding friendly and it was almost convincing, if his eyes weren't screaming: “Help me!” and “Flee for your life!” at her.

Draco stepped back to allow her to enter and took her coat as he closed the door. Ginny saw Narcissa sitting on the chair a few feet away and from there she could feel the sharp cold of her glare.

“Um, hello, Mrs. Malfoy, how are you?” she attempted but Draco grabbed her wrist at their sides and shook his head very minutely, warning her not to even ask.

“Ginny Weasley,” she said curtly, a pleasant smile across her face that Draco knew was hiding very malevolent thoughts and intentions.

“Yes, ma'am?” she asked, not sure what sort of scene she had just stumbled upon, knowing only that it was clearly a very bad one.

“My son was just entertaining me with a story,” she said is a light tone and Draco was very still at Ginny's side.

“Really?” she asked.

“Oh, a charming little tale. Fictional for sure, because I know my son would never do any such thing,” she said and Ginny's brow creased in the middle slightly as she looked at the woman, trying to understand. “It's about a woman and a man having immoral relations out of wedlock while the woman…a tart naturally…is in another relationship with another man,” she said sweetly, folding her hands on her lap. Ginny flushed.

“Mrs. Malfoy-”

“I will allow you only one opportunity to explain yourself,” she said, not having moved from her spot, prim and proper posture, frozen in her anger.

“I brought your clothing back…” Ginny offered, holding out a plastic shopping bag she had out the washed and pressed clothing in.

“You may keep it. I will only burn them,” she said and Draco glared.

“Mother-”

“Draco, I demand to know what has gotten into you,” she said firmly.

Draco sighed heavily and sat back down on the couch. Ginny followed after him and sat down uneasily. Her discomfort was immeasurable.

“May I talk?” he asked and his mother nodded curtly. “This looks terrible, I expected you to be angry, I do not blame you-”

“I should hope not-”

“But,” he said firmly, cutting her off from her interruption, “you have to understand, this is not a well, sexual based fling,” he said, glancing over at Ginny to support him on this and she nodded readily.

“It isn't, Ma'am.”

“So you two have not had sex,” she said and Draco and Ginny each looked away in a different direction, neither saying anything. “Good lord,” Narcissa sighed.

“Mother, Ginny and I are seeing each other. It is more than just sex…”

“You are seeing each other under the table? This is some sort of affair isn't it?”

“Yes,” Draco admitted uncomfortably.

“Draco-”

“Mrs. Malfoy, please, don't yell at him. This was my idea,” Ginny jumped in and Draco looked at her. He appreciated her coming to his aid, but taking the blame? Did she want to die?

“Oh, I know it was. I raised my son to be an honest man,” she said, glaring at Draco. He looked angry as he glared at the orange carpet.

“He is a good man-”

“And you are a hussy,” she snapped and Ginny looked taken aback.

“Mother,” Draco scolded.

“Let me tell you a little story, Draco,” she said, cutting him off, “about a young man who had not listened to his mother, and had sordid relations with a woman out of wedlock. Let me tell you what became of that young man,” she said and Draco's shoulders hunched.

“Mother, please don't do this,” he begged.

“He wound up with a heartbroken mother, a shamed family, and a pregnant lover who he married to only then have her run around on him.”

“Mrs. Malfoy…”

“You want to hurt like that again, Draco? Repeat that…debauchery? This one is as unfaithful as the last, but you know this from the start…why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Mrs. Malfoy!” Ginny shouted.

Narcissa rounded her pointed and stern face on Ginny like a bird of prey, eyes fierce. “I'm not fully elucidated on what happened between Draco and his wife,” she said, part of her coming to grips with what she heard. So that was it, Draco had said he loved his wife more than she had loved him, but really, what he had been saying was his wife had run around on him, cheated on him. That was terrible. “But regardless of what occurred, you have no right to use that against him now!”

“How dare you…”

“You are treating him like a child!” she shouted. She had to admit that she herself tended to breakdown and do whatever she was told when her mother started yelling, and she had always figured Draco to be a serious momma's boy, but Narcissa was treating Draco like a bad little boy, scolding him. On top of that, she genuinely felt Narcissa was being unreasonable. “I can understand you were mad about what had happened when he was seventeen, or eighteen, or whatever, but he isn't seventeen anymore. He is not a child, he is not a teenager…he is a man,” she said firmly.

Narcissa glared and Draco heaved a sigh.

“It's not going to be like last time,” he said softly.

“Then what is it to be like, Draco, please, enlighten me,” Narcissa asked in a tone that was light, like she was humoring him. Ginny hated that, passionately.

Draco looked at Ginny and begged with his eyes for her to not say anything. He then went into a long explanation about what exactly was going on. He even mentioned that they had shared feelings for each other back in Hogwarts but omitted the kisses they had shared in the past weeks before they had gotten together. He seemed to do a fairly decent job of summing up the relationship, but in the end he could not deny what it was. It was Ginny having an affair with him.

“Draco-”

“Mrs. Malfoy-”

“Don't speak,” Narcissa snapped.

“Don't tell me what to do,” Ginny warned.

“Mother, Ginny, please, don't fight…it's Christmas,” Draco begged, his hands gripping the roots of his hair firmly as he propped his elbows up on his knees, jumping in before Ginny and his mother had a serious throw down in the middle of the living room.

Ginny and Narcissa glared at each other.

“What would you have me do about this, Draco?” Narcissa finally asked.

“Help me.”

“Are you mad?”

“Please, I'm not asking you to like Ginny, or what we are doing…but asking you to help me with the children.”

“Have you thought about them in this situation, Draco?”

“Yes,” he said defensively.

“Well then,” she said, voice light again as she blinked up at the ceiling, looking like she had something in her eyes. “I suppose, since it matters not to you my opinion, I guess I have no choice then to look into the best interest of my grandchildren while in the midst of this….situation,” she said, letting out a shuddering sigh.

“Mother, no, please don't cry, please, please,” Draco whined, sliding off the couch to fall to his knees before her and lay the side of his face on her lap and hug her lower legs. “Please don't,” he begged.

“As a mother I only want what's best for my child, but I cannot force him to see things for what they are…to make good judgments. I just can't help but feel like I have failed…” she said, finally weeping softly.

Ginny watched on, not quite sure what to do. Narcissa had just gotten through making Draco feel like dirt, and now he was groveling on the floor before her, comforting her?

“You did not fail, you are an excellent mother,” he said, urging her to believe him in his sincerity.

“This is not what I wanted for you,” she sobbed.

“Nothing in my life has turned out how we would have liked, and that's no fault of yours. That's just life…fate…whatever. But please, support me in this? This one thing that makes me happy?” he asked, still hugging his mother's legs and pleading.

“Being the other man…makes you happy?” she asked, not understanding how that could be.

“Being with Ginny makes me happy,” he said, carefully dodging that question.

“Angel,” she said, reaching down to hold the side of his face, no longer calling him Draco, softening her tone.

“I want to spend Christmas night at the Weasley home. Ginny and Réamann invited me,” he said and Narcissa became very still.

“It's just a dinner among friends. Réamann invited him, I just seconded the idea,” Ginny added quickly, hoping the woman would not relapse into fits.

“You would leave your children for a second night?” she asked, horrified but soft-spoken still while looking down at her son before her as she held the side of his face.

“I'm not deserting them…it is just a dinner with people I knew years ago.”

“You trying to make friends with them?” she asked, her tone slipping back into anger.

“No, Mother-”

“To associate with such people…Angel…honestly-”

“Mrs. Malfoy…”

“After all they did to you, you would forgive them? Just like that?”

“This is only for Ginny, Mother, I do not wish to be friends with them,” he urged and Ginny looked at him.

“You want me to watch the children, while you go fraternize with…those people, and pretend to not be…fraternizing…with her while under their watchful eye?” she asked as though making sure she understood, and Draco looked down.

“I do not forgive them, I do not wish to be their friend,” he assured. “I would not be out late; back before the children even fall asleep, I'm sure.”

“I suppose, since you are a man, you can do as you like,” she said brusquely. “After all, I'm just your mother,” she said, standing and pushing Draco's hands away.

“Mother,” be begged.

“I will leave you to explain this to your children. I'll be back shortly, we are out of bourbon,” she said, grabbing her coat and heading for the front door.

She left Draco kneeling there on the floor between the chair and the end of the coffee table looking dejected and lost, his mummy rejecting him and him unable to beg and plead to make her understand like he had always done in the past.

Ginny could really see that that woman had Draco wound tight.

Hermione was right, the first thing she needed to do was undo all that Draco's mother had done to him.

“Well, that went well,” he said with what Ginny could only interpret as complete seriousness.

“Well? That went well?” she gaped.

“You do not know my mother,” he said, looking back at the chair she had vacated as he continued to kneel there beside the table.

“I can't help but feel it was really stupid for us to include you mother in this,” Ginny said, sitting there on the couch, hands in her lap, feeling angry, and frustrated, and a little dirty and hurt at the same time.

“Like I could hide this from her?” Draco said, in disbelief that Ginny had considered that possible after having been in the woman's presence. “I can't hide anything from that woman, and don't think that I haven't tried. I was a teenager once,” he said, looking away from her then. “Besides, we each need someone who is a part of our lives in on this, you told Granger,” he said as he pushed himself up using the coffee table.

“Yeah, but Hermione is being supportive.”

“Supportive? Her? Not from what I gathered when she came to see me.”

“Hermione came to see you?”

“Yeah, the day that you came over, later that day…she looked like she would support you, but only begrudgingly.”

“That's more than I can say for your mother.”

“Hey, she has been the only woman in my life for nine years. Can you really blame her for being a little protective?”

“Protective, is that what you call it? Draco, she was ruthless, and she's insane.”

“Yeah…what's your point,” he said, not even trying to deny any of Ginny's accusations in regards to his mother.

“Draco, she isn't going to support you…us…in this, and she most certainly isn't going to help us.”

“She is all I have. She is the only one that can watch my children for me. She is angry right now…we will let her cool down for a few days. Really, she will come around. She has wanted me to date for a long time…”

“Yeah, but I think she had a different idea in mind.”

“Yes, well, she has never dated.”

“She seems a little old-fashioned.”

“Is being in an honest…monogamous relationship `old fashioned'?” he asked.

“Well, no, but for us it is not a possibility.”

“Why not?”

“Draco, did you see the paper today?”

“I did…”

“Front page…our picture…that was just because we danced together. Could you imagine what would happen if it were to get out that we were dating?”

“It would be a circus,” he agreed with a sigh.

“You have worked very hard to protect your children from all that…you would only expose them to the world if we revealed our relationship.”

“You using my children against me now too?”

“No. Draco, no.”

“My mother says I'm not being fair to them while living this `lie,' you say I won't be fair to them if I am honest…I'm at a loss here. What should I do? Tell me,” he demanded.

“I can't tell you what to do, Draco, because I don't know,” she said heavily.

Draco took a deep breath.

He needed someone to tell him what to do…someone other than his mother or Ginny because they were each telling him to do completely opposite things and they were cancelling each other out.

He couldn't figure things out on his own when it came to his life…he never had been good at that.

“Why don't you try doing what you want to do?” she asked, softly, like she was afraid of his answer.

“I have never done what I wanted, well, and had it end well…”

“What do you want, Draco?” she asked.

“To be with you,” he said softly.

“Then be with me, and let the rest just work itself out.”

“What about my children?”

“I adore kids, and I wouldn't mind them, if they would have me.”

“My mother won't like this, that I didn't end it with you after she left,” he warned.

“Is that what she is expecting?”

“Afraid so,” he said heavily as Ginny stood and faced him.

“You are not a little boy, Draco. Loving a woman, and making love to her, are not bad things, no matter what she says.”

“Is this really just a fling, Ginny?” he asked brazenly. Ginny looked taken aback.

“Draco-”

“No, before I decide what to do, before I risk my children in any way, I need to know what you true intentions are. Am I just a fling? If I am, then that's fine, but at least I would know, know for sure and know what to do. We just agreed this is more than sex,” he said, reminding Ginny of what they had assured his mother, “how much more than sex is it?”

Ginny looked at him and then looked away without saying a word.

“You want it to be,” he said and she shifted uncomfortably. “But it's not, or it's becoming more,” he said.

“I thought all I wanted was a fling, but,” she sighed. “Things have just…progressed,” she confessed.

“Why are you still with Réamann then?”

“Because no one can know we are together.”

“So he really is our cover,” he said, crossing his arms.

“I don't want to do this to him, I feel terrible, but I can't help but feel this attraction to you. You are too complex to ever just be a fling, I realize that now. And, what I felt that night, was what I felt last night, and it had very little to do with the sex, or the kissing and groping, and everything to do with looking into your eyes,” she confessed. Draco, happy to hear that he was not a fling, happy to hear that she felt for him like he did her, and happy to know that his eyes enchanted her so deeply like hers did him, smiled softly at her.

This wasn't a fling.

“I would still much rather do things properly.”

“You are stuck between what you want, and what you think is best for your children…I don't know what to tell you,” she sighed, seeing Draco's conflict. She had her own to worry about. She was dating two men now, not just having a fling on the side, but Draco was quickly becoming her primary relationship, and Réamann was just becoming a public façade. That wasn't fair, and it made her feel dirty. She and Draco had only been “dating” for a few days! How could this have happened? Was it his eyes? The honesty and truth and vulnerability she saw in them? They had made a connection so long ago, but it had never broken, never even faded. They seemed to pick up, right where they left off, making things progress so much further, and faster, than they would have with any other man.

She was a little scared by it, but, at the same time, she got a rush.

“I will do what's best for them,” Draco said without hesitation, despite how sad that made a part of him and how it hurt on the inside. “I'm too selfish to let you go, which would be the best for everyone, so I will do the best I can while holding on to you. I will be your dirty little secret,” he said, wrapping his arms around her to hold her tight.

Ginny hugged him back, realizing how much this hurt him, but promising herself, promising him, that she would make it up to him…somehow.

There was a loud hoot and Draco twisted his head to look over his shoulder.

“Not you too, Frank,” he said, apparently even his Barn Owl having an opinion on his relationship and voicing it loudly as it screeched again and swiveled its head.

“Frank?” Ginny asked, looking around Draco's shoulder to the little ghost-faced owl and then up at Draco.

“My children named him,” he explained, able to know what Ginny was thinking, her wondering how and why he, Draco, had an owl with such a common and ordinary name. “When I brought Frank home, so young and new, my children said he smelled sweet, and thus how he had come to respond to Frankincense and nothing else,” he said before looking over at his little owl.

“I was hoping to have your support in this at least, you little wanker,” he said, the owl hooting at him as he held Ginny to his chest still.

“Dad?”

Speaking of his children, Clarissa was standing just inside the living room, having come from her bedroom.

Draco and Ginny pulled apart to look at her and Draco's eyes became soft and loving. Ginny was moved by it.

“Yes, sweet pea?” he asked.

“Are you and Nana done fighting?” she asked timidly.

“I'm sorry,” he said, stepping around Ginny to hug his daughter to his stomach. “I can't help but feel that I have ruined your Christmas,” he said, right hand on top of her head.

“You didn't ruin it,” she said, looking under her father's loving arm to peek a glance at Ginny. Ginny got the impression that that was an accusatory glare.

“Where is your brother?” Draco asked.

“Here,” Michelangelo said, emerging from the hallway slowly where he had been hidden from sight.

“Sit down with me. Come, sit down. We need to talk,” he said, pulling Clarissa along with him, Michelangelo remaining where he was. Draco, Ginny, and Clarissa sat and Michelangelo lingered.

“Well then,” Draco said, looking around at each of them, not sure where to even begin.

“Michael, you could sit,” Ginny offered, making to stand from his chair but Michelangelo just crossed his arms and shifted his weight to stand more comfortably. He was not sitting.

“Awright, I think we all started off on the wrong foot here. While your Nana is away, we can talk about this; see if we cannot come to some kind of understanding.”

“Is she replacing mum?” Clarissa asked in a way that was none-too-naive or innocent and Draco looked down at her. Clarissa wasn't asking “is she our new mummy?” but asking if Draco did not love their mother as much as he did Ginny now. That was a very serious and accusatory question.

“No,” he said, holding her chin for a moment.

“Nana already did that,” Michelangelo said, not looking friendly as he glared at Ginny. They already had a mother, Narcissa, and Michelangelo wanted Ginny to know that apparently.

“Michael,” Draco sighed. Michelangelo rolled his eyes away to glare elsewhere. Draco knew his mother was basically a mother to the children, and introducing another woman was a little conflicting. It was almost like he was married and bringing in a second wife. None of the first party was happy about that it seemed.

Ginny looked to Draco and he gave her a reassuring but weak smile.

“Now,” he said, patting Clarissa's knee. “This is Ginny Weasley,” he said, holding his hand out and Ginny waving with a close lipped smile.

“You were married to Harry Potter,” Michelangelo said.

“Michael,” Draco warned softly, knowing where this was going and attempting to preempt another remark from his son.

“Dad, are you barmy?” he demanded and Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Harry Potter? Dad, he is a bad man.”

“Yes, I know but, Michael-”

“No,” he said, looking mad. “She is part of the reason you were in Azkaban for most of my life, she is the reason I couldn't have you around,” he said, pointing at Ginny but looking at his father, looking angry. Ginny was left feeling terribly uncomfortable and unsure of what to say. Harry, a “bad man”? That seemed a little extreme and harsh. Was that how Draco felt though?

“If I had never gone there in the first place, you never would have been born,” Draco said, trying to be reasonable with his upset son but looking very tired, Clarissa sitting quietly at his side as though afraid to join the conversation.

“You're saying, if you could go back in time and set things right so those sods couldn't do that to you, you wouldn't?”

“If it meant giving up you…or you,” he said, looking down at Clarissa, “then no,” he said simply while making very strong eye-contact with Michelangelo. Ginny looked over at him with burning eyes. He was going to make her cry if he truly meant that.

“I don't understand that,” Michelangelo exclaimed, too stubborn to cry himself.

“Believe it or not, I actually like having you around, even when you're being a troll to my girlfriend,” Draco said, holding out his hand to Michelangelo, palm down. The boy glared, and Draco wiggled his fingers playfully, and he sighed. Michelangelo shuffled over to his father to sit beside him on the couch so Draco could snake his extended right arm around him, Draco in the middle and Clarissa on his left, closest to Ginny.

“Awright,” he said, putting an arm around Clarissa then too. “I know this started off rocky, but let's look at it as only being able to go up from here,” he said, forgoing the mention of all the things that could go wrong and make the situation much, much worse should anyone else find out about their little love affair.

“How did you and Daddy meet?” Clarissa asked Ginny, talking in her baby voice that made her seem so much younger than she really was.

“Well,” Ginny said, taking a deep breath, “your father and I went to school, to Hogwarts, together,” she said, nodding slowly and looking at the little girl that looked so much like her father…but for the curls. She had so many curls.

“What house were you in?” she asked innocently.

“Please, don't you know anything?” Michelangelo barked. “She's a Weasley. A Pureblood sure, but a Gryffindor, the whole lot of `em,” he said, glaring at Ginny again.

Ginny was not sure Draco would appreciate her glaring at his son, but she was offended by his tone and attitude. He certainly was a spitting image of a twelve-year-old Draco Malfoy. If Narcissa was the one that had raised Draco, and the children for a majority of their lives, she now knew where such an attitude came from, even without the evidence of having met the woman moments before.

“Michael,” Draco warned again, using just his name again. “Ginny is my girlfriend, and you two are to treat her with the same amount of respect as you do me…which is a little more than none,” he said, giving them a squeeze into his sides.

“Nana is not happy about this?” Clarissa asked.

“I should think not,” Michelangelo answered.

“She will grow accustomed to the idea,” Draco assured them, and Ginny, and seemingly himself at the same time.

“I was wondering,” Ginny said, leaning in to talk just to the children. “If I could borrow your dad for a few hours this evening,” she said.

“No,” the children said in unison.

“Come now,” Draco said, holding their shoulders still.

“You were gone last night,” Clarissa whined.

“And we all know what became of that,” Michelangelo said almost under his breath.

Draco sighed. His son was not making this easy.

“Michelangelo Lucius Malfoy, I will not warn you again,” he said firmly.

“I could make it up to you two, somehow,” Ginny offered.

“How?” Clarissa asked, more easily swayed than Michelangelo it seemed.

“Well, I could take you out, do whatever you two want…my treat,” she said, looking over to Michelangelo then. “I could take you out, before you head back to Hogwarts, maybe get you something for your birthday that I missed, and Christmas…”

“What about me?” Clarissa whined, near hysterics at the prospect of being left out of of getting gifts.

“You too,” Ginny smiled.

“That sounds nice,” Draco said encouragingly to the two.

“I don't need your bribes,” Michelangelo spat and Draco sighed, giving Ginny an apologetic look. She was undeterred and pressed on.

“I could take you to Diagon Alley and you could pick out any one thing you like and I'll get it for you,” she offered. Michelangelo, despite himself, looked over at her very slowly, tempted by the offer.

“Diagon Alley? Wow! I have never been there!” Clarissa said, suddenly excited, warming up to Ginny and scooting away from her father to sit closer to Ginny, to lean on the arm and enquire further. “You would really take us there? We would get to see all the magic?” she asked.

“If that's alright with your father,” she said, looking over to Draco and Clarissa and Michelangelo both snapping their attention to him, to hear his reply.

Draco furrowed his brow. He had avoided taking his children to Diagon Alley so as not to chance someone recognizing them. Michelangelo had only gone the one day to pick out his wand.

“Well, I suppose, if you two were well behaved and allowed me to go out tonight I could…” he didn't get to finish what he was saying because Clarissa was squealing in excitement and hugging him around the shoulders, kneeling on the couch and pounding the tops of her feet on the cushions in a kicking motion behind her.

“You would let us go? But what about…” Michelangelo started to ask.

“Ginny is a clever witch, she would be able to keep you two out of trouble, and from attracting unwanted attention,” he said, looking over at her.

“Of course,” she said with a smile.

Clarissa looked bought, but Michelangelo obviously still had his reservations over the situation. Ginny could not really blame the boy, but that didn't make the situation any easier.

“Thank you, Ginny,” Draco said a few moments later as she stood by the front door. Michelangelo and Clarissa were on the couch still, pretending to not be eavesdropping.

“So, you are coming?” she asked, still hopeful.

“You really think it would not end disastrously?”

“It's Christmas, they are required to be civil, even if they don't want to be. I can't imagine a better time for you to try and make peace.” He gave her a look. “Make nice,” she amended and he still looked cynical. “It's the only time you will be given a chance to explain yourself, and not at wand-point,” she said with a smile. Draco seemed to exhale and deflate slightly.

“I will probably be late,” he said and she grinned.

“Dinner always starts later than planned at the Burrow. Come when you get the chance,” she said, pressing something into his hand. It was a hairbrush.

“What's…?”

“It's a Portkey. It's set to activate at eight and it will take you to the front of the Burrow property. It will remain active, it doesn't have a short life and only expires after using, so you can use it at any time after eight,” she said, and he smiled.

“Such a clever witch,” he said, leaning in to kiss her with just a little pucker of lips and a little kissy sound.

“Don't forget `thoughtful',” she added, giving him a little kissy in return.

“Of course,” he said, giving her a second kissy. There was a giggle from the couch, complements of Clarissa, and Draco and Ginny smiled and pulled apart, knowing they had an audience.

“I'll see you later,” she said.

“Later,” he answered, holding the door for her like the gentleman he had been raised to be.

Closing the door, Draco was greeted when he turned around with a flustered glare from Michelangelo, and a giggle barely snuffed by Clarissa's hands over her mouth.

His mother would be home soon, and a whole lot of fun would be had at that point, and he still had dinner at the Burrow to look forward to.

He was such a glutton for punishment.

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Author's Note:

It seems none of what happend in this chapted "went down" how Draco wanted. How Ginny found out about the children, how Narcissa found out about Ginny spending the night, how he introduced the children to Ginny....the poor boy. *is evil* Well, the beginning went how he wanted at least. ;D

Naricissa, oh how I love her. Anyone ever see The Devil Wears Prada? I kind'a think of Narcissa acting like Miranda (the boss), just her voice and how smooth it is even when she is being really harsh and stuff. No shouting, just that tone and sardonic mocking. Yeah, that's how I picture Narcissa, seriously styled silver hair and all. (she is over 50 in this fic, so, yeah, silver hair)

Ginny and Narcissa certainly butt-heads in this chapter. That much is to be expected, right? Or is it too cliche? I don't know, but I seriously feel they are both too dominent female personalities to get along easily.

Michelangelo is a little sassy isn't he? A little mini-Draco and he is a favorite character of mine in this fic. His parts just get better and better. :)

I hope you all, um...enjoyed...the opening of this chapter. Draco found himself a bed…I'm SO bad at such things. I guess we know where Draco gets his prudeness from. :P

I'm also sorry this chapter update took SO long. Life happens to the best of us. I'm also nearing the chapters I haven't yet finished, and without MS Word on my computer at the moment I can't write, so I'm worried that updates will be coming a little slower now. Not terribly slow, but there are about 10 chapters to go and I only have 7 of them written and with the ending still up in the air, I have to be able to go back and adapt things. >_<

I will do my best.

Now go off and review, I'm dying to know what y'all think.

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20. Chapter 20

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty

“So who is it that you and Reamann have invited, dear? We have the room, but I haven't a clue who you could possibly bring that isn't already invited,” Molly Weasley said, still bustling around the kitchen of the Burrow, preparing for a Christmas dinner for family friends. Christmas day had been spent with family and now the friends gathered to discuss the day, plans for the new year, and just relax and wind down.

“Well, Reamann has worked with him a few times on the case, and we figured we would invite him as to show our gratitude for all he has done,” Ginny said awkwardly, not really wanting to admit that it was Draco Malfoy coming over for dinner. Her mother had seen the morning Prophet. It was Christmas, so she hadn't yelled… too loudly.

Ginny couldn't understand why everyone was making such a big deal out of it; it had just been a dance. Yes, well, it had been more than a dance... but no one else knew that!

Reamann was looking uncomfortable as he helped with the setting of the table, avoiding the topic as furiously as Ginny was. He did not know there was more to that dance Draco and Ginny had shared, so agreed with Ginny that everyone was blowing it way far out of proportion. Shouldn't he, of anyone, be the one bothered by them dancing? He had given Ginny and Draco his blessing to share a dance and the family needed to accept that.

“That's so nice of you, Reamann. Goodness, you are such a considerate person, and not just at Christmas,” she beamed while pointing her wand at the stove and mixing the gravy.

Even with all the hullabaloo over Draco Malfoy, Mrs. Weasley could say no wrong in regards to Reamann. Reamann seemed to flush at Mrs. Weasley's remark, somehow able to do nothing wrong in that woman's eyes. Honestly, if Mrs. Weasley thought he was any more perfect he would be Harry Potter.

“Yeah,” Ginny said uncomfortably, wondering how quickly her mother would change her tune once she saw who it was he had invited.

“Well, knowing the people Reamann is working with, I still can't quite figure it out,” Neville said, limping around the table while setting it with Reamann, his bad leg and arm not hindering him too greatly. He didn't want to think Reamann would invite Sebastian, but it would explain why Reamann was refusing to say anything. Who else could he have invited that would be less welcome?

“Well, he isn't from the department,” Reamann said quietly, looking like he wanted nothing more than to drop the subject. No one was talking about Draco Malfoy that day, not on purpose at least. It was like he had never showed up at the ball the night before, or no one had seen the Prophet. Surely he was on everyone's mind, everyone wanting to ask Ginny why she had danced with him, everyone wanting to ask Reamann why he had invited him, but they kept their lips tightly sealed on the matter.

“Oh, Gin and Ray want it to be a mystery to the end, so let's all stop pestering them over it. It will be a surprise,” Molly said with a grin over her shoulder as she cooked. She was probably the most furious about the whole "Draco Malfoy situation," but was hiding it well by keeping herself busy with all the cooking and preparing.

Ginny swallowed hard her nerves thinking to herself, `It sure will be a surprise.'

By the time it was a quarter to nine, Draco was still a no-show. Ginny was not anxious, but she had thought he would have come by now if he were coming at all. She wanted him to come, even with all the grief she would get as a result.

Everyone gathered at the table, as they prepared to sit. There were three spots still left empty, waiting for the late arrivals. Draco was not the only guest yet to arrive. Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Reamann, Neville, Orla and Ron, all sat around the table talking. Ginny and Reamann, and Neville and Orla were the only couples there. Everyone else seemed content enough to be alone for Christmas.

There were some footsteps outside on the front porch and everyone looked up. Molly, who was up and still cooking, went to answer it.

“Oh, I hope this is our mystery guest,” she laughed teasingly, opening the door while turning to it.

Standing just outside was Draco, looking a little apprehensive, wrapped up in his faded-black cloak and old Slytherin scarf. His hood was up and hair was hidden, but that failed to conceal his identity to those who knew his face so well.

Molly stood stiff, face frozen in mid-laugh and surprise, words failing her long enough to be noticed by those inside.

“Mum, what's wrong? Who is it?” Ron asked, unable to see around his mother to who was at the door. Ginny stood quickly, the closest, other than Hermione, to the door, and moved over to her mother to try and prevent a scene. She knew only Draco could have caused her mother, of all people, to be speechless.

“It's so good of you to come,” Ginny said, looking at Draco, who seemed remarkably timid in the doorway. He had already expressed his concern in regards to his reception, and it looked like he was still a little weary. Ginny rested her hands on her mother's shoulder as though trying to assure her that it was alright and that Draco had been invited, but the woman hardly took comfort in her daughter's warm welcome and neither, it seemed, did Draco.

“Draco Malfoy?” Molly huffed, everyone at the table startled, not having heard or seen Draco yet. Molly's words were the first indication for them of who was at the door.

“What?” Ron grunted, standing from the table and bashing it with his knees. As he did so, the table rattled with cutlery on dishes.

“Why is he here?” Harry demanded, sounding as outraged as Ron but not standing.

“I invited him,” Reamann answered quickly, Neville looking shocked silent and Hermione looking uncomfortable. The whole table looked at Reamann, flabbergasted.

“Ginny?” Molly asked her daughter, looking at her, needing to know that that was just not true. Reamann couldn't have invited Draco Malfoy… he couldn't have.

“I sense a chill in your hospitality..." Draco drawled and all attention was back on him. "It is much like the one I'm standing in now. Tell me, is it customary for you Weasleys to leave your guests standing out in the cold without invitation inside?” he questioned, looking quite cold. His shivering wasn't hard to notice, neither was his irritation.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Ginny said, stepping back and leading her mother by the shoulders to get her to do the same. “Do come in,” she said, having forgotten that Draco utterly lacked body fat and he was always cold as a result, the frigid night air and freshly falling snow not helping.

Draco stepped in, pale face pink from the cold, and let his hood down, glancing over at the table with his long white hair now free. It was pulled back in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck to keep it out of his face, just like Ginny liked, long and perfectly straight. There wasn't a curl or wave to be found on his head, a sharp contrast to that of his children.

Everyone in the Burrow stared, nay, glared at him, and Draco gave Ginny a slightly disgruntled “I told you so,” look. Ginny tried to convey her assurances that the situation was salvageable with her eyes, and Draco was in the middle of unwinding his scarf when there was more thumping at the front door.

There was a muffled laugh and a shuffle, and the door burst opened suddenly with another waft of cold, snowy air. The whole of the room turned their attention begrudgingly away from Draco to who was now arriving.

Tonks' head peeked in. “Oh, we're not that late then,” she said upon seeing the table not fully seated, withdrawing her head to then walk in properly and stand beside Draco. Draco turned to her, suddenly smiling, his cloak and fingerless gloves still on.

“Nymphadora,” he laughed, hugging her as she held out her arms.

“Hey there, Dre,” she said, with a happy and surprised face, “What a surprise! You didn't tell me you were coming here,” she laughed, hugging him back tight.

“You failed to mention it yourself,” he answered just as warmly as she rubbed his back.

The room just stared.

“Well, Happy Christmas then,” she said, Draco so relieved to have people there that would be on his side…people who were not his partner who he was double-crossing or the woman with whom he was having the affair. Granger didn't count because she was being rather unsupportive, and he hated her.

“Happy Christmas,” he answered.

“Long time no see, chap,” Lupin said with a smile as he limped in, Tonks turning from Draco to close the front door. Lupin held out his hand, shaking Draco's firmly before they pulled each other into a one armed hug where they slapped each other's backs, their hands still latched together between them.

“Oh yes, quite,” Draco said back. That was their typical greeting, even when they hadn't just seen each other earlier that day. They saw each other frequently enough because of the full moon and always made reference to that when they met. It was an inside joke of sorts between them that was comforting, each mockingly pretending to not be werewolves and having not seen each other on the last full moon.

Draco's family was small. He was the last of the Malfoys, well, he and his children. All he had in the world now was his mother, his aunt Andromeda, who married the Muggle, Ted Tonks, and his cousin Nymphadora Tonks. Remus Lupin was her husband, but they had no children, so that left his family as the measly size of eight, including himself.

Since his aunt Andromeda got along with his mother Narcissa just a touch better than his mother got along with Ted, family get-togethers, like Michelangelo's birthday and Christmas, were even smaller than that. It was usually just him, his mother, the kids, Remus and Nymphadora.

Tonks and Lupin had been over earlier, part of his Christmas, but like they had said at the door while greeting each other with hugs and smiles, they had not mentioned to one another their plans for later. Otherwise, they would have known they were both attending the same dinner.

With all the Christmas cheer at the door, the shock at the table was in sharp contrast. Ginny seemed to recover more quickly than the others, maybe because she was the closest, and she gave her mother's arm a squeeze before stepping forward.

“Tonks, Remus, glad you two made it,” she said, hoping to overpower the awkwardness of the situation.

“Oh, no problem. We made it on time, right?” she said, tugging on Draco's long ponytail as though ringing a bell, apparently approving of the change of style. As Lupin unwound his scarf, he looked at the table, where everyone was already seated, but no food had been served yet.

“Tonks was reviewing that horrid case all evening. Had to pull her away from it with a Retraxi Charm,” Lupin said with an affectionate smile.

“That sounds like my cousin for you,” Draco said, slipping his cloak off. He took Tonks' and Lupin's and asked Ginny where he should take them. He quickly excused himself to the living room to drop off the heap of cloaks, happy to take a deep breath away from all the stares, glares and nasty thoughts he had been fortunate enough to overhear.

That had gone better than he had expected it to. He hadn't been cursed, hexed, jinxed and/or punched in the face immediately upon arriving. He had honestly expected a verbal attack at the very least upon gracing the entryway, so he was pleasantly surprised to have been wrong. This being one of the few times in his life he didn't mind being wrong. It was rare for him to be. His welcome had been far from warm, however. Tonks and Lupin showing up had eased some of his apprehensions and delayed or inhibited the shouting, but he was still dreading going back into that room with those people.

`This is for Ginny,' he told himself as he pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of his cloak. Reamann had asked him to come, but he came for Ginny.

He couldn't help but feel uncomfortable though, while in the home of the Weasleys, surrounded by people that hate and mistrust him, pretending to not be in a sordid affair with the girlfriend of his partner, with whom he would be sharing a meal. And that was without all the bad blood between him and just about everyone at the table. He hadn't exactly been a very nice boy to any of them.

The only way he knew how to combat such feelings of insecurity was to act harsh and condescending, but he doubted that would go over well or make a good impression in assuring them that he had grown up a little and seen the error of his ways, repented, or all that horseshit. In the end, it was a toss up: be a jerk and feel better but upset Ginny, or be reserved and make his discomfort apparent, but make everyone else feel like jerks if they were less than friendly to him.

Draco chose to make everyone else seem like jerks. Being uncomfortable made him grumpy, but being grumpy would ruin Ginny's Christmas, and he didn't want that. He had already ruined his children's Christmas. How many Christmases could he ruin? About eight, given the count of the people in the other room.

Draco paced for a moment in his green turtleneck and black jeans, rubbing his thin hands together to warm them before returning to find Lupin and Tonks seating themselves at the table, leaving only one seat open and that was at the corner, next to Ginny and Hermione. Neville, Ron, Lupin and Tonks sat opposite Harry, Reamann, Ginny and Draco. Orla sat at the end near Neville and Harry and Hermione sat at the opposite end near Tonks and Draco.

It was utterly silent at the table before Draco was even fully seated, tucking his chair under him with practiced ease, looking at his plate while able to feel all eyes on him. Yes, he was uncomfortable, and it took all his willpower not to make a biting remark, but he managed to smile politely.

Molly stood near the cupboard, like she was tending to the food, but was really just staring at the table, at Draco as he sat at the table.

“Well then,” Ginny said, smiling around at everyone, “Isn't this nice?” she asked and Hermione gave her a look like she wanted a real explanation later as to why Draco Malfoy was there, later.

“Draco,” Ron said, Draco looking over at him slowly, eyes narrowing only a touch.

“Yes?” he drawled smoothly. Draco had to remind himself to behave, saying `Be nice Draco, these people are Ginny's friends and family.' He wanted nothing more that to call them a bunch of sods and tell them to shove their wands up their… but, he refrained.

“What they bloody hell is going on? First you crash the ball and now Christmas Dinner at my house?” Ron demanded, clearly his end of the table all wanting to voice much the same indignation.

“I'm here on personal invite, you twit,” he said in a manner as proper and upper crust as one would expect in reply to the question “one lump or two?” in regards to their afternoon tea. Draco managed to insult others with courteous tones, like it was not somehow poor manners to do so. Draco realized the insult came out only too late, and though his face gave nothing away, he was mentally cursing himself as Ginny looked at him, a little hurt, or maybe disappointed.

“Dre,” Tonks warned, looking at him from directly across the table like she wanted to reprimand him for his poor manners, but was refraining in front of company. “Yeah, well…Draco isn't exactly close friends with any of you, but I expect everyone to be civil. It's Christmas,” she said, addressing the whole table then, talking to them like a bunch of unruly children.

“You are not bothered?” Harry asked, Tonks hating Draco last he had asked… though that was years ago. The scene at the door had led him to believe things had obviously changed.

“Why would she be bothered?” Draco asked, looking a little heated. “She is my cousin.”

“We reconciled,” Tonks said, jumping in between the two of them, “twelve years ago.”

Draco's and Harry's glares continued for a moment longer before they broke to look away in opposite directions and Tonks continued.

“When I heard from you, Harry, and from Ginny, your accounts of what happened that night on the rooftop, I went to him in Azkaban,” she explained and Draco seemed to flush a little. He hated it that he was the topic of conversation. He had expected it, but that didn't make it any easier, and it certainly didn't mean he had to like it. He was his least favorite topic, followed closely by the events of the war. Talking about them both was most disconcerting.

“I didn't realize you and, um, Draco were so close,” Hermione attempted, Molly levitating some food over to the table as a means of distraction and to ease the tension that was building. She almost called him Malfoy but opted for his first name, to try and keep things less contemptuous.

Hermione knew Ginny and Tonks had hit it off back before the war and had been close ever since, and she considered Tonks one of her own good close friends, but in all the times the three of them had hung out together, Tonks had never once mentioned Draco or their "reconciliation"?

Ginny looked over at Draco but he was very carefully studying his plate. He knew Tonks and Ginny were good friends and he knew Ginny was looking at him. He knew the fact that Tonks and he were on speaking terms, let alone on good terms, was news to her and that she was surprised. The whole table was.

“Yes, well,” Tonks said, voice just as light and friendly as ever. “After the war, Draco and I stayed in touch. I would visit,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.

“So would I,” Lupin added.

“We just never mentioned it because, honestly, we did not think any of you cared about Draco Malfoy's business,” Tonks said with a shrug, brushing her bright purple hair away from her eyes.

“Nymphadora and Remus respect my desire for privacy,” Draco said coolly.

After that bit of diffusion, they were left with an awkwardness lingering over them all at the table like a bad stench that just would not dissipate. Everyone was cycling through either glaring at Draco, or looking between Remus, Tonks, Ginny or Reamann, all four seemingly in on this when they had not been.

Reamann's discomfort looked strong enough to rival what Draco was feeling, but Draco was better at making his face blank and unreadable. He actually found it quite easy to sit there if he converted it all into indignation that they would all be so unwelcoming. What kind of noble Gryffindors were they? Damn it, it was Christmas!

“I think this all started off on the wrong foot,” Ginny announced suddenly, addressing the whole table. “I think we need proper introductions so we can all move beyond this...um...shock, and enjoy this dinner together,” she said, clapping her hands together. Draco managed to only smirk rather than smile at her and her assertiveness.

“Fine,” he said, tossing his ponytail over his shoulder and looking over at the rest of the table with cool pale eyes. “I have been helping Reamann here for a few weeks on the case and he invited me to the ball last night as means of showing his gratitude of sorts. At the ball he tempted me with an offer to come to dinner tonight. I was disinclined, but Ginny insisted, assuring me what lovely people you all were,” he finished flatly, making it clear he did not believe that himself and making light of their poor behavior and reception of him thus far.

Tonks then spoke up. “Dre and I have been able to become quite close and have been for some years now. Past is past,” she said.

“Draco and I have a lot in common,” Lupin joked and Draco smiled while looking down at his plate again to try and hide it from the rest of the table, “so I see quite a lot of him, even without our Saturday suppers together as a family,” he said.

Reamann then took his turn. “I did invite Draco here tonight, as well as last night to the ball, because I have worked with him on the case, as you all probably realize now, and I felt he deserved to be included in the festivities,” he explained, being surprisingly brief.

The table's attention all seemed to shift to Ginny, who sat very stiffly as they waited for her explanation. “I think we all need to take Tonks' attitude towards things, the past is the past, and have a good night. It's Christmas after all,” she said, like Draco, staring down at her plate, everyone really wanting to know why she danced with him last night, but clearly not about to get the answer.

“Thank you for welcoming me in and having me,” Draco said begrudgingly.

“Yes, like my little cousin said, but with less resentment, thank you,” Tonks said, inclining her head.

Draco knew his very presence was creating a rift, and the guilt that was milling about was almost a touchable thing, but he pressed on coolly. It did not matter to him if Harry or Hermione felt uncomfortable to the point of nausea in his presence, or that Ron was glaring himself cross-eyed at him, it was their fault they felt so bad since they are the ones that had wronged him…so really, it was their problem to deal with. He would certainly enjoy himself, just to spite them. The added satisfaction he felt at the discomfort he caused them only sweetened the payback.

Eventually, there was laughing around the table, and though Draco was no part of it, he was actually, surprisingly, enjoying himself. Tonks was being quite the entertainment, breaking the ice so that the rest could talk freely, joke, laugh, tease. Draco felt rather on the outside of all this, but just having been invited to be in its vicinity was nice.

They all laughed at the conclusion of a tale by Tonks.

“I never understood how you could manage such things with such ease, Nymphadora,” Draco commented, trying to add to the busy conversation at the table.

“See, now, I don't get this, Tonks. You have insisted since the day any of us met you to call you by your last name,” Harry said as Ron jumped in.

“Which isn't even your last name anymore,” he said and Tonks and Lupin held each other's hand atop the table with warm smiles shared between them.

“But you let Draco here call you by your first name, I don't get it,” Harry finished. Ginny spread her legs a little so that she could rub her right one up against Draco's in response to seeing Tonks' and Lupin's little show of hand-holding affection at the table. Draco dared a glance over at Ginny that she returned to no one's notice but Hermione, who was to their right and facing them as she sat at the end of the table. Hermione thought this was scandalous that Ginny was playing footsie under the table with Draco as she held Reamann's hand in her left for all the rest of the table to see.

“Oh, well, Draco calls me by my first name just to irritate me,” Tonks said with a friendly leer at him.

“It's not as bad as my name,” he said, pointing at her with his finger, his fork in hand still and elbow leaning on the table, that being a very rude thing to do if you were raised by his parents.

“I think it's a toss-up at best,” she retorted while smiling.

“What's wrong with your name?” Ginny asked Draco and Ron snorted a laugh from down the table.

“Thank you, Ronald,” Draco said dryly.

“It's not a terrible name,” Lupin offered, though not going as far as to say it was a good name.

“Your mummy doesn't like your name, isn't that right, Angel?” Tonks jeered at Draco and he narrowed his eyes.

“Shut it, you. I will kick you and it will hurt,” he warned as she just continued to grin at him, enjoying the opportunity to tease her baby cousin and to get him to flush, though making sure she scooted away from the table a little so as to be clear of his boots. She couldn't make him blush over his name in front of his mother or the children, as they were all accustomed to him being called “Angel.” This was an all new opportunity to tease him and Draco was not happy that she could not pass it up.

“Angel?” Hermione asked, Ron and Harry exchanging amused glances, both having thought "Draco" was a bad enough name all their lives, and finding "Angel" to be positively pansy-assed.

“That's not all,” Tonks continued excitedly. Draco dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter.

“Nymphadora, please,” he begged, knowing it was of no use.

“His full name is Draconis Angelus Malfoy,” she laughed.

“Remus, take control of your wife,” Draco pleaded to the man who was hiding a smile behind his fork while chewing. He was not going to laugh at Draco's expense, he was not…he was not. He chuckled softly. He would apologize to Draco later, he really would.

“Literally translated," she explained over Draco's protests, "it means Angelic Dragon of Bad Faith,” Tonks finished. Draco slumped down low in his seat, low enough it looked like he meant to slip under the table and crawl away to hide.

Ron started laughing with his drink halfway to his face and Harry tried to hide his behind his hand politely. Neville and Orla exchanged “looks,” Lupin managed only a small smile while cutting at his turkey, and Hermione was holding her napkin up to her mouth like she wasn't silently cracking up behind it.

“Thank you, Nymphadora,” Draco said dryly, everyone still laughing around the table. "It is always nice to be found so amusing," he scoffed bitterly in a very adorable pout, in Ginny's opinion of course.

“I think it's a lovely name,” she said, smiling and fighting not to laugh while patting Draco on the arm. Her name was Ginevra, who was she to cast stones? Reamann looked a little purple, like he was either holding in a serious laugh, or he had a piece of turkey lodged in his throat. One could take a guess which Draco would have preferred.

“Right shame that it's not yours then now isn't it?” he said, pouting more fiercely.

Dinner continued on for a short while longer, Mrs. Weasley coming and going, putting more and more food on everyone's plates without asking, insisting that they eat up. She was taking particular interest in Draco's plate. She kept piling food on it, but it was not disappearing at any noticeable rate. She wanted to shovel more sweet potatoes onto his plate, but there was hardly room.

“Dear, you need to eat up,” she urged, looming over him. Draco was looking at his plate, a little intimidated by it. Would he not be excused from the table until his plate was clear? He would be there for a week.

“Are you feeling alright?” Reamann asked, looking over at him while still eating off his own heaping plate.

“I'm fine, and your cooking, Mrs. Weasley, is topnotch. It's just...I ate earlier and I'm not terribly hungry is all,” Draco mumbled.

“You ate before you came to a dinner?” Mrs. Weasley asked, sounding a little insulted and Draco felt uncomfortable.

“I meant earlier today,” he clarified, shifting under the woman's glare.

“Surely you must be hungry by now, Draco, we ate at eleven-thirty this morning,” Tonks said and Ron looked shocked. He had eaten a dozen times between that time and now.

Draco looked flustered. He loved food, but he was not accustomed to eating more than once a day and he did not like it that everyone was staring at him and his heaping plate of barely touched food. He had a nibble of a little of everything, it was all quite good, but he could not really eat more.

“It's alright, Mum,” Ginny said, looking up at her mother. Mrs. Weasley was a woman that fussed over what people ate and their weight. The boys were always “too skinny” to her. She forced food upon Reamann and Harry all the time, both being tall, strapping, but lean built men. Draco, by far the thinnest one there, even with Lupin in company, had grabbed Molly's attention from the start and she was determined to be sure that he packed on five pounds before he left. She lived by the philosophy, “if it moves, feed it; if it doesn't move, next time feed it faster.”

Ginny looked at Draco for a long moment and he glanced at her, whispering a meek but sincere “thank you” into her mind for rescuing him from her mother. She smiled back but Reamann squeezed her hand right then and she had to turn her attention away, to the conversation at the other end of the table.

Draco looked over and saw Hermione glaring at him and Draco was back to feeling uncomfortable again as he picked at his mashed potatoes with his fork.

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

Dinner ended and everyone gathered in the living room to lounge about and digest as they talked more, now more privately between one another than at the table.

Harry and Reamann were sitting together by the fire.

“So, what did you get Ginny for Christmas,” Harry asked, implying, like everyone else, once again, that he was expecting to hear of a marriage proposal.

Reamann suppressed a sigh and told Harry, “Jewelry and some really nice boots.”

“That jewelry wouldn't be a sparkly ring, would it?” Harry asked again with a nudge with his elbow.

“No, just an earring and necklace set. Rubies, you know her...”

“Come-on, what is taking you so long? We all expected you two to be married by now.”

“Yeah, I've noticed,” he said, picking at the picture of a snowman on his glass of eggnog.

“You like her, right?”

“Of course, there isn't a better woman out there,” he said.

“Now, don't make me feel bad,” Harry said a little wistfully, having lost Ginny already himself.

“Harry, I know you still care about Ginny madly, and you want to see her happy…and I know it bothers you all this “ex-Mrs. Potter” crap they are always publishing, but Harry, you have to understand, Ginny marrying me won't erase the past and people won't forget that you two were married…no matter how much the both of you wish it,” Reamann said, sounding tired.

“I want someone I trust, someone I know will take care of her every need and be her partner in everything, to be with her, to provide for her but understand that she is not a delicate flower that needs caring protection.”

“I know.”

“I think you really understand her, and I trust you to always mind her best interest.”

“I know,” Reamann said, sighing heavily then.

“I just don't want to see you lose her. We have become such friends in the years you two have dated and I don't want to see you hurt.”

“Ginny going somewhere?” Reamann asked a little curtly.

“Ginny has a short attention span and loves excitement, you know that, you have dated the woman for three years, lived with her for the past one. I just don't want her to feel you are uninterested and become uninterested herself,” Harry said, having been struck by that very problem in his past. Harry closed his eyes and chased away the vision of Draco and Ginny kissing, that night. He had chased Ginny away for the sake of the war and not wanting her to be hurt as a means of getting to him, but by protecting her he had pushed her right into the arms of another. He couldn't tell Reamann what he had seen, or talk to him about his fears that Ginny still felt something for Draco, but he thought it was important for Reamann to realize that Ginny wasn't a girl that waited around forever for her guy to realize he can't be without her.

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

Draco snuck upstairs, not really feeling all that included in the one-on-ones happening below. He was not a shy person, but he was rather quiet, or had become so after ten years in Azkaban. Ginny was trying to avoid him a little, so as not to look conspicuous, which was understandable. Unfortunately, that left few there for him to talk to. Lupin and Tonks were in their own little world being all snuggly and cute, Neville and Orla were chatting with Ron, he would rather chat with Ron than Granger, (and that was saying something) and Reamann was talking to Harry by the fire. Mrs. Weasley was walking around, offering pie, and Draco knew that the heaping slice she was carrying around with the unnecessarily large dollop of whipped-cream on it was intended for him and he needed to get away before she cornered him and attempted to force him to eat it.

Looking around at all the Burrow and seeing what it was comprised of, Draco had to admit he was curious. He had never been there, and he was interested. He got to a landing, one of many, and peeked into the room there. `Eureka,' he thought as he knew he had found Ginny's room. It had the obvious touch of a young girl's adornment, even though it must have been over a decade since she had lived there. He could still smell the “girly-ness” of the room, of incense and perfume. He sniffed the air with a flare of his nostrils, in a way humans typically didn't, taking in scents humans were oblivious to, sometimes acting a little less human than he realized.

Draco walked in slowly, the voices from downstairs drifting up to meet his ears in the utter quiet stillness of the room.

Ginny appeared in the doorway at his back and leaned there, her arms crossed, dressed in red and gold - Gryffindor colors, but also, conveniently, Christmas colors as well. Her hair was up in an easy and almost careless bun that left strands hanging down to frame her face. She had noticed Draco slip away when no one else had. That was probably due to the fact that she was the only one in the room that had been checking out his bum at the time. He had a pleasant posterior to gander at when he climbed the stairs. If she weren't certain he wore tight jeans all the time already, she would have encouraged the idea. Little else would do him justice.

Draco turned slowly while still looking around, to see Ginny standing there, smiling at him. She had applied red lipstick since eating and she looked positively stunning to him. Her hair was just the perfect shade of red that was not too orange that it clashed with the red blouse she wore and it complemented her gold, knee-length pencil shirt.

He gave her a smirk in return.

“Why, Mr. Malfoy, is there a reason you are up here, in my little bedroom?” she asked.

“Just enjoying the opportunity to see into your world like you had into mine,” he said, looking teasingly at her as he fingered a dusty journal of hers that was on the desk, his body language exuding sexuality as he acted all innocent and candid.

“I think your childhood dwelling is a little more impressive and vastly more interesting,” she laughed.

“I'll grant that it is more impressive,” he agreed in his characteristic nonchalant tone, Ginny leering at his smugness, “but I wouldn't say `more interesting,'”

“Really,” she said skeptically, stepping into the room some.

“Sure. I was an only child. You had a plethora of brothers. I'm sure there are some interesting tales to tell,” he said as she walked slowly towards him.

“I doubt you care about my brothers.”

“So sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Well, maybe I just wanted you up here with me, alone,” Draco said, smirking still, placing both his hands on the desk to lean back some as though putting himself on display for her. She liked that, she liked looking at him up and down as he leaned, ankles crossed in front of him, but she was a little surprised, given how uncertain she had understood him to be when it came to his body/appearance. Had one night of sex between them managed to quell some of his insecurity? Surely that wasn't it. He had seemed perfectly confident at the ball, before they had ever had sex. Maybe he was just good at hiding his insecurity, but looking him in the eyes right now, Ginny could tell he was most certainly feeling nothing but confidence as he teased her, and that made her smile.

“Draco,” she said and he held up a small gift between them. “Draco?” she asked, looking at it in surprise.

“Happy Christmas,” he said, giving her a look of “what were you thinking, you naughty, naughty girl,” and knowing exactly what she had been thinking, otherwise he wouldn't have been grinning like he was right then.

She sometimes really wanted to hit him, or throw him down and ravish him, or both, in no particular order.

“I thought we were not planning on exchanging gifts, that it would be inappropriate,” she said, looking at the gift held out between them.

“Well, you got me something, so I couldn't look like a git and not have gotten you something too, now could I?” he asked. Ginny blinked at him.

“How did you know that I…?” she attempted to ask, Draco just tilting his chin down a touch. “You," she sighed. "I can't keep anything from you can I?” she pouted.

“Not when I'm curious,” he said with a smirk.

“Damn it.”

“It's the price you pay for dating a Legilimens,” he said smoothly. “Classic women's entrapment,” he then went on to say. “She says, `Don't get me anything,' to her man and then goes out and gets him something. He listens to her and ends up looking like an insensitive git for not surprising her with a gift anyway, like she had him, or even better, the woman says that and follows though with it on her part, but the guy does not know that. He goes out and gets her a gift to try and be sensitive and rebellious, to only end up looking like a stubborn git that doesn't listen,” he said and Ginny sighed. She had not meant to make this some sort of test. “Either way, I would end up looking like a raging git.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, though smiling.

“You can't help that you are a woman any more than I can help peeking into your thoughts every now and then,” he said with a smile much slyer than hers.

“Is the surprise spoiled then?” she asked.

“No, no, I did not look into your mind far enough to see what you got me…that would be no fun,” he said, still holding Ginny's gift out and grinning that perfect grin that made her melt.

“Well,” she said, taking it from him as he stood properly then, no longer leaning on the desk. “I don't have yours with me; it is much too large to have kept hidden.”

Draco seemed to perk up slightly.

“Really, oh, now I really want to know what you got me,” he whined, bending at the knees to bounce slightly in his anxious excitement.

“In good time,” she said, laughing at him and ripping at her little green-wrapped gift. Whatever it was, it was heavy, and loose, just wrapped in an envelope of paper. Tearing at the edge it spilled out into her palm and Ginny gasped at it.

“It was my grandmother's and I haven't any use for it since I do not dress in drag, and it really deserves a pretty witch,” he said, with a shrug, trying not to make it seem like he had gone out of his way.

“Draco, this looks expensive,” she said, looking down at the necklace that was now in her hand. It looked like some kind of heavy silver with emeralds…real, large emeralds.

“I'm sure it is,” he said, looking down at it, not even positive of its worth himself. “It's not cursed, well, I don't think it is,” he said, eyeing it. “You're a Pureblood, so I'm sure if it was to do something nasty, it wouldn't do it to you or it would have done it by now. I would think twice before tossing it at Granger however, she may shrivel up into a hairy prune,” he said and Ginny managed not to laugh at that somehow.

“Draco, you nicked this from your house, didn't you.”

“Possibly,” he said, basically admitting to it with that.

“You are going to get in trouble.”

“Doubt it,” he said dismissively.

“I can't accept this,” Ginny said, holding her hand out to him and offering him the necklace back.

“Sure you can,” he said simply, closing her hand around it with both of his clasped over hers.

“You should hold on to it.”

“Why? It doesn't match my shoes,” Draco teased and Ginny just looked at him seriously. “I never knew my grandmother so it has no sentimental value.”

“It's worth a lot of money,” she said.

“You suggesting that I hock my own belongings, my family heirlooms, for money?” he asked, sounding offended by the idea. Ginny did not, then, want to say, “You need the money,” but Draco knew that was how she felt, and she looked away, not wanting him reading her thoughts, or her face. Not wanting to see the pride and irritation on his was another.

“Well, I can't wear it,” she said, knowing anyone that saw it would know where it must have come from, or have suspicion at the very least.

“I want you to wear it, when you're with me,” he said, looking at her throat where it would sit so perfectly.

“Draco-”

“Hush, I am not taking it back. I gave it to you so it is yours now, and re-gifting is rude,” he said, not allowing Ginny to then argue that it is hers to give to anyone she liked, even him.

“You are such a-”

“A what?” he asked bluntly.

“A sweet guy, when you're not being a total prat,” she said and Draco smirked.

“Well, don't be telling anyone about that. I have worked damn hard to maintain my prat-itude in the eyes of everyone for years,” he said, releasing her hand and grabbing the necklace to lift it to her neck and reach around to clasp it. It fell to hit just below her collarbones and he pulled his hands away slowly to then place them on her cheeks delicately. “It suits you,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her.

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

“Where is Ginny?” Hermione asked, looking around after having left Neville to talk with his wife alone and only just then realizing Ginny was nowhere about.

“I…think she said she was going to go to the bathroom,” Harry said, trying to remember but having been distracted at the time of Ginny's exit.

Hermione was about to ask were Malfoy had gotten to, but she didn't want to draw attention to the fact that they were both missing simultaneously. She had a feeling they were off together, and that only made her want to pull Ginny aside and talk to her firmly even more.

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

Ginny gasped but refrained from making any loud noises, let alone shout, both she and Draco trying to be as quiet as possible. Ginny was up on the edge of her desk, legs wrapped around Draco's slender waist as he furiously thrust against her. They were still dressed: Draco's faded-black jeans just open in the front and pulled down slightly, Ginny's knickers tossed aside and her skirt hiked up around her waist. Her crimson blouse was unbuttoned and hanging open, her bra pushed down so he could feel, touch, and ogle her breasts, the necklace resting above them and sparkling in the light.

They had tried the bed, but just rolling around there kissing for a moment had revealed it to squeak and groan far too much. The desk made do because the floor was far too dusty. Draco had his hands clasped to Ginny's waist as she held onto the desk to maintain their balance. He threw his head back and shuddered, it being a good thing at that moment that he was so quiet, Ginny fighting not to moan loud enough in her continual panting to alert the whole house to what they were up to.

He wanted to make her scream and pant his name, like she had the night before, but he couldn't have everyone in the house hearing her shouting his name, begging him. It was a terrible embarrassment his children had awoken to that. It kind of made him feel like a bad dad, though, right now he was too busy being a bad house guest to think about that.

Draco had not intended on having sex with Ginny while at the Burrow, but he had brought a condom in his back pocket, just in case. He was glad now he had as he trailed kisses down her throat, barely kisses but just a brush of parted lips over her skin as his hot breath washed over her in his effort.

At that moment Ginny was his woman, not Reamann's.

The desk rocked a bit, and Draco was worried that the sound would carry through the house, that the rhythmic thumping would intensify through the walls to alert the people downstairs.

As worried as he was that people could hear them at the moment however, he couldn't stop…he couldn't. The possibility of getting caught was a rush, but only the risk of it, the thought of getting caught was actually quite terrifying.

Ginny looked ready to shout as she leaned her head back and pressed their upper bodies together so that her hands were tightly fisted in the back of his fitted turtleneck, so he locked his mouth over hers so she could scream into him, it muffled so greatly it was barely audible. He felt the power of her orgasm reverberate down through him, to where they were joined tight, and it was magnificent, making Draco explode inside her. He was left there, leaning over her and the desk for support as he quivered and panted, slumped over her. He did not know, nor could he remember, if trembling and shaking uncontrollably after sex was normal, or if it was because he was so sick, but he did not care.

He was weak in the knees… oh yeah, it had been that good.

Ginny was leaning back against the wall, Draco still there inside her as he stood between her wide-open legs. She panted for air, her bare breasts rising and falling, her body, her skin, feeling tight and hot. She always felt so hot after an orgasm, but between her legs burned from the tight friction.

“Dear God,” she gasped.

“No...Draco. My name is Draco,” he teased, his forehead on her shoulder, his left temple resting on the necklace.

Ginny laughed, unable to hold it in, reaching around to grab at that bum of his she liked so much and held him against her.

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

There was a trick to leaving the upstairs and not having people wonder. Draco, having been the first up, was the first down. He walked carefully, dreading his reception. When no one hexed or stabbed him immediately, he figured the sounds of his furious shagging had not reached them.

Thank God. He turned from the bottom stair with a spring in his step of complete satisfaction and victory when he was suddenly halted in his tracks.

“What were you doing up there?” Ron asked, catching Draco so close to being down off the stairs without anyone having seen him. Draco jumped just a little and managed not to “eep” in his surprise. He recovered quickly though, since Malfoys were rarely startled. He could have played it off like he had never been up there at all if it weren't for Ron coming over just then, noticing him.

“Using the little werewolf's room," he replied sounding bored to try and cover his frazzled nerves.

“Have you seen Ginny?” he asked, giving Draco a contemptuous look.

“Passed her on the landing, on her way to use the toilet I suppose since that's the way I came,” he said with an indifferent shrug.

He was glad, of the two of them, he was the Legilimens, and not Ron. If big brother Ron realized what he had just done to his little sister, Draco would have left that night a quadriplegic at best, that and a eunuch. Draco cringed at the thought.

Ginny came down the stairs just then, smiling at her brother. Goodness she certainly glowed after sex. It was enough to make Draco blush because he knew the cause behind it. He supposed anyone else would think she just had one too many glasses of eggnog. He himself was looking quite satisfied. Hopefully it could pass off as being full of a good meal, something everyone seemed to think he was in dire need for.

“Ron,” she said, stepping down to stand with the two men, “everything alright?” she asked, her innocent act believable enough to gain the respect of Draco, an accomplished actor, aka liar, himself.

“I was just wondering where you had run off to, Hermione was looking for you.”

“Oh, well, I had to wait for Draco, he was in the toilet,” she said.

Ron just shook his head and said “Whatever,” heading out the back door in the kitchen to stand out on the porch, it now clear as to why he was bundled up in his cloak and scarf.

Draco looked at Ginny, then around her. He grabbed his cloak, and his scarf and Ginny looked a little disappointed.

“You leaving?” she asked, able to still feel the throbbing ache he had left her with between her legs, reminding her it was all real. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night, believing she had dreamed up the whole thing and that she had not actually asked Draco out. The satisfied throb she had woken with that morning, and what she felt now, proved to her that it was not a fantasy, or at least not one she wasn't living out.

“I just need a bit of fresh air,” he said, grabbing her hand, wanting so much to kiss her but not allowed. Downstairs now she was Reamann's girlfriend, not his.

Ginny gave him a long mournful smile as he stepped away, their hand suspended between them, trying to hold onto each other for as long as possible, that being all they dared to do while no one was in the kitchen to see them.

Draco turned away from their lingering touch to head towards the door, wrapping his scarf around him to help fight against the cold. Ron was outside, leaning against the house, smoking a cigarette. Draco looked at him and felt a little monster in him wake up and kick him in the core.

“Ron,” he drawled. Ron looked over at him, intent on ignoring him up until just then. “May I bum a fag?” he asked, trying to sound less curt than usual. Ron blinked.

“I suppose, since it is Christmas,” he said, holding out his pack to Draco. Draco took one with a nod of thanks and put it to his lips. He was in the middle of reaching into his pockets, hoping he still carried his lighter with him, even though he didn't smoke anymore, honest, when Ron held his wand up. Draco flinched at the small flame that sprouted from its tip and then looked away, embarrassed at his twitchiness as he leaned in, lighting the cigarette thanks to Ron's offer.

“Thank you,” he muttered, taking a long dreg.

Ron just shrugged, tucking both his wand and pack away again to cross his arms. “Family has been trying to get me to quit for a while,” Ron said after a long moment.

“It's a dirty habit really, glad I quit,” Draco said, breathing deeply from his cigarette. Ron laughed, it being obvious Draco had been just about as successful as him at it.

“So, how is the case? I missed what happened last night,” Draco said, hoisting himself up onto the railing of the porch to sit while facing Ron as they smoked together.

“Oh, the case. Please, Malfoy, it's Christmas,” he said, rubbing his palm into his right eye socket, dripping ash on himself. He looked tired, or just worn out.

“If it's Christmas, the least you could do is call me by my first name, Ronald,” he retorted, puffing at his cigarette.

“What are you doing here, Draco?” Ron asked, adding his name but not in a friendly way.

“Reamann invited me,” he said simply.

“He invited you to the ball too,” he said, eyeing Draco intently.

“That he did,” Draco agreed readily.

“What's going on?” Ron asked and Draco sighed.

“Awright, you caught me,” he said, flicking the ash from the tip of his cigarette. “I'm in the middle of a heated sexual affair,” he said and Ron blinked, “with Reamann,” he finished, grinning at last even though all his words had been delivered so seriously. He hid that grin behind his hand as he put his cigarette to his lips.

“You're just joking around now,” Ron accused.

“No, no, it's true. We had lunch together, been to each other's pads until late at night under the pretence of working hard on the case, he is always coming down to the Hall of Records to see me, pretending to need texts when everyone knows you just send a note down and the texts are sent up to you,” he said. Ron looked shocked.

“Are you serious?” he gasped.

“No, but that look on your face is worth the dirty feeling I have right now at the thought of having sex with Reamann,” Draco said with a very animated shudder. Ron kicked at him with a laugh and Draco just lifted his feet, carefully balancing on his bum still with ease while avoiding Ron's massive boot.

“God you are an insufferable little arse, aren't you?”

“Is that a question? I'm reluctant to agree with you if it is,” he said curtly.

“Whatever,” Ron said, looking away to take a drag from his cigarette. Ginny peeked her head out of the door and Draco quickly hid his cigarette from view, having already told her that he had quit and her expressing admiration and enthusiasm for that, going on about how she was on Ron's case to do the same.

“Boys?” she asked.

“Yes?” Ron answered, Draco unable too as he held in his lungful of smoke with sealed smiling lips.

“It's awfully quiet out here. I was worried.”

“Why?” Ron asked.

“Because, if you two are not fighting, then that means one of you must be dead,” she said. “Ron, are you smoking?” she asked, sounding disappointed suddenly.

“It's my first all day,” he whined.

“You're not out here smoking with him, are you?” she asked and Draco shook his head, still smiling, looking a little pink from lack of oxygen as well as the cold. Ginny had her Mrs. Weasley tone and was eyeing the two boys carefully for a long moment.

“Alright then,” she said, easing down a little. “We are all waiting inside, Mum is going to put on some Christmas music,” she said and both Ron and Draco nodded.

Ginny disappeared back through the door and Draco gasped and started coughing.

“You okay, mate?” Ron asked, eyeing Draco as he choked, trying not to laugh in some dark yet satisfied way at the other man's discomfort and pain.

“Bloody-hell,” he managed, looking down at his cigarette. He took a wheezing drag before flicking the nearly spent fag away.

“So why aren't we out here fighting?” Ron asked, trying to get every last bit of life out of his own cigarette as he could.

“You implying something?” Draco asked, the truth being he did not want to fight with Ginny's brother since that would upset her, and he didn't like the idea of upsetting her. The fact that Ron was three times his size and capable of snapping him in half as easily as he could a wand was incentive enough to not want to pick a fight all on its own. There was a reason he had never mocked Ron Weasley without Crabbe and Goyle at his back.

“I don't know, is there something to imply here?” he asked.

“Answering my vague question with an even vaguer one is poor form,” Draco pointed out.

“You are not being a complete prat, just a mild one. What's up?”

“It's Christmas,” he shrugged, adding in `I just snogged the daylights out of your little sister,' mentally to himself.

“It's more than that. It has never stopped you before.”

“I have grown up a little since Hogwarts,” he drawled, standing up on the railing to balance easily despite its narrowness.

“We all have,” Ron said seriously.

“You in more ways than one,” Draco retorted, making a none-so-subtle remark on Ron's weight. Ron turned a little red, mostly from anger, and Draco jumped in to prevent his imminent death. “Awright, I'm sorry, force of habit,” he said, now walking carefully across the railing, kicking snow away as he went. Ron really wasn't that overweight, just a little soft and certainly on his way to being fat if he didn't watch himself.

“Is that what your foul attitude towards us all is now? Just habit?” Ron asked.

“Oh, no, I genuinely despise Potter and Granger,” he assured, attention and eyes down on the railing before him.

“What of me?”

“What about you?”

“You `genuinely hate' me too?”

“Don't be silly, you have never done anything to me,” he said, turning on the balls of his feet to walk back the way he came, using this as a distraction. It seemed like Ron Weasley and he were having a heart-to-heart and that would be too ridiculous and uncomfortable to manage just standing there, facing each other. His joints were starting to ache though, and he started to get irritable.

“What do you mean?”

“Granger sent me off to Azkaban, and Harry left me there to rot for ten years. I simply dislike you through association.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Does it sound like I'm joking?”

“No one can ever tell with you.”

“A problem of mine that has lead to many troubles,” he said, sighing, turning again but this time to lean on the beam that supported the porch. Walking any more would only cause pain and he would fall. Ron would enjoy that too greatly. Damn, his ache had come on fast.

“So you really don't hate me?”

“I'm a little old to still be buying into my parents' dribble about blood supremacy and thusly the idea of there being `Blood-Traitors,' and so I'm left with very little to hold against you. I can't even make fun of you for being poor anymore since, well, you're not and I am,” he said and Ron smiled just a little.

“Yeah, I guess not,” he said, eyeing Draco intently. “What was with that dance about last night?” he glared.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That dance with Ginny…I hadn't realized you two were so chummy.”

“I work with Reamann. He wouldn't dance with her and so I offered. Reamann is really all that connects the two of us at this point,” he said dismissively, making it all an easy and believable lie, like he had not just been upstairs shagging Ginny.

They were quiet for a moment.

“You still hate Muggles?” Ron asked and Draco looked over at him. “You still hate Muggles?” he asked again. Draco looked away.

“No,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Now that is just remarkable.”

“Well, since I have been living no better than one for three years, it would be really stubborn and stupid of me to still belittle them, now wouldn't it?”

“So, that's how life's been treating you lately? Like a Muggle?” he asked.

“If you are about to start making fun of me, as much as I deserve it, I will think a whole lot less of you, Mr. Gryffindor,” Draco drawled to hide his pout.

Ron flicked his cigarette-butt away and held his hands up to show no offense. “It's Christmas, I wouldn't be caught making fun of a guest in my parents' home, even if he is a Malfoy,” he said and Draco hopped down with a groan of pain.

“So big of you, Weasley,” he said flatly, one last little jab at Ron's weight, following in after him, glad to be heading in out of the cold. Had he just had a tender moment of understanding with Ron Weasley? Dear God, what was Ginny doing to him?

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

“Reamann, dear, best mate in the whole world,” Draco said, slinging his arm around the other man's shoulder to walk with him after coming inside, his cloak hanging open, Draco still a little too chilled to take it off just yet. Reamann was uneasy about Draco's intentions given his unusual greeting. “You wouldn't happen to have any potions on you, would you?” he asked.

“No, why, you need some?”

“Would you be willing to get me some? Say, right now?” Draco asked, feeling very shitty at the moment. His romp with Ginny had only drained him of whatever reserves he had left, and the cold had set into his bones, making him stiff and in pain. Being stiff and achy made him short-tempered and grouchy.

“Now? Are you serious?”

Draco just looked at him firmly. He was getting grumpy.

“It's Christmas-”

“So observant, no wonder you are on this murder case, surely you will solve it singlehandely…but I really need a potion, right now,” Draco said, his body shaking and it was not because he was cold.

“I can't leave.”

“You can Apparate! Poof you're gone, poof you're back, it would take three minutes tops,” he said shortly, now stopping and turning to face Reamann so that they were close, their conversation meant to be private.

“The Burrow has wards all around it still since the war, I can't Apparate in or on the property; not even a Portkey can take you in here. I would have to walk all the way to the road…” Reamann almost whined.

“Then Floo,” Draco said impatiently.

“Then everyone would see me leave and come back and there would be questions…”

“Reamann, I'm hearing a lot of this,” Draco said, flapping his hand open and closed like a duck puppet, “and I just want to see this,” he said, making a walking motion with his two fingers, looking very irritated and very serious.

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

Reamann made a quick excuse to Ginny, telling her he needed to run home really fast, and that caught Ginny lingering alone long enough for Hermione to nab her and drag her off to talk.

Ginny was led by the upper-arm like a child, Hermione positively fuming.

“'Mione-”

“Ginny,” she hissed, them both whispering, “What has gotten into you?”

“I don't know what you mean…”

“You danced with Draco Malfoy last night, you went over to his house this afternoon, you brought him to dinner and disappear with him for what, twenty…thirty minutes? Are you trying to be exposed?”

“Hermione, no one but you knows I went over to Draco's today, or noticed I was gone for a brief moment tonight, and Reamann invited Draco to the ball and while at the ball it was his idea to have Draco come here!”

“Are you mental? This is crazy and not going to work!”

“It is working just fine. We have talked to Draco's mother, she is not happy about it, but he really thinks she will come around and be supportive in this. I assured him that you were being supportive already, but maybe I was mistaken, maybe I owe him an apology,” Ginny whispered harshly back.

“Ginny, you have a good thing with Reamann, and you are just throwing it away…” she tried but Ginny just held up her hand, turning away.

“I'm not fighting with you about this on Christmas, Hermione,” she said, walking away, hugging herself, feeling betrayed somehow. Hermione was supposed to be supporting her in this, she had promised.

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

Draco was standing off, hugging his arms, breathing past the pain, his face carefully blank as he stood there so no one would know of his soreness, it looking like he was simply bored.

He would rather be seen as rude than piteous. He just hoped no one would notice the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead and upper lip. He wished his pride would have allowed him to sit.

Harry looked away from Lupin, whom he was talking to, and saw Draco leaning against the wall alone. He had been avoiding him all night, but now he had an opportunity to talk to him. He needed to take it. He was not a coward; he would not put this off any longer.

Draco opened his eyes, sensing movement and a presence before him by just the movement of the air around him and the firelight dimming from through his eyelids. Harry was standing there, looking friendly and confident. Draco did not have to look too deeply into his spectacled green eyes to know that it was a front.

“Potter,” he said flatly, grumpy because of the pain and how long Reamann was taking. Honestly, how long did it take to walk across the lawn, Disapparate, nab a pre-made potion, Apparate back, and walk across the lawn again?

“Hey, Draco,” he said Draco, not Malfoy. Harry was trying to be friendly, and Draco was not buying it. Draco knew there was something up, but Harry drew his attention away before he was able to access Harry's thinking. Harry held out the key to Draco and Draco did not reach for it, did not take it. He simply looked down at it and then back up to Harry to narrow his eyes in confusion and mistrust.

“What's this?” he asked, able to recognize a key from Gringotts.

“This is for you,” Harry said simply, grabbing Draco's hand and placing the key in it forcefully since Draco was showing no sign of accepting it on his own. Draco made his question known without having to say anything. His face said it all. “Sirius Black was my godfather and when he died he left all that belonged to the Black family to me,” he explained.

“Yes, Potter, I am already aware of that,” Draco bit off harshly, still enraged, like his mother, that Harry Potter would get their families heirlooms and possessions.

“Well, I'm in no need for any of it really. I have my own belongings and my own gold, and Sirius never held any sentimental value to anything there, so I can't even hold on to them out of his memory. So I put it all in a vault in Gringotts,” he explained. “Your mother was a Black, and really, I feel you have more right to the gold and property than I do,” Harry concluded, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Draco glared at him for a long moment and the warm smile on Harry's face wilted around the edges a little. Draco was not accepting this as well as he had anticipated. He couldn't imagine what was wrong.

“You trying to make yourself out to look all generous and benevolent this Christmas season?” Draco asked, holding the key up between them. Harry looked upset and shook his head earnestly. “Oh, I get it. This is guilt money,” he said, closing his hand around the key hard enough to make his fist shake. “You feel guilty still, because I helped you and you could not, would not, save me from Azkaban. So, as a means of making yourself feel better, you ensure that I get out on probation as soon as possible, and seeing me struggling to get by only irks you that little bit more and you then feel the need to be charitable and donate some money to-”

“No, no, it's not like that. I just thought-”

“You can keep your pity, Potter, and your money. I'm not a charity-case,” he said, throwing the key into Harry's chest which he then caught out of reflex. “I do not need or want it. I can get my own gold without your generous donations,” he told Harry with venom.

“Why are you so intent on punishing me? Why won't you let me make things right?” Harry demanded, angry and hurt from Draco's rejection. He was only trying to help!

“The only way to make things right, Harry, is for you to give me my life back!” Draco growled, unable to shout with everyone in the room next to them.

“I can't do that…” Harry growled softly while pushing his glasses up his nose with a single finger, it really costing him something to admit that. He wanted to, he wished he could, but he just couldn't.

“And I can't forgive you,” Draco said simply. “Seems there are things in this world that will always remain impossibilities,” he said.

"I tried, I tried for you to get a full pardon after the war, even just a partial pardon so you wouldn't be on probation anymore, but no one would listen. Nobody will argue with me, they just refuse to acknowledge my requests and mysteriously keep 'losing' the paperwork! People have not given me a proper listen on the matter..."

"Sucks, doesn't it Potter? To try so hard to do the right thing and have it blow up in your face?" he asked and Harry gaped at him. "No good deed goes unpunished, Potter," Draco said darkly, his glare intense. He had been saying that exact credo for years, since the war, and Harry knew it, heard it often whispered in the back of his mind whenever Draco was close though often out of sight. He hated it being thrown up in his face now. It made him angry.

"Is that what this is? You are PUNISHING me? Listen, I'll admit I wasn't fair to you if you admit that you were terribly ambiguous throughout the war and impossible to trust or believe. You made it so I couldn't trust you, but I AM sorry that I could not help you, I should have, but I didn't know..."

“Keep your money, Potter," Draco interrupted, cutting Harry off impatiently. "I may be poorer than dirt, but I still have my pride, and I have to hold on to that. I have to be strong.”

“Why? Your stubborn refusal to accept anyone's help, not just my own, is what has made your life as difficult as it is now,” Harry snarled in frustration.

“I don't need anyone's help, I can do it alone.”

“Draco, you can't stand against the world all by yourself.”

“Says who?” Draco retorted bitterly, like a stubborn child, the stubborn child he really was deep-down. He had tried trusting people in the past, and relying on them, and buying into their promises. All trusting had taught him was that people lie to save their own asses and no one would ever do him any favors at their own expense, so he could not afford to do less than the same in regards to anyone else. He had learned that no good deed goes unpunished.

“Draco, you are poor, you are sick, and you will never be the greatness you strived to be those years ago when you turned on the Order. You helped us in the end, because deep-down I believe you realized it was the right thing to do. It's your arrogance now that won't let you accept help, allow you to let go of your dreams of grandeur, not your pride-”

“You think I'm insane,” Draco suddenly accused bitterly while staring him right in the eyes, Harry stopping immediately, knowing he could not lie to someone who could read his feelings.

“Draco...”

“You don't know what my good intentions cost me. I meant well, but you don't know what 'well meant' did to my life! You, and your Ministry, can hold onto your money and do what you like with it so long as it has nothing to do with me…but be sure to hold on to thirty pieces of silver,” he warned, “to pay the Devil, on your way to hell,” he growled, turning away, leaving Harry there to fume, and hurt.

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

Reamann returned with Draco's much needed potion, and Draco downed it quickly. Its effects would be slow to take, but relief did wash over him when Ginny came up behind him as he sat alone in the kitchen and rubbed his shoulders. She had come for more eggnog and found him taking a private rest. She kneaded her thumbs into the knot in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, and rubbed and squeezed his shoulders, getting an appreciative and pleasant purr of approval to escape him as he rolled his head just a little.

Draco leaned his head back as he sat there to look up at her so that she was upside-down to him, and she smiled.

“You feeling alright?” she asked softly.

“Now that you're here,” he answered, tilting his head forward, grabbing her left hand off his shoulder with his, and bring it to his lips to lay a kiss there. Ginny felt her whole body flush but had to pull away before anyone stumbled in on them. She poured more eggnog and Draco held up the Daily Prophet that was before him, reading aloud softly.

“The Ex-Mrs. Potter Dances with Wolves,” he said and she smiled, turning around to lean her bum on the counter's edge. “Ginny Weasley, the former Mrs. Harry Potter, danced with death…a Death Eater that is, last night at the Annual Remembrance Ball,” he read, glancing up at her to smile, “looking stunning in a custom-made gown by French wizarding designer Pierre Vallee. `She has not looked this radiant in public for months,' said one guest, sparking yet more buzz that her and current beau, Reamann Rossiter, are secretly engaged,” he read and Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes. Draco continued on. “The couple would have been the talk of the night, but pandemonium over the werewolf Draco Malfoy's unexpected attendance was enough to eclipse that,” he said, looking over at her and not reading then. “Clever little play on words there, isn't it, eclipse, moon, werewolf…oh the editors down at the Prophet are a riot,” he said sarcastically and Ginny on gave him a sad smile. Draco skimmed the article a little before continuing further down, not wanting to read the summary of his offences and therefore, why it was so inappropriate for him to have been at the ball. Then there was the speculation of what Harry and Ginny could have fought about according to witnesses that attested that they had rowed shortly after his arrival. It had resulted in Ginny storming off and Harry left in a noticeably foul mood for the rest of the night.

“Ginny took to the floor with Malfoy where they waltzed and apparently chatted, thought what was said was not overheard. Guests in attendance report that Rossiter seemed `unbothered' by the display and was even seen talking, smiling and laughing with the werewolf throughout the night,” he said, not reading on since the article then speculated as to the reason behind why the Aurors suddenly left the ball.

“My mum pitched a fit this morning over that,” Ginny said, looking down at the paper Draco had tossed onto the table, the picture of them dancing in an endless waltz in the middle of the front page.

“I managed to hide it from my mother, so as to not be smacked around, but I'm sure she has heard about it by now,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“No one thinks there is anything…” she started to ask but Draco shook his head.

“The paper, as you probably read," he said and she smirked at him, having been unable to resist reading the paper even thought she avoided the publication for years, "claims you did it to piss Harry off, since it reports you two had a row right before our dance…and everyone in the other room just thinks I'm up to something, out to hurt you or something nefarious, but nothing close to the truth,” he said, Ginny glad to hear from him that the truth was far from nefarious.

Draco stood, fighting not to groan.

“I should be heading home,” he announced. “It is later than I assured my…well, it's later than I thought I would be,” he said, looking back into the living room area and everyone in there.

“I hate that you have to leave,” she pouted.

“I would stay, but I'm sure your mother and father would grow tired of me staying here…I tend to wear on people's nerves,” he teased and she smiled. “And I couldn't handle it if your mother kept trying to feed me like that,” he said and Ginny laughed, coming over to stand with him, looking into the living room where Christmas music played and everyone talked.

“She means well, and you can't deny that a little hearty eating on your part would do you some good.”

“You know, we are not the only scandalous love affair here,” he said, ignoring her statement and Ginny looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Hermione and Harry are seeing each other,” he said and Ginny looked shocked.

“What?”

“Oh yes, and let me tell you, it's going to take the Jaws of Life to get that image out of my mind,” he said, reluctantly remembering back to the dirty thoughts he had inadvertently stumbled upon.

“I had no idea,” she said, now having ammunition to use against Hermione when her friend would undoubtedly corner her and try and talk to her about Draco. Her best friend was dating her ex-husband. That wouldn't have bothered her too much, if Hermione were being more understanding. With everything going on, she felt rather outraged.

“Ron over there fancies a woman in his department but is reluctant to talk to her because of that touch of weight he has recently put on,” he said, now looking over at Ron. “Never would have pegged him as the insecure type,” he said.

“I could say the same thing about you,” she pointed out and he pressed on like he hadn't heard that.

“Nymphadora and Remus are madly in love… it's revolting,” he said and Ginny laughed. “And Orla, Neville's little wife there, has not told him yet but she is expecting another little Longbottom,” he said and Ginny stared at him. “See how she is hanging on his arm like that? She is planning on telling him later tonight, but before midnight…after they are home and the children are off to bed,” he said. Orla had suggested leaving the children at home so that she could spend a slightly more romantic evening with Neville, somehow a night at the Burrow managing to be more romantic than some things.

“You know all this, because of your Legilimency?” she asked.

“I don't need to read the gossip magazines to be in on all the juicy stories and know all the gritty details,” he said with a smile.

“You know what I'm thinking?”

“I'm making a habit of staying out of your mind,” he said, smiling.

“What about Reamann?” she asked and Draco blinked.

“What about him?”

“What is he thinking?”

Draco was quiet for a long time.

“That he is the luckiest man alive to have you,” he said, brushing his hand over the back of hers subtly.

He did not mention to her Reamann's doubts when it came to their relationship. He did not tell her Reamann was intimidated by the expectation that everyone had in them getting married. He felt that was Reamann's job, not his, and it would be inappropriate, and rude, and it was Christmas…no sense in ruining it with the truth.

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

Author's Note:

A lot happened in this chapter, I know, so I hope you got it all.

Finally some more Harry; everyone really wanted that it seems. He reveals some very important things about Ginny's character in this chapter. This was the first of a handful of times I address Draco's eating habits in some detail. Molly is trying to fatten him up, how predictable is that? :) We had a mini-Draco/Harry confrontation…that was to answer everyone's questions on what exactly Harry was doing to try and make things “right” between Draco and him…and Draco is certainly not bitter, no, not at all. Lol.

We saw a little bit more about how Reamann is feeling about Ginny, we saw some *coughs* Draco and Ginny interaction (some cute, some smarmy, some smutty), and we even had a Ron and Draco moment! *gushes* I can't help myself, I LOVE Ron and I LOVE Draco (not together of course!) Tonks finally made her debut, as did Lupin.

Important update: I have decided to officially make this fic “loosely based off the Musical Wicked” even with 28 chapters written before I read the book or saw the play. I have now, and I'm have now worked more of the songs and plot into past scenes.

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21. Chapter 21

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-one

The day after Christmas was not a cheerful one, despite the bright sun and fresh snowfall. Everyone was back to work on the case, including Draco, which was not going over so well with his children. They definitely felt abandoned; first upset that they had to compete with the murder case, and now share their time with his “new woman,” aka, Ginny. Draco was supposed to have the day off, as did most that worked for the Ministry, but those working on the case were lucky to have had Christmas Day off at all, there having been another attack on Christmas Eve Day.

Ginny walked up the front steps of Draco's place at nine that morning, she still having the day off, Réamann having gone in early. Draco and she had agreed the night before, while at the Burrow, that she really needed a chance to meet with the children, and since she had the day off she could spend it with them (like she had offered) in hopes of winning them over some. It seemed really important to Draco that his children accept and even like Ginny. She understood that his children were very much his whole world and really felt that she had to compete with them, for Draco's attention and affections.

She could hear loud music coming from inside and knocked with a frowned brow, not sure what to make of the scene just yet. Draco answered the door looking tired, the music suddenly so much louder now that that the door was open.

“Hey,” he said, leaning out and giving her a kiss. “Come in,” he sighed while stepping back to allow her in. Someone from the apartment above Draco was shouting out his window about the noise and Draco just sighed and closed the door with a snap. Ginny walked in slowly, clutching her purse strap securely as it hung on her shoulder. The music was really loud.

“What's going on?” she asked, shouting over the music.

“We've got the right to choose and…there ain't no way we'll lose it…this is our life, this is our song! We'll fight the powers that be just…don't pick our destiny 'cause…you don't know us, you don't belong!” the song lyrics blared as Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, like he did whenever he was fighting off his temper and/or a headache.

“Michael locked himself in our room and won't come out and won't turn down the music,” Clarissa answered helpfully, sitting on the arm of the couch and kicking her feet happily. She was dressed in a red plaid dress, white tights and black buckle shoes. A red headband pushed her wildly curling hair back and a green turtleneck under the dress kept her warm. If she looked any sweeter Ginny would have gotten a cavity.

“Why? What's going on?” Ginny asked, looking over at Draco who was dressed for work and obviously late.

“I told him I had to work today and he got angry, I told him you wanted to spend the day with him and Clarissa and he stormed off…and locked himself in his room,” he said, eyes still closed and hand still up by his face.

“He's that upset?”

“Apparently,” Draco grumbled.

“I didn't think he would hate me this much,” Ginny said meekly, looking down the hall where she could see the shadowed bedroom door that was closed.

“Oh we're not gonna take it…no! We ain't gonna take it!…Oh we're not gonna take it anymore!…Oh you're so condescending…your gall is never-ending…we don't want nothin', not a thing from you!… your life is trite and jaded…boring and confiscated…if that's your best, your best won't do!” the song screamed, going back into the chanting chorus of “not gonna take it” over and over.

“Do you hate me?” Ginny asked while looking over at Clarissa as she sat so contently on the arm of the couch, looking oh-so-cute. Her reaction to all of this seemed to indicate to Ginny that this was a fairly common occurrence in the house: Michelangelo locking himself in his room and blasting music loudly.

“Michael hates you so much, I sorta feel bad for you,” she answered sweetly.

“Awright, you're not helping,” Draco warned, pointing at his daughter from around Ginny.

“Draco, you think I should try talking to him?” Ginny asked, still talking over the loud music.

“He won't listen,” Draco sighed, looking tired and apparently having already tried to talk to his son and get him to understand the basics: he did not love him any less, he had to work today, Ginny was a nice woman, he should give her a chance…all to no avail.

“Let me try,” she insisted, the song ending and there being quiet for a brief moment. Everyone looked up as though hoping that was the end of it, but then another song shouted.

“Shot through the heart and you're to blame, darlin' you give love a BAD NAME!”

Draco groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose again and Ginny flushed.

“I think he knows your here,” Draco said, voice soft enough to almost be overpowered by the song.

“Let me try at least, if I fail we won't be any worse off than we are now,” she said, standing there with the music blaring.

Draco leaned in and gave Ginny a quick kiss, wishing her luck and giving her a “feel free” gesture towards the hallway.

“Would I be allowed to use magic to open the door?” she asked.

“Oh, sure, I already got an owl this morning from the Ministry after Michael locked himself in there,” Draco sighed, the letter sitting on his coffee table. The letter was a warning to him, Draco, not to do magic, not the underage wizard that lived there (unknown to most of the Ministry) who had actually cast the locking spell.

The Ministry, obviously knew he had two children…they were werewolves after all and they were documented, numbered, and registered…but that knowledge was not common knowledge outside the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and Draco wanted it to stay on a need to know basis. Thusly, he was quite pissed at Michelangelo for casting the charm and creating a reason or excuse for more Ministry Wizards to invade his home and more Ministry Wizards to know about the children, let alone bust his balls, something the Ministry rarely passed up and opportunity to do.

Ginny passed Clarissa who saluted her with a smile as she sat on the couch arm still. She walked down the short hall, drawing out her wand. She pointed it at the doorknob and without a word unlocked it. Stepping in she found the room was wide but not very long. It was larger than Draco's and it was obvious Draco had taken the smaller room, allowing the children to share the larger, but the room was still cramped by the two beds and dressers. One bed was to the left, clearly a little girl's bed with the standard pink princess sheets, and the other on the right had dark blue bedding and Michelangelo curled up on it, his back to her. Ginny closed the door quietly, the music loud enough that nothing short of a slam would have been heard anyways, and moved over to the surprisingly little stereo box that sat atop the bedside table that was directly across from the door and shared between the two beds.

Muggle technology never ceased to amaze her, but not to the extent it did her father.

She turned it off with a tug of the power cord, the sudden silence shocking. Michelangelo rolled over, angry, but then glaring twice as hard upon seeing who it was that had turned off his song.

“Get out of my room,” he ordered, still partially rolled over.

“I think we need to talk,” she said calmly, unbuttoning her coat so that it hung open so she could be more comfortable.

“I don't want to talk to you,” he said, rolling over and crossing his arms, his back to Ginny again.

“That's fine because you need to do a whole lot more listening than talking at the moment anyway,” she said, placing her hands on her hips and standing up straight in the form her mother took while reprimanding her and her brothers and that she, Ginny, had adopted while disciplining her nieces and nephews.

Michelangelo stubbornly remained still and silent as though ignoring her.

“I think you are being a brat,” Ginny scolded and Michelangelo sat up and turned looking outraged.

“How dare you come in here and-”

“You are being selfish, and acting spoiled, and not being fair to your father,” she reprimanded not even mentioning to him how rude he was being to her since she figured that that was what he had been aiming for and there was no sense in rewarding that.

Michelangelo looked at her, pale pointed face glaring through his curling bangs.

“Your father has to work today. Do you think he would go in on a day he normally would have been off for fun, or because he doesn't like being home with you and your sister? No. So stop giving him a hard time, he is stressed enough as it is,” she lectured. “As far as I'm concerned, I'm not asking you to like me, but I'm asking you to show a little bit of respect because I know your father and grandmother raised you better than this and your father is out there, embarrassed,” she scolded while pointing at the closed door, not sure Draco was “embarrassed” as much as angry. She felt she could take some liberties in saying that Draco would have liked his son to have made a better impression on her than he had.

“I don't-”

“Hush.” Ginny cut him off, holding up her finger at him before placing her hand on her hip again. “Last night your father asked me if I were willing to spend the day with you two since he had to work. I agreed. He felt bad that he had to go in to help Mr. Rossiter, and wanted to make sure you two would have some fun,” she said.

“Reamann Rossiter, your boyfriend,” Michelangelo growled. Ginny's lips pursed together just a touch.

“I do not have to explain myself to you, and your father shouldn't have to explain himself either,” Ginny said, a little outraged at Michelangelo's nerve.

“I'm not a little kid. I understand that you are sleeping with my dad, while in a relationship with another man.” -Ginny fought not to look away- “I know what having an affair means,” he said and Ginny flushed then. She hated it, she looked less authoritative, but she could not help it.

“Is that why you hate me so much? Because of the…nature…of your father's and my relationship?” she asked.

“No, I hate you because you are one of the people that sent my dad away, you are a Weasley, and a Blood-Traitor, and my father can do better than you…he deserves better than you,” Michelangelo said coldly and Ginny looked taken aback. Was she just called a “Blood-Traitor”? She had not heard that term used in…years.

“Who taught you that?” she asked and Michelangelo blinked at her for a moment. “Who taught you the word Blood-Traitor or what it means?” she asked.

“Nana.”

“Your father talks about Blood-Traitors?” she asked.

“No, he doesn't talk about anything that can be related to the war…”

“Do you think your father supports such things?”

“I don't know, Nana says…”

“Forget what your grandmother says,” she snapped. “I won't have you sit here and call me such things. It's called hate speech and it's unacceptable. You don't even fully appreciate what it means or what you are saying. You were not even alive during the wars and when those ideals were held so high by some. The supporters of the Dark Lord said such things, and they are all in Azkaban as a result. I don't think your father would like hearing you say things that he had once said and wound up in Azkaban over.”

“He wound up in Azkaban because you are all a bunch of lying traitors!”

“He wound up in Azkaban because he sided with the Dark Lord for a time, and though he redeemed himself, no one who could have helped him immediately after the war knew about that. Your father does not hate me for what happened, so I don't understand why you do.”

“You are coming in here, and messing with my family. We have gotten along fine with out you, we don't need you, we do not need a mother,” he shouted, looking angry, eyes looking hurt. Ginny understood then. She was less angry now, sympathetic towards what the boy was feeling.

“I'm not going to take your dad away, or convince him to spend less time with you, or be your mother, or replace your mother, or any of these things you are convinced I'm up to,” she said, starting off softly. “I understand you are home for Christmas and this is supposed to be your time with him, and you feel I'm encroaching too much on your territory…that I'm throwing off your family dynamic that you have been accustomed to for the last three years, and I'm sorry,” she said, trying to show her sincerity without coming across condescending.

“My dad may want a girlfriend, but he can do better than you. Don't flatter yourself by thinking I just want to keep him all to myself…I want to see him happy, and if dating a woman makes him happy I'll support him…but not you. He can do better than you, he deserves more than being some other man in some woman's life.”

“You been talking to that nana of yours,” she said, not making that a question, heart falling a little knowing Narcissa did not like her but now fearing that she would turn the children against her with her hatred and her bigotry, using the fact that the children obviously trust her and manipulating that. She was also getting a little tired of being referred to as “woman” by Michelangelo. It was insulting, and he meant it to be.

“She was angry and a little drunk, but she is still right,” he huffed.

“Michael, I cannot explain all this to you, but please, stop. I don't need your blessing to date your father, but I would like it,” she said.

“Well, you're not gonna get it,” he retorted stubbornly.

“What do I have to do to convince you that I'm not going to hurt your dad?”

“Be an honest woman,” he sad and Ginny sighed. Michelangelo certainly had a way of making her feel like shit. It was either a Malfoy trait, or a Black trait, or a mixture of the two. Whatever it was, Draco and Michelangelo apparently both had it.

Draco had expressed his desire to have an “honest” relationship too and she had been able to explain to him all the reasons they just could not have that. Somehow she could not explain that to the boy. How was she supposed to explain to him the tabloids, and their families, and her complicated relationship with Reamann, and her feelings she has for Draco, Michelangelo's dad?

Ginny took a deep breath.

“I really care about your father. I think he is a wonderful man and he wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him. Can't you at least be happy for him while hating me?” she asked, squatting down next to the bed to look up at him, not really pleading with him, but making a request so that he would feel like he was controlling the situation.

“I can't understand why he would do that,” Michelangelo said in a frustrated huff. Ginny could see it in his eyes, Michelangelo had sat for some time trying but failing to understand what his father was doing.

“You are honorable, Michael. You believe in honest relationships, in the sanctity of love, and your father does too. That is a good thing, and you should never lose that,” she said before taking a deep breath. “Your father and I are seeing each other exclusively, really, we are. Reamann is my boyfriend, but I am only maintaining that relationship so as to not have everyone find out your father and I are together…that's all. I care about Reamann and I don't want to hurt him, and I feel terrible about this…I'm sure your father does too…but at the moment, it's all we can do,” she said, unable say she was just having a fling anymore, not since talking to Draco the day before after Narcissa had left. He was so much more than a fling, and she wanted Michelangelo to understand that, understand that Draco was special to her just like he was special to him. “Please, don't drive your father mental over this, he just wants to be happy, and you are making him feel guilty because he is trying to have a life outside of being a father,” she said, speaking softly, pleading now, finally.

“I don't-”

“You said you wanted your dad to be happy.”

“I do.”

“Then come out of your room, give him a hug before he heads to work, and come out with me today along with your sister. Come-on, you can't pass up me buying you things.”

“Trying to win me over with gifts? Buying my love?”

“Would that work?”

“No.”

“Then no,” she said simply. “It's just a treat, my way of apologizing for having upset you so much. Come on,” she said, standing and offering him her hand.

Michelangelo stood very slowly, sliding off the edge of his bed, and glared up at her. He was not very tall, which made him look younger than twelve, but the look he was giving her was one that belonged on the face of someone much older than twelve. It showed he had a very strong understanding of the situation, and that he was very intelligent.

He stood there for a moment in his black t-shirt with the solar system across the chest and baggy blue-jeans, and without a word, and without accepting Ginny's hand, Michelangelo walked out of the room. Ginny sighed, supposing this was the best she could hope for, and followed after him. She came out the end of the short hallway to see Michelangelo giving Draco a hug around the middle and muttering quietly to him, excluding the two girls in the room from the conversation. Draco seemed to be listening, nodding slowly. Ginny neared and Michelangelo fell quiet.

“Thank you,” Draco muttered quietly, still holding Michelangelo against his front. Ginny just smiled, not sure if she got through to the boy, or if the boy would ever not hate her at this point, but glad she had talked him out of the room.

“Dad, do you have to go?” Clarissa whined, moving over to them from the couch to cling.

“Yes, and I'm really late,” he said, tugging gently on the back of her long hair as she looked up at him and hung on his left hip. “Ginny will watch you for the day,” he explained and Clarissa looked over at Ginny. Ginny was feeling a little awkward but smiled. “Awright?” he asked, looking between the two of his children. They both nodded obediently. “I love you,” he assured them as he gave them both one last hug before heading out.

Ginny followed him to the door and they wanted to share a kiss but Michelangelo was staring daggers at them, or just her. Draco gave her a quick smooch before looking right back at his son to see him easing down some under his father's much fiercer gaze. He closed the door and left Ginny in the uncomfortable silence of his wake.

What was she going to do with her boyfriend's two children? They were not so young that she could put on movies and play games with them, but not quite old enough that she could try talking to them like full adults.

Oh, this was awkward.

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

“Nine! Nine attacks!” Reamann ranted, pacing in front of Draco while Draco sat quite comfortably at his desk, feet propped up, content in watching the younger wizard work himself up, “and one on Christmas Eve no less!”

“I don't know why you're surprised,” Draco said nonchalantly. “It was a week, another attack was due.”

“But on Christmas?”

“No rest for the wicked,” he said with a shrug.

“You would know all abut that, wouldn't you,” Réamann fumed and Draco glared at him very intently for a moment. “I'm sorry, I'm stressed, and I'm taking it out on you,” he said with a deep, cleansing sigh.

“I noticed,” Draco said curly, not looking too happy with Réamann's apology.

“Listen, alright, I know, I'm a jerk sometimes,” he said.

“Only sometimes?”

“Malfoy, you are a jerk more often than sometimes, and you can't just let me apologize, can you,” he said, a little grumpy and very tired. It was late afternoon and he had been running around all day.

“I never forgive anyone, it's a rule of mine,” he said and Réamann looked ready to argue and Draco pressed on, “Furthermore, I'm supposed to be home right now, but I am stuck here helping you out…but I'm not letting my irritability spill out all over the place,” he said, raising his voice just a touch to demonstrate just how irritable he could get if Réamann really wanted to push it.

“You act like you're so put upon, but you're not the one being called out of your bed at four in the morning to work a crime scene-”

“I'm up by then anyways.”

“And then working late every night on the case-”

“I'm here now aren't I?”

“You don't even care about the Muggles!”

“Of course I don't,” Draco said, using the same nonchalant tone throughout while Réamann got angrier and angrier.

“Then why the bloody hell are you here?” he demanded, his Irish accent so much thicker when he was angry and shouting.

“Because we have an agreement - I help you, you give me potions…”

“A lot of help you have been,” Réamann snapped and Draco's head very slowly rounded on Réamann, daring him to expand on that thought. “I have been giving you potions, but you have yet to make one solid lead on this case.”

“Oh, I'm sorry Réamann,” Draco said, his voice light and condescending. “I did not know you expected me to do your job and solve the case at the same time,” he said, his eyes harsh and sparkling with his anger.

“You are not doing my job for me.”

“Just writing up all your reports and summaries, and reviewing the evidence, and drawing together theories and leads…tell me Réamann, what exactly do you do on this case while I'm busy doing all the work, fetch coffee?”

“I have to work with the Muggles and collect the evidence and-”

“Oh, so you talk to the wee Muggles, and you write some notes…and you complain that I'm not doing enough for this case?”

“You are dragging your feet!” he accused.

“I'm what?” Draco drawled.

“You do not want this case solved because you don't want the potions I'm supplying you to stop.”

“How dare you imply that I would -”

“And," he continued, ranting, not allowing Draco to speak. "I think you're pasty-pureblood-arse gets some sort of satisfaction out of Muggles getting hurt!” he accused but immediately realized he had gone too far by the look on Draco's face.

“Réamann,” Draco growled, speaking Réamann's name so low and smoothly it was obvious that much effort was being directed towards not standing and screaming in Réamann's face at that moment. “Understand this, because I will not repeat myself…again…” he said, standing ever-so-slowly from his desk to be right up in Réamann's personal space. Somehow Draco could limp around, weigh a hundred and some change soaking wet, and be more than three inches shorter than Réamann, and still be intimidating at that moment. “I know you do not honestly believe me when I say I was not a Death Eater, because you know the Dark Mark cannot be extended to, or received by, the unwilling…but if you ever imply that I would sit around and watch seemingly innocent people get hurt and die, simply because I draw some sort of delight or satisfaction from it, there is going to be a really serious problem between us,” he said, talking so calmly that it caught Réamann off guard that Draco shoved him firmly.

Réamann stumbled backwards a little and straightened.

“Don't shove me,” he warned, ready to shove him back and Draco realizing this and already defending himself, defending himself quickly in a way that made Réamann freeze. Draco moved backwards so that he was suddenly couching on top of his desk, holding out one hand, a hand that was flexed and the fingernails were lengthened into something like claws.

Réamann looked at Draco, heart pounding.

“Draco,” Réamann whispered, backing up some, very afraid at that moment of the other man as Draco kept his eyes locked on him, eyes that looked so human while a wolf, and looked so inhuman while a man.

Réamann had not seen Draco behave or act, in all the time they had spent together, like anything less than human. It was actually pretty easy to forget that Draco really wasn't human if you forgot why he had a limp and why he was so sick all the time…but right now, looking at Draco and his very instinctual response to being physically threatened, he was harshly reminded that Draco was far from human, and that he hadn't been human for years.

Draco eased back some, coming down off the desk carefully and tucking his hands in his open robe's pockets. They stayed there for a moment, and when Draco withdrew them, they were just hands.

“Jesus Christ,” Réamann managed after a moment as Draco sat at his desk, leaning his chair back a bit. He seemed embarrassed by his reaction to Réamann coming at him. He refused to look at Réamann, and Réamann couldn't stop staring at him.

“I do not like it when people stare at me, Réamann, or accuse me of nasty things, it makes me feel icky,” he said, talking calmly as though he had not just gone a little beastie on the other man and threatened him with a terrible fate.

Réamann just stared at him, unable to look away as his heart settled to a more relaxed pace in his chest.

“I ask for nothing, but maybe a little respect, Réamann.”

“Draco…I'm -”

Draco continued on, cutting Réamann off.

“I know so many less fortunate than I. I am a werewolf with a job - do you have any idea how unusual that is? Dolores Umbridge, years ago, was instrumental in the passage of restrictive anti-werewolf legislation that makes it almost impossible for us to get jobs to this day,” he said and Réamann blinked at him not understanding where this line of thought was going or what Draco was trying to say.

“Harry has -”

“Potter has helped changed the laws a bit, made it so we are supplied with Wolfsbane and forced to report to a `support' witch or wizard, but he cannot change how the public views us. It is illegal to fire someone on the grounds that they are a werewolf, but it happens all the time,” he said, looking angry. “I can despise the Ministry all I want, and hate them for ruining my life and treating me like vermin, but they have given me a means of providing for my family, and you must understand how important that is to me,” he said, looking and sounding stern.

“I understand that,” Réamann muttered.

“As it is, I don't know how long I will have this job. When my probation is over and I'm a `free man'…or wolf…will they still employ me once it's not mandated? Will they kick me out in the cold to fend for myself? I need this job Réamann, and I would not compromise that, not for potions. So don't you ever accuse me of dragging my feet when I take my job as seriously as I do,” he nearly shouted and Réamann felt sickening guilt.

“I'm not sure if you're aware of this,” Draco continued more calmly, “but there aren't a lot of people fighting for werewolf rights. The bigotry we suffer is incomparable and unimaginable,” he growled.

“You are not foreign to the act of handing out bigotry though, Malfoy,” Réamann pointed out softly, not meaning to be smarmy about it though Draco certainly took it that way.

“Oh yes, you are so right,” Draco said in a bitter and sarcastic tone. “I was a sod and a git while in school. I threw out a few offensive slurs and I was a bit of a bully when I was a young teenager. Obviously I deserve this now, after ten years in Azkaban and losing my family and friends in the war, I deserve this additional shitty treatment,” he scathed, eyes practically burning in his livid rage.

“No, I did not mean it like that, I mean, oh hell,” Réamann said, dropping his head. He had meant it that way, but not to the extent Draco was taking it. He was implying that Draco now at least could appreciate how he made so many others feel while in school, but he supposed it was hard for Draco to take his tough situation as some optimistic moral learning experience, and really, could he blame him?

“What goes around comes around, but this is more than just my own hurt feelings, Réamann. This is my life, this is my children's lives people are screwing with!” he seethed. “Make me feel bad, make me regret listening to my mother and believing all my parents taught me and following my father's example unquestioningly, but don't punish my children, don't punish me just because I had been foolish when young!”

“I'm sorry, Draco. I did not think before I spoke, as always. I did not mean it that way,” he muttered. Draco seemed to ease down some, but he still looked emotional. What had been anger before, however, now looked like utter vulnerability and despair. If Draco broke down Réamann would not know what to do. He wouldn't be able to handle Draco being so emotional, so depressed.

“Why does it bother you so much whenever I show a touch of real human emotion?” Draco asked suddenly, knowing exactly what Réamann was feeling. Réamann could not deny his thoughts and feelings when Draco could read them so easily, and so he sighed. “Is it so much easier for you to take advantage of me when you think of me as some unflappable prat that hates Muggles and is a Death Eater, rather than to see me as a person, with feelings?”

“I, I just -”

“You read so much about me, and you see me so level headed and standoffish all the time, that you and are unnerved whenever I let my walls down,” Draco answered for him.

“I'm sorry.”

“For being so unwilling to give me a chance even though you feel there is good in everyone? Good in everyone but me, even after all the help I have given you, and how much trouble I have sustained because of it.”

“Yeah…for that.”

“I don't hate Muggles, you know,” he said bitterly, remembering what Ron had asked him just the night before. He felt like he was repeating himself, which he hated doing, but Réamann hadn't actually been there to hear it.

“Yeah, I know,” Réamann said softly, knowing that now, not questioning that anymore. Even if Draco didn't “care” about them, he couldn't go as far as to say Draco “hated” them. “When, when did that change?” he asked then. Draco looked at him and Réamann recoiled a little. “I don't mean to be rude...I believe you, I really do," he urged, holding his hands up in an easing down motion. "You don't hate Muggles, but when did that happen? When did you realize that what your parents surely raised you to believe about Muggles was not necessarily true?” he asked, Draco looking down.

Réamann certainly had a way of asking the most personal of questions without realizing it, or thinking first apparently.

His legs burned, his sides were cramped up, and his lungs were starting to seize up, but Draco did not stop or even slow. He was dodging between the trees, running faster than was probably wise through the dark forest, his mind set on only one thing, and that was getting away.

He hadn't listened to Snape that afternoon after he had received the Mark, when his old mentor had warned him not to go to his mother. Draco had been curled up on the dungeon floor, bleeding still, alone, crying when Snape had approached him after the Dark Lord had left him there with his threat. Draco was outraged, hurt, confused, conflicted…he just wanted to see his mother.

He had Disapparated to his home in total disregard to the warning, looking for comfort from his mother. She had greeted him, and stood there, arms around him, holding him for a long time while letting him curl his arms up to his chest and be held, and protected, and loved…but the Ministry had showed up quickly.

They had set traps all over the manor, waiting for him to possibly show up. They had been alerted of his arrival, and they had made it so he could not Apparate away after having passed through the wards. They had reversed them, so instead of letting no one in, they didn't allow anyone out…that was why he was running now. The Ministry was after him, and they would not let him get away so easily.

Passing through his own family's wards had made him incapable of Apparating, he had already tried desperately. Unable to Apparate, he was left with few options. His home was out in the middle of the countryside, there was no where he could go. He wanted to get to London, and disappear in the flurry of the city, but London was more than a hundred and forty kilometers away from where he lived, he had no hope of getting there on foot.

Still running, Draco could hear the crunching of distant Ministry Wizards, in pursuit. He feared wizards on brooms, coming down on him from above more than anything at that moment. He stumbled, twisting his ankle and fell into the crisp, dry leaves of summer's past. He did not linger despite the pain he felt in his ankle, knees or hands. He pushed himself up off the ground and kept running, his robes tangling in the underbrush and tearing but him paying it no mind, pulling hard to move due to the pain in his ankle and the resistance his snagging robes were creating.

Draco ran, stumbling slightly and then nearly falling out of the woods. He was suddenly on a Muggle road and a vehicle swerved to avoid hitting him on the dark highway. He had spilled out right in front of them. Draco was on his hands and knees on the pavement in the red taillights of the stopped car, panting and shaking from the surprise. A head leaned out the car window and shouted at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked earnestly, the man fearing he may have hit him.

Draco, looking back at the woods, felt panic wash over him. The wizards were close and he was out in the open.

“Hey, kid, are you alright?” the driver called, opening his door in preparation to step out and see for himself. He was shaking from the surprise and the fear that he might have just struck someone with his car.

Draco scrambled to his feet causing the man to stop in mid-motion as he put one leg out of his open car. Draco hurried over to the passenger side, still panting and shaking, left ankle screaming, legs burning and fumbled with the door until he figured out how to work the handle. It was like a carriage. He climbed in and slammed the door, bracing his back against it while suddenly looking right at the man behind the wheel whose door was still open and leg still out on the pavement as he sat there, staring.

“What's going on, are you…?” he tired to ask but Draco's panic stopped him.

“Just go, make this thing go,” he said, daring a glance back out the window.

The man looked at Draco, at the strange boy that he had almost run over and had climbed into his car, for a moment but then pulled his leg in, closed his door, and eased the car out of park. Draco gripped the seat as the car moved forward, the man a little heavy on the gas so as to hopefully ease the boy's nerves, making him think he was getting far away, and quickly, from whatever he was running.

Draco was winded, rocking slightly in his seat, glancing back periodically though the road was curved and he could not see where he had come out anymore.

“What are you running from?” the man asked, looking over at Draco who sat beside him, still a panicked mess all covered in sweat, dirt and blood. Draco didn't respond right away and the man let him collect himself for a while, but when Draco showed no sign of relaxing, if anything looking more wound up, he asked again.

“Boy, what are you running from?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Draco panted, looking back.

“That must be a whole lot of scary nothing,” he said, looking back then too and not seeing anything following behind them on the dark road. “Are you hurt?” he asked, indicating Draco's bleeding left arm where his robe and shirt sleeve were split open up to the elbow, and scuffed cheek and hands. Draco had fallen several times while running through the woods and a few branches had slapped him across the face, cutting him. His left arm was still bloody from the Dark Mark he had received and Draco only seemed to just then realize that.

“I'm…I'm fine,” he managed, grabbing the bottom edge of his white dress shirt and tearing it, taking a strip of the material and wrapping it around his arm to stop the bleeding. It was not bleeding much anymore, but he did not want to see what was there under the blood should he wipe it away.

“What happened? How did you end up all the way out here?” he asked.

“My family lives out here,” he said, tucking the edge of the material under itself to hold tight. He was still dressed in his school robes, he hadn't the opportunity, since fleeing Hogwarts two nights ago now, to change.

“You can't be serious. No one lives out here,” he said, speaking of the specific road they were on. Draco was silent and looking away.

He was in a Muggle car, with a Muggle. He never would have imagined…but then, the Ministry would not imagine it either; they wouldn't think to follow the car, right? He was safe for the moment, right?

“How did you get hurt?” the man asked, looking ahead on the road, Draco bursting out of the woods mere feet in front of him having rattled his nerves so that he was being more careful now. He doubted any more distraught and bleeding teenagers were going to come stumbling out of the woods right in front of him, but he couldn't ease his shaken nerves.

“I'm awright, I'm not hurt,” Draco said, the lie being rather pointless since the Muggle man could see all the drying blood.

“You are hurt,” the man said, reaching over to touch Draco's arm and Draco pulling away sharply, pressing his back against the door and looking more than a little defensive. He would not let the man touch his blood, Muggle or not, no one deserved to share his curse.

“I'm not going to hurt you, kid, I just want to see...”

“I'm fine.”

“What happened?”

“Just some family troubles,” Draco mumbled.

“Family issues? Those are some pretty rough family issues given the state you're in,” he commented, looking Draco over quickly before focusing on the road again.

`Yeah, well, my family…” Draco said breathily, not sure how he could explain to the man what “family” he was talking about.

“Things a little rough?” he asked. Draco looked at him, and after a moment, the man looked over at him.

“Yes,” he answered, looking out the window then.

“I had a pretty rough childhood. My father drank a lot,” he confessed as though trying to show some understanding without implying he knew what he was going through.

Draco just glanced over at him.

“You have somewhere to go?” the man finally asked, realizing he couldn't just drive home with the distraught teenager he found on the side of the road in his front seat…or could he?

“Where are you going?” Draco asked and the man looked at him.

“Don't you have any friends, any family I can take you to?” he asked, Draco's face fell slightly and he did not have to answer the question. “Would you like me to take you to a hospital?” he offered and Draco shook his head. “The police?” he offered and Draco shook his head very quickly then.

“What do you need?”

“I need to get to London,” Draco said, not sure what was in London. The Leaky Cauldron, the Ministry of Magic, Saint Mungo's…all places he could not go. Where could he go?

“I can take you there,” he said, Draco looking at him.

The car ride was…interesting. Draco had never been in a car before, and it seemed to be evident to the man he was riding with. Draco nearly flipped out when his left elbow hit a button on the door and the window started to go down.

The man had gotten a good laugh out of that but Draco looked flushed and a little embarrassed.

“You never ridden in a car before, kid?” he asked. Draco said nothing, pouting very intently at the dashboard after the man righted the window with his own switch on his door.

The man could tell, by the way Draco spoke with such a cultured and upper crust accent, and by the way he was dressed, quite nicely other than the blood and tears, that Draco was not a common English boy. Yet he seemed so foreign, and strange, almost new. He couldn't imagine where this boy had come from.

“My name is Derik, Derik Hammond,” he said, finally introducing himself. Draco looked over at him, eyes a little wide, then back at the window, saying nothing. “This is the part where you give me your name,” the man said, trying to be friendly but Draco not grasping the humor. He just stared out the window now that the trees were gone and there were hills on all sides.

“Angel,” he finally said, not sure why he didn't give the Muggle man his name, or first name. It wasn't like the man would recognize him, or go to the Wizard Ministry, but still…he felt better not giving the man his first name. As odd a name as “Angel” undoubtedly was, “Draco” was odder.

“Well, Angel, I will take you to London, but it is a large city…there somewhere specific you would like to be taken?” he asked. Draco just shook his head mutely.

The car ride was not long, and sooner than Draco had anticipated it, the man, Derik Hammond, was pulling over to the side of the street, city all around them. Draco fiddled with the door for a moment, trying to get it to open and finally managed clumsily. He climbed out, prepared to just close the door and disappear, but the man leaned over to talk to him.

“Angel,” he said, causing Draco to freeze, not slamming the door yet. Draco looked at the man as he reached into his back pocket while leaning over, pulling something out. “You don't have any money on you, do you? Here,” he said, offering Draco a handful of paper notes he had only seen a few times in his life. Muggle money…he had never handled Muggle money before. Draco looked reluctant to take it, but the man shook his hand at him a little encouragingly and Draco reached out for it.

Draco looked down at the money, however much it was he was not sure, but then over to the man, furrowing his brow at him.

He did not understand…why was this man, this stranger, this Muggle, being so kind to him?

Draco looked down at the money again and then back to the man with the honest and genuine concern on his face.

“Thank you,” Draco said, really meaning it but unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Here,” the man said, scribbling something down on a piece of gum-paper and handing that too to Draco. “You give me a call if you need a place to stay or something comes up, alright?” he said, Draco blinking at him. “You have me worried,” he said, not even smiling then.

Draco, one hand full of paper money, the other holding a series of numbers that Muggles used as some sort of identification code to contact each other using some device called a “telephone,” and looked at the Muggle man for a long moment.

“Thank you,” Draco said again, feeling a deep appreciation that he had no words for. There was a familiar stinging in his eyes, almost like he was going to cry. It was stress, really, it was…but no one had ever been so kind to him before, and this man, this Muggle man, did not even know him yet was being so helpful and caring.

Draco was not accustomed to this kind of kindness. It certainly was not something he had been raised to extend to others.

“You take care of yourself, Angel, and give me a call later, just so I know you are okay so I can sleep, alright?” he asked, taking his car out of park.

Draco nodded, not sure how he would go about “calling” the man but feeling it had something to do with the telephone number he had been given, and Draco realized he was going to have to take a crash course on the subject if he was going to do what the man asked.

Derik Hammond drove off, leaving Draco on the curb, dressed in his open, black, Hogwarts robe that barely concealed his torn shirt and bloodstained uniform, and felt a little helpless and yet reassured and warm at the same time.

“Nice cape,” a fellow teenager praised as he walked by with his friends, walking backwards after passing Draco to give him a double thumbs up.

Draco looked at the young man, confusion plain on his face. He looked away, knowing he would start attracting negative attention quickly if people were to notice his blood, so he started walking, hoping to find a place to lie low for a while.

Walking as briskly as his sore ankle would carry him, he found himself, very quickly, outside a pub.

“Oh thank God,” Draco muttered, ducking inside, grateful for the shelter it provided and the promise of alcohol.

Inside, it was dark and music that Draco did not recognize played. Smoke hung thick in the air and only made Draco's insides hurt for a cigarette of his own.

Taking in the look of the place quickly, Draco headed straight for the bar. He hopped onto a stool and pulled his robes closed around him so no one would see the dirt, tears and blood.

“What can I do 'ya for?” the man behind the bar asked, barely giving Draco a glance.

“Vodka, neat,” he said, leaning his elbows on the bar top, his palms on his forehead.

His drink was set before him and Draco looked at the crumple of Muggle money in his hand and wondered if he had enough, or how much he should give the man.

The bartender looked at him, really taking in his appearance, and though he was not second-guessing his decision to serve Draco, he did look a little concerned.

The man sitting next to Draco leaned over and plucked the top note out of Draco's open hand and dropped it on the bar top for him. The bartender swept it up and moved down the bar without a word. Draco looked over at the man that had apparently helped him and the man smiled.

“Usually, when I can't figure out how much to give the man, I reckon I have had enough,” he said coolly, putting a cigarette to his mouth then.

Draco just looked at him for a long moment before tucking his money away and reaching for his glass of cold vodka. No ice, he didn't need to waste the space in his glass.

“That's a pretty serious drink, sure you can handle…?” the man started to ask but Draco just threw it back, all of it, and set the glass down. The man shrugged, puffing away at his cigarette again.

Draco sat there, rocking just a touch. The man next to him kept glancing over to him from his drink, noticing Draco apparent anxiety.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked.

“What do you care?” Draco snapped, glaring at the man, not used to strangers giving a hoot either way how he was and nervous and uncomfortable as all hell being in a Muggle bar, surrounded by Muggles, wanted by the Wizard Ministry, newly marked by the Dark Lord. It was a lot to deal with all at once.

“Hey, hey, ease down, I was only voicing a little concern for you…no need to bite my head off,” the man said smoothly, his speech very slow and drawn out before he put his cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag. His accent was unusual, one Draco had only heard a few times in his life. Was the Muggle man American?

Draco looked at that cigarette with hungry eyes and the man realized this.

“You need one?” he asked, holding out his pack that he produced from somewhere behind him, likely his back pocket.

Draco took one without a word and even accepted a light from the man. Draco turned away a little to face the bar properly, smoking with a nervous need.

The man did not seem put out by Draco's lack of gratitude but simply tucked his cigarettes away and went back to his drink. The bartender eventually found his way back to them and asked if Draco was okay. Draco refused to answer and once the man was gone he couldn't help himself.

“Why does everyone keep asking me if I'm okay?” he asked, clearly talking to the man beside him, sounding moody and defensive as his right leg bounced up and down.

“Because you look as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” the man said casually.

“Why do any of you care?” he demanded.

“Human nature I guess,” the man shrugged and Draco blinked at him. “Don't tell me this is the first time in, say, your whole life, that people have voiced a little concern for you,” he asked.

Draco just looked away.

“My name is, Carl,” the man said, putting his cigarette to his mouth to hold out his then empty hand across his chest while still leaning on the bar.

Draco looked at him, and his hand, for a long moment before extending his own.

“Angel,” he muttered quietly as the man shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Angel,” he said, putting the cigarette back to his lips.

“Thanks for the fag,” Draco muttered.

“That's what you kids `round here call a smoke, right?” he asked and Draco blinked at him. “It's no problem,” he then said smoothly, “I'll count it as my good deed for the day,” Carl said, taking a sip from his drink again.

Draco sat there, unsure of what to make of this…experience. He had been raised to believe Muggles were low-class brutes. They were supposed to be dim-witted and violent, but so far, all he had seen was that they were mildly friendly, and willing to be kind, and even helpful, to complete strangers.

He couldn't have been wrong about Muggles, could he have been?

Surely his parents wouldn't have lied to him, or led him to believe things that were not true…but how could he explain away what he had come across tonight?

Draco realized then that he had never really met and dealt with Muggles before, his parents never would have allowed him to be exposed to such “filth.” He had known Muggle-borns from school, and not knowing what they were beforehand he wouldn't have been able to tell them apart from a Pureblood or Halfblood. If Muggle-borns were so much like witches and wizards, but raised by Muggles, was there then that great of a difference between them, between Muggles and Magical-folk?

He had never thought of it that way before.

Some time later, Draco stood in the back of the pub. A few drinks in him, he was no longer shaking. Having limped to the bathroom, his ankle still hurting badly enough that he almost would have liked to hop on his good one, he had cleaned himself up so that other than his ruined uniform he kept hidden under his tattered robes, the dark circles under his eyes, and the cuts on his left cheek, he looked relatively decent and presentable.

He held the phone receiver in his hand, looking between the buttons on the contraption that hung on the wall before him and the gum wrapper in his hand, trying to figure this all out. He had put coins in the slot like he had watched a Muggle man do, and he slowly dialed the number on the wrapper like he simply assumed he should. There was silence in the receiver for a long moment as he held it to his ear like he had observed the other man do, but he then heard a sudden ring in his ear. Draco jumped and nearly dropped the phone, but recovered quickly, getting only one odd glance from a nearby man who was cradling his drink.

Draco licked his lips nervously as the phone rang in his ear.

“Hello?” a man asked, answering the phone from his end of the line.

Draco had only a moment to marvel at this before a gloved hand reached around him and clamped over his mouth. Draco gasped and the phone was dropped, left to swing and the man on the line repeating “hello?” over and over again, sounding worried.

Draco kicked and struggled a little as someone much stronger than he held him from behind, one hand clamped over Draco's mouth and pinning him to their chest, the other hand holding Draco's left wrist.

No one in the pub looked up or even acknowledged the struggle. Draco was pulled out of the building and no one stopped it. Draco knew a spell when he was amidst one. He was dragged down the street and into an alleyway between two buildings, all the time struggling and trying to shout but muffled by the gloved hand.

“Draco,” the man holding him said, releasing him and letting Draco spin around while looking prepared to take a swing at him, shaking still.

“Snape?” Draco asked, looking at his teacher and mentor with surprise.

“I never would have thought you, of all people, would associate with Muggles,” he said, not sounding disgusted, just a little surprised having finally found Draco after much searching.

“I just realized that there were statistically, and proportionatly, as many decent Muggles as there are witches and wizards…” he said, crossing his arms. “There is a Muggle man I send a Christmas package to every year,” he explained, never having forgotten Mr. Derik Hammond, not even after spending ten years in Azkaban. The man, surprisingly, in those eleven years after he had dropped Draco off on that corner, had not forgotten him either. Draco had found him, feeling guilty for having never successfully contacted the man again to reassure him that he was alright and apologize for whatever sleepless nights he had caused the man due to worry, and had something close to a friendship with him ever since. Draco didn't have friends, not really, but that man and he shared something special.

There was always a certain bond formed between two people when one saves the other's life.

Derik had been genuinely relieved to see “Angel” again, alive and…well, after so long. Draco was just relieved to find someone that was happy to see him since so few seemed all that pleased that he had gotten out of Azkaban.

“Really?” Réamann asked timidly, feeling like a jerk.

“Really,” Draco said flatly, not feeling the need to explain himself to Réamann any. Réamann did not need to know about why he didn't hate Muggles anymore, he did not deserve to know that, but it was important that Réamann understood now that Draco was not about to take anymore of his bullshit.

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

Ginny held Clarissa's hand as they strolled through Diagon Alley. Clarissa was much easier of the two children to win over. Offering to take her to the magical market was enough to make them brand-new best friends.

Clarissa held her hand tight, pointing to everything, a grin so wide on her face Ginny wondered if her teeth hurt from the cold. Clarissa's cheeks were pink from the wind but the color gave her a very bright and joyful appearance. Her hair was tucked up under her winter hat so that the most identifying Malfoy feature of hers was hidden. She was bundled up and wrapped in a bright, knit scarf that was twice as long as she was tall (so while wrapped around her neck it was still in danger of dragging on the ground) with bold rainbow stripes. It was apparently a gift from her “Aunt” Tonks, Ginny able to recognize her friend's eclectic style easily.

Michelangelo walked on Clarissa's side, his pride not allowing him to have as much fun as his younger sister. He was in his Hogwarts cloak that looked new and Slytherin scarf, a black wool hat over his hair to keep it covered and his identity obscured. Anyone seeing Ginny and recognizing her as she passed would simply assume she was out with two of her many nieces and nephews. Ginny wondered how much Draco had paid so that his son could apparently have new uniforms and a nice cloak, and why he would spend so much if he were so obviously tight on gold. She had a feeling it had something to do with Draco's pride in not allowing his son to go off to Hogwarts in secondhand robes. He certainly understood and knew first-hand just how mean kids could be about such things.

“Can we get some ice cream?” Clarissa asked.

“It's freezing out, you couldn't possibly want ice cream,” Ginny laughed.

“Hot fudge on top, to warm us up,” she grinned. Her father had brought home ice cream from Diagon Alley before and Clarissa had fallen in love with the bubblegum flavor.

“Well, how about you, Michael, anything you would like to eat?” Ginny asked, looking over at the standoffish boy.

“Whatever,” he muttered, looking in any direction that wasn't Ginny.

Ginny sighed and moved along. She treated Clarissa to ice cream and let Michelangelo order some brownies. Ginny stayed away from the sweets, already feeling her Christmas dinner hitting her hips. Holiday weight: every woman's nightmare.

Ginny ushered the children into a pub to get warm while she had a drink. She sat down with them near the front, by the frosted over window so that the cool winter light shone on them and shadows of people on the other side moved past.

“Thank you, Ginny,” Clarissa chimed, her spoon frozen in her ice cream, the weather outside so cold she now needed to wait for the ice cream to soften a little…that is, if Ginny hadn't drawn out her wand to use a very weak warming charm on it to make it instantly soft enough to eat.

“Wow,” Clarissa beamed having never really gotten to experience much casual magic in her life. She might have been the daughter of a Pureblood, (Ginny unsure if the children themselves qualified as true “Purebloods,” but knew their mother had been a witch at least) but with Draco and Narcissa both forbidden to do magic and their wands destroyed, (Narcissa's by the Ministry, Draco's during the final battle) the children had been raised knowing but never really seeing magic.

Michelangelo looked over to the magic, but seemed far less impressed, or at least unwilling to show it.

“You're welcome,” Ginny said, folding her arms on the tabletop to lean on them, the children sitting across from her. “You two having a good time?” she asked. Clarissa nodded readily, spoon in her mouth and whipped cream at the corner of her mouth, and Michelangelo firmly ignored her.

“Michael, you're being really rude,” Clarissa scolded.

“And you are being a sell-out,” he retorted as though Ginny were not sitting right there.

“Why are you so unwilling to give her a chance?”

“You weren't woken up to the sounds I was,” he grumbled and Ginny blushed. Apparently Michelangelo had woken, heard the “noises” of Draco and her sharing Christmas Eve together, and had tried to, and eventually did, go back to sleep. Clarissa had slept thought it but had then wandered into Draco's room and created the commotion that had woken Michelangelo for a second time. Ginny was still, understandably, embarrassed over all that.

“You are just being a stupid git,” Clarissa fumed at him, a dab of hot fudge now in the other corner of her mouth.

“Alright, alright you two,” Ginny spoke over them at last, easing them down. “No fighting. Thank you, Clarissa, for defending me, but Michael doesn't have to like me, just so long as he is respectful,” she said as she reached across the table with a napkin to dab Clarissa's mouth clean while Michelangelo grumbled.

“Daddy really likes you,” Clarissa said, almost as though throwing that fact up in Michelangelo's face.

“You really think so?” Ginny asked softly.

“He wouldn't fight with Nana if he didn't,” she said.

“They're still fighting?” Ginny asked, feeling and sounding guilty as she folded her napkin and leaned back.

“She saw the Prophet,” Michelangelo said moodily. Ginny sighed.

“I don't mean to be such a disruption in your life,” she assured, looking more to Clarissa than Michelangelo, hoping to at least maintain the girl's support, the only support she seemed to have at the moment from the family.

“You and Daddy have known each other for a long time?” Clarissa asked, licking at her ice cream covered spoon.

“We knew each other years ago…we are just sort of getting to know each other again…or properly,” she said, not really wanting to lie to herself and say she knew Draco all that well all those years ago, but not really wanting to admit to the children that she was still really in the early stages of getting to know him.

“Yeah, we heard you two getting to know each other, the other night,” Michelangelo said and Ginny blushed again. He wasn't about to let that go was he?

“Stop that, Michael, your just jealous because you don't have a girlfriend to snog,” she fumed and Ginny fought not to smile. Clarissa thought that all that had happened between Draco and her that night was kissing?

Michelangelo clearly knew otherwise, he had said as much moments before and in his bedroom earlier, but despite how upset over it as he was, he apparently was unwilling to shatter his younger sister's innocence.

“Yeah, well, I can do better than puckering up with a Weasley,” he huffed, a little blush on his cheeks.

“You need us to help you?” Clarissa then offered Ginny. Ginny leaned in a little. “We can tell you things about Daddy, things he likes,” she said, seemingly excited over the prospect of being of some assistance.

“You would do that for me?” Ginny asked, glancing over at Michelangelo.

“Sure…what do you need to know?” Clarissa asked, leaning in more, deciding to exclude her brother from the business.

“Well, what's important to know about him, do you think?” Ginny asked, humoring the girl but enjoying this chance to maybe find out more about Draco, things he might not reveal about himself on his own, hearing it from someone who knew him so well. It was also a rather touching bonding moment between her and Clarissa.

“Well, he's a good singer,” she confessed and Ginny smiled at her.

“Is he now?”

“Oh yes, he used to sing to us when we would visit him, and he sings along with me on movie night sometimes,” Clarissa confessed, practically whispering across the table at Ginny. “You should have him sing to you,” she suggested, “it would be so romantic,” she gushed.

“You think he would,” Ginny whispered back, grinning at the girl's enthusiasm.

“Oh yes…he is bashful but don't let him mislead you. Just beg and pout and bat your eyes and he will do it…he will do anything for you if you beg just right,” she said, knowing how to manipulate her father best of anyone other than possibly Narcissa.

“Really,” Ginny laughed.

“I don't think Dad would be happy to hear you are telling his…girlfriend…the best ways to manipulate him,” Michelangelo interrupted, talking at a normal volume that seemed so much louder because of all the whispering.

“We're women, it's what we do,” Clarissa said with her nose up in the air. Ginny laughed. Clarissa was going to be a real heartbreaker. Draco must have been painfully aware of that.

“Well, where do we want to go next?” she asked the two of them.

“The Quidditch shop!” Clarissa beamed brightly.

“You like Quidditch?” Ginny asked.

“Not really, but Michael does. He hasn't stopped talking about it since getting back from Hogwarts,” Clarissa explained. “I know he wants to try out for the House Team next year, and wants to go to the shop, but he won't ask you, because he's a total Hippogriff,” she said, rolling her eyes and Michelangelo huffed.

“You like Quidditch?” Ginny asked, looking over at the boy then.

“Clare made that quite clear just now, I would assume,” he replied curtly.

“You know, I played for my house team,” she said, trying to hopefully make a connection with the boy. She really wanted them to like her, and more than for the reason that it was important to Draco.

“What position?” Clarissa asked.

“Seeker for half a year, filling in for the old one that got thrown off the team in my fourth, and then a Chaser the following year,” she explained, not mentioning Harry Potter. She was trying to make amends with Michelangelo, not bring up more reasons for him to dislike her.

“Were you any good?” he asked, a little curious despite himself.

“I won a few games in my time,” she said with a smile.

“Dad won't let us have brooms,” Clarissa sulked. “We live with all Muggles, so you can understand why, but it's not fair,” she pouted, looking moodily down at her ice cream.

“You're right, that isn't fair,” Ginny agreed.

“I have flown. First years get flying lessons and I am one of the best in the year. The best of anyone that hadn't flown before,” Michelangelo said proudly while maintaining his dignified and standoffish poise. Ginny saw so much of Draco in the boy, it was amazing. He truly was his father's son.

“I haven't flown,” Clarissa moped.

“Well,” Ginny said, leaning in across the table a little to drop her voice. “What if we went to the Quidditch shop, then ducked out of here. I can take you two someplace where we can fly,” she said and the children, even Michelangelo, stared wide-eyed.

“Are you serious?” Clarissa gasped.

“You are not teasing us?” Michelangelo asked skeptically.

“Come on, eat up and we will have more time to fly,” she said, unable to resist a broad grin at the children as their readable excitement swelled and they each finished their treats quickly.

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Author's Note:

Thank you Twisted Sister for the song “Were Not Gonna Take It” and Bon Jovi for the song “You Give Love a Bad Name”. Apparently Michelangelo is fond of 80s Muggle rock music. What a coincidence, so am I. :)

I hope you all still love Michelangelo after this chapter, I know I sure do. Clarissa is just so sweet, she makes me sick. Réamann was a dickwad again, but I still love him, he is important to Draco's character development, how else would I find excuses to have fun flashbacks? Draco got a little beasty, I couldn't resist, he was coming across too human to me for a while.

I used a little reference to the first X-men movie with Draco in the car during the flashback. Him jerking away from Derik and Derik saying "I'm not going to hurt you, kid," is from the scene where Rogue is in the truck with Wolverine. I didn't set out to copy it, but it just sorta came out that way and I didn't like it written up any other way, so I left it. It's all good, that movie rocks.

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22. Chapter 22

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-two

Working together after Draco and Reamann's little row was none too productive that day. Reamann seemed terrified of offending Draco, and Draco was being too easily offended over just about everything.

Draco decided to go home.

It was seven when he left. He had been at the Ministry since nine that morning. Anyone would be grumpy after ten hours at work, even if they didn't have to deal with Reamann and his constant insensitivity. How did Ginny put up with him? Or was Reamann's tactlessness reserved exclusively for him? Oh for him to be so lucky. Draco felt that it was guys like Reamann that gave all men a bad name. Draco didn't consider himself the “sensitive type,” just a guy that didn't perpetually have his foot in his mouth or head up is arse.

Draco got home, ready for the worst, prepared to leap in and start defending people's feelings, but stepped into his living room to find Ginny and Clarissa sitting on the couch together, Michelangelo in his chair, looking a little unapproachable but in no way disrespectful. They were watching the telly, as a group.

“Daddy!” Clarissa exclaimed, getting up quickly to greet her father at the door with a barrage of “I love you”s. Ginny smiled at Draco and stood to move over to him, more slowly than Clarissa.

“Hey there,” she said softly, greeting him with a kiss, Clarissa between them.

“Hello,” he said, surprise readable on his face.

Despite his shock over not seeing his son and Ginny at each other's throats, he managed to realize, with a different kind of shock, that he really desired this, “this” being a proper family.

How he longed for something like this every night: for his children to welcome him home after work and for him to have a wife to greet him with a kiss.

Okay, thinking of Ginny fondly as a wife was mental, but still, he could not deny that the idea of having such a thing - having a woman, having a wife - was more than just a little heartwarming. It was such a welcome and pleasant feeling that it made Draco somehow forget how grumpy he was after leaving Reamann at the Ministry.

“We went to Diagon Alley and then Ginny took us to her old home where we got to fly!” Clarissa said happily, prepared to go into a long explanation of her day while still standing by the front door, arms latched around her father's very narrow waist.

“You took them to the Burrow?” Draco asked, looking at Ginny with shock.

“No one was home, Mum and Dad were at Bill's,” she assured. “Come on, why don't we sit down,” she offered, laughing slightly at Clarissa's enthusiasm. Draco smiled at her.

They sat together on the couch, Michelangelo still refusing to join in and be a part of the lovely little family moment.

Clarissa very happily went into a long-winded account of their day, and what it was like to fly and see magic, and meet other witches and wizards. Draco listened, looking up at Ginny every once in awhile to share a dreamily glance with her. Michelangelo looked sickened by the innocent exchange of unspoken affection.

“So I don't have to ask if you had a good day?” Draco teased, smiling down at his daughter. Clarissa laughed and elbowed him playfully while he reached around and tickled her side un-expectantly, then trying to accuse Ginny of being the one responsible.

“Did you have a good time, Michelangelo?” Draco asked, his son not saying a word since Draco got home.

Michelangelo shrugged.

“Eh, it was alright,” he said indifferently, elbow on the arm of the chair, chin on his palm, him ignoring the scene to stare at the television with bored eyes.

Ginny looked at Draco and shrugged, giving him an “I tried,” look. It seemed Michelangelo had settled on the silent treatment and stubborn refusal to acknowledge the situation as a means of dealing with it all. It was hardly what Draco wanted, but it was an improvement from that morning.

“Ginny, you said you had a gift for Daddy,” Clarissa interrupted.

“Oh, yes,” she said, fighting not to laugh at how much Draco seemed to perk up at that, his tired and hooded eyes gleaming a little with excitement.

“You two, go, open the gift,” Clarissa demanded, standing from the couch where she had been sitting between them.

“We can do it right here,” Ginny offered.

“No,” Clarissa said firmly, her hands on her hips. “It has to be romantic, meaning just the two of you,” she said, sounding suddenly very bossy. She grabbed Draco's and Ginny's hand and pulled at them, wanting them to stand but unable to force them with her slight weight and stature. “Go into the other room,” she ordered, Draco and Ginny standing without the need of Clarissa pulling at them.

“Awright, awright,” Draco said, making it sound as though Clarissa was twisting his arm over the matter. Ginny giggled silently as Draco lead her away by the hand, Clarissa at their heels, shooing them.

Draco and Ginny disappeared into his bedroom and Michelangelo rolled his eyes over at his sister.

“You know they won't behave themselves if they are alone.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but you are a butt-head and so they need to go elsewhere so they can have a romantic moment opening gifts, you not there to ruin it,” she huffed, sitting down on the couch in dignified poise she had picked up from her grandmother.

Draco and Ginny closed themselves in the bedroom and Draco found, already on his bed, a gift lying there, in red Christmas paper that was covered in candy canes and snowmen.

“How…festive,” he mocked and she laughed.

“Shut up, it was the only paper we had left and it's perfectly suited for the occasion,” she said, pushing him down to sit on the low mattress, joining him on the other side of the gift. Draco picked it up, it relatively light for its size and Ginny scooted closer.

“Gee, what could this guitar-shaped package be?” Draco laughed, Ginny smiling, watching him rip away the paper. He took a deep breath and then sighed, smiling at her, but looking a little guilty. “This is a very nice guitar; expensive,” he said, looking at her with the partially unwrapped guitar across his lap.

“I saw yours there,” she said, indicating his old beat up guitar in the corner, “and it came to me while out shopping last minute and seeing this one, that you would probably enjoy a nicer, newer, better one,” she explained and Draco laughed softly.

“You don't even know if I'm any good, yet you spent a few hundred pounds on this?”

“I can't imagine a Malfoy, a stubborn breed they are, as being terrible at anything they endeavor at,” she teased and me smirked at her.

“I suppose that's to be taken as a complement,” he drawled while tilting his head.

“I bet you play well,” she said confidently.

“I have been teaching myself for years,” he admitted. Ginny smiled. “I can read music and I play piano and the violin, so I assumed that taking up another instrument would be only a mild challenge. After three years, however, I'm far from the best,” he muttered, his attention down on the instrument, ripping the paper away fully and dropping it aside.

“Is there anything in-between? Can you not be an utter failure without having to be the best there is at something?” she asked.

“My attitude towards such things too black and white for you?”

“It just seems rather bleak.”

“Sorry, it's hard to break myself of my father's standards,” he said with a sad smile while admitting that.

“Was he tough, like, demanding?” Ginny asked, this being the first time Draco had ever spoken of his father to her. She seemed to recall him mentioning his father had a temper, but he had been speaking in regards to the House-elves at the time. She had met his mother, unfortunately, but Lucius Malfoy…as Draco knew him…was still an enigma to her.

“Well, if a grade was a ninety-nine he would ask why it wasn't a one-hundred, and if I were second best he would ask if being the `best loser' was satisfying,” he divulged with a sigh.

“I don't think that's fair.”

“He just wanted me to try my hardest. He really was proud of me, really…he just couldn't show it,” he said, sounding almost like he was still convincing himself of that. “I don't think he knew how to show it,” he then elucidated.

“I think you sell yourself short,” she said, reaching around to hug him from behind. “I hear you are also an excellent singer,” she then went on to say.

“Clarissa telling you tall tales now?” he asked.

“I don't think she was lying. She said you were, well are, shy and that you would deny it and so I should not believe you, and demand that you sing to me,” she said, smiling as Draco groaned. His daughter was demolishing all his defenses against Ginny. “And what is this I hear about an `eyebrow trick'?” she asked and Draco pulled away to look at her.

“Oh, she told you about that too, did she?” he asked, eying her intently but raising his left eyebrow, earning a giggle from Ginny.

“I didn't know you could do that,” she laughed as Draco raised and lowered each eyebrow individually before relaxing them and smiling.

“Well, honestly, the story behind it is none-too-glamorous, or humorous…There simply isn't much to do in Azkaban. One has to find things to keep busy or you go…” he paused for a moment before smiling at her, “mental,” he finished. It was a little sad really, but he had spent hours of days just practicing to get his eyebrows to move separate and distinctly. “I can throw playing cards like no one's business and with amazing accuracy, card tricks? I know them all. I can make the best shadow puppets, and I'm also rather flexible,” he divulged.

“Really?” Ginny asked, intrigued by this last bit of information more than the rest.

“Yes. Years spent alone in a small cell left me plenty of time to stretch and see just how far I can bend one way, or reach something, or touch something. It even has some uses, it helps the ache sometimes.”

“How flexible?” she asked, eying him mischievously, hoping he was reading her dirty thoughts.

“Maybe I'll show you someday,” he teased, kissing her nose, knowing exactly what she was thinking and honestly intrigued by the possibilities himself, if he were feeling more up to it. As it was, he did not want to admit to too much, like saying he could do a split and then be expected to demonstrate such. Sure he could do back-bends and handstands and all that stuff, but he wasn't a performer either, ready to do a trick on comand...and he rarely felt up to it anyways.

Draco placed the guitar across his legs, strummed it once and smiled. He removed it from his lap and carefully placed it on the floor while twisting in Ginny's embrace to face her.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly, kissing her. Ginny twined her fingers into his hair and held him close and he reached around to hold her. She pushed him down on the mattress, not breaking the kiss, and he allowed her to lie on top of him.

Draco lapped at Ginny's mouth as she reached down to undress him. He was about to remind her that his children were home, but she seemed to realize that herself and pulled out her wand. She cast some sort of silent charm towards his door and Draco looked up at her while sitting up on his elbows.

Ginny leaned down to lick his ear and whisper in it, her breath hot and thick.

“I can pull some strings at the Ministry…don't worry, you won't get in any trouble. I just made the room soundproof and the door is locked,” she explained, pushing Draco down roughly at that point, intent on having her way with him despite his obvious discomfort.

Draco looked up at her, surprised and a little uneasy still. His children were watching a movie in the living room…that meant there was only a wall between him and them and Ginny already had his pants pulled down. Why was this so inappropriate and yet so enticingly erotic at the same time?

Ginny having so much control was a new experience for him. She got to do most of the work, and he got to lie there, wanting to do more but her not letting him. She reached up and pinned his arms down so he could not even hold onto her hips. He could have struggled more and broken her grip, but he didn't want to, his view of her, looking up at her, was just spectacular.

Panting and sweating, Ginny enticed more sound than ever out of Draco as he lay pinned below her, only able to rock his hips up to meet hers. Eventually allowed to sit up, Draco took advantage of this opportunity to grope, and feel, and grab, and hold, and nibble, and finger more than the other times before. Ginny was absolutely gasping as she straddled his lap and rocked on him while he sat there, nibbling and sucking on her neck where it met her shoulder. She was wearing the necklace, and that made a part of him very satisfied.

“Who would have thought…honestly?” Ginny panted some minutes later. “If some Master of Divination had told me back in Hogwarts that I would end up with you, Draco, I would have called them a loony,” she laughed, Draco panting beside her, both covered in sweat and not touching because they felt so hot. Ginny's skin was tingling and Draco was shaking.

“Shagging a Weasley, I never would have imagined, even with you being a Pureblood,” he panted.

“Excuse me?” Ginny said, suddenly sounding insulted and a touch angry.

“I didn't mean…” he attempted to touch her, but she just huffed and rolled over so her back was to him now. “No, please don't take that the wrong way, please, I'm sorry,” he begged, rolling onto his side to lean down and kiss the back of her neck as she refused to look at him.

“And what way did you mean it, Draco?” she said, sounding accusatory.

“It just sort of came out of me, and it came out wrong. I did not mean: `ha-ha, we shall make little Pureblooded babies worthy of the Malfoy family tree,'” he said, sounding so pleading for her to listen to him. “I merely meant to point out the irony of it. You are a Pureblood, you are everything my family would have wanted and expected me to end up with, but you are a Weasley,” he explained, hugging her from behind so he was now pressing his nude body against hers like they were spooning, only it was far less romantic than it should have been since Ginny was rocking her shoulders to try and throw Draco off of her. “I did not mean to come across like a supremacist. The irony was clearly only able to be seen from my perspective…I'm sorry,” he said, kissing her neck again and holding tight.

“I can't help but feel you are one though,” she grumbled, “that you still hold Purebloods in a higher regard than any other witch or wizard. I think I can see now where your son's attitude comes from.” Ginny fought firmly against Draco's attempts to distract her as he kissed her neck.

“Ginny,” Draco said softly.

“Was Michael and Claire's mother a Pureblood, Draco?” Ginny asked and Draco noticeably stiffened behind her, his surprise and discomfort from the sudden question very clear.

“Yes…a fourth-generation,” he muttered quietly, meaning his wife's family had been of entirely wizarding ancestry, without any Muggle ancestors whatsoever, as far as her great-grandparents at least.

“Is that why you liked her so much? Is that why you like me so much?” she asked, trying to roll over and throw Draco off of her, but him not allowing it. He really was stronger than he looked. Ginny still knew very little about Draco's wife. No last name, nothing about her personality, and Draco wanted it to stay that way. Reamann knew and, honestly, Reamann's reaction was what he feared, that of pity, and Draco didn't want that from Ginny.

“Now, Weasley, that's just not fair,” Draco pouted, preventing Ginny from rolling him off of her while sounding hurt. “I cannot help the way I was raised, and it takes a lot of work to try and rewire how one's brain automatically thinks. Yes. A part of me still does hold a certain respect for witches and wizards who are Purebloods. Is that what you wanted to hear? Yes,” he said firmly while holding her tight against him. “But I have also learned the value everyone else has. I can tell you that being a Pureblood in prison is no bloody picnic and grants you no special treatment. If anything it was harder since everyone seemed to have something to prove and that it was their personal duty to make sure I realized I was no better than any of them. It was a harsh but humbling experience,” he said darkly and Ginny stopped fighting against his hold on her. Draco had never mentioned his time in Azkaban before either. “I have lived in a Muggle neighborhood, worked with a Squib and a Muggle-born and interacted on a personal level with Muggles and Half-bloods on a daily basis for three years. I have learned that my preconceived ideas about them were not only wrong, but unfair.”

“Draco,” she said softly.

“If I were truly a blood-supremacist that would mean you are a Blood-traitor and I wouldn't be fucking you because you would be something worse than even a Muggle-born,” he said harshly.

“Draco…”

“Yes, Weasley?” he said, sounding only a touch bitter.

“I'm sorry,” she said, rolling and Draco allowing her to now, but in a way that meant she rolled while in his arms so they were front to front, facing each other while on their side. “I shouldn't have jumped on you like that, or said what I did. It wasn't fair.”

“No, it wasn't,” he said not looking her in the eyes.

“I just, I hear Michael spew such supremacist talk and, then when it seemingly slipped out of you…it just hurt my feelings… Michael hurts my feelings…”

“I know. I will have a firm talk with him, I swear. You have my mother to thank for that. He knows I do not tolerate such talk under my roof, and Clarissa doesn't seem as tainted by the idea, but… Michael …he just seems so drawn to the idea. He is a lot like me.”

“No kidding,” Ginny interjected.

“He feels victimized and wounded and draws some sort of value and power from the idea of blood-supremacy…he gets that from my mother,” he explained softly. Ginny could tell that Draco felt "victimized" and "wounded" too, but he didn't seem drawn to the idea of blood-supremacy (anymore) as much as he was just terribly bitter. Maybe being a werewolf did that to him. It is hard to hold strong to ideals of blood-supremacy when you are not even human anymore.

“Will you forgive me?” she pouted in a cute way, wigging her hips against his a little, rubbing herself against him.

“Maybe,” he muttered, leaning down and kissing her throat. “You are going to have to make it up to me. My feelings are quite wounded,” he said, rubbing right back against her. “But not right now,” he said, rolling away from her suddenly, leaving Ginny to groan and pout.

“Draco,” she whined, wanting to keep going.

“No, no, my children are in the other room, probably wondering what it taking us so long…”

“I'm sure Michael has some idea,” she said grumpily.

“All the more reason we should cool it,” he said, gathering his clothing up from the floor as she squatted down. He stood with a groan and Ginny sat up on her elbows a little to look at him. She liked looking at him. “Sex makes me achy,” he complained, taking a few stiff steps before flopping down onto the mattress to start dressing.

“You alright?” Ginny asked, crawling over to him to talk into the back of his neck and kiss it tenderly, wrapping her arms around his ribs.

“I think I threw out my hip,” he grumbled as it obviously caused him some amount of pain to pull his knickers and then jeans on.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly, still kissing his neck. She pushed some of his slightly tangled hair away to kiss more skin but discovered a mark on his body she had never seen before, a mark she had somehow missed in the times she had roamed his body. There was a small tattoo there, about an inch high and three inches across, near the hairline on the back of his neck. It was just a number.

“369?” she asked and Draco stiffened. He tilted his head back to force his hair to slide and cover the tattoo again. “What does that mean?” she asked, curious about the number and over Draco's reaction.

Draco heaved a sigh. “That's my identification,” he said heavily.

“Your what?”

“My number, assigned by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Beast Division,” he explained softly.

“This is because you are a werewolf?" she asked, pushing his hair away to look at the simple mark again in horror, the black ink so harsh beside his white skin and hair.

“Yes.”

“They gave this to you?” she asked, speaking of the Ministry, and he just nodded. “That's terrible,” she exclaimed.

“It could be worse,” he said and she dropped his hair to look at him though he refused to turn to her, unable to see how anything could be worse than being branded in such a way. “They, at first, were tattooing the interior of the left ear, just under the top crease…God that hurt,” he sighed. “The idea was that it would be an identifying tag when we are…shifted, but as a person it was hard to hide. They went back and painfully removed the tattoo and instead placed it on the neck. It's a little easier to hide for us, and it's not that hard to find when we are shifted, though not as easy as it had been on the ear because you have to part the fur,” he explained, sounding numb and indifferent.

“I can't believe they tattoo you guys, I had no idea,” she said, sounding outraged. Draco took comfort in that, but knew her being upset would fix nothing so he twisted a little to plant a kiss on her, to sooth her.

“It's awright,” he said, holding her face with his one hand. It really wasn't. It was a terribly insulting thing to have to endure, be held down and branded and tagged like an animal, but he was thankful it was now in a place he could conceal it, only a white scar in the shape on his numbers remaining on the interior of his ear should one look close enough to notice. Really, he was outraged more for his children than for himself. So young and innocent, never having asked for this (not like he had himself) and yet they were marked too.

There was a reason they each had such long hair. His and Clarissa's were the longest, Michelangelo's curls barely reaching past the tattoo, all so that people wouldn't be able to see the mark while they were out on the street. It was like having a scarlet letter, only they had done nothing wrong. They were victims, yet they were shunned. It was not fair. Draco felt guilt because he had done this to his children. They were shunned because of him.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked meekly, knowing their romp had caused him some pain.

“It was worth it,” he assured, not answering her question, standing and limping over to his dresser where his cane stood. He leaned on it for support as he one handedly tried to shake out his shirt so it would be right-side-out.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, watching him struggle on stubbornly, too proud to ever ask for assistance.

“Sex could kill you, you know,” he said, looking at her and she looked a little surprised. “Do you have any idea of all the things a body goes through when having sex? The heart races and arteries constrict causing the blood pressure to skyrocket. The pupils dilate, core temperature rises, breathing becomes rapid and shallow, and the brain fires bursts of confusing and conflicting electrical impulses. Secretions erupt out of every gland, and muscles tense and spasm. It's violent and rigorous and potentially lethal,” he said oh-so-seriously. Ginny looked at him, not sure if he was joking or not. “It's a damn good thing that it's fun, otherwise no one would ever risk it,” he sighed as he managed to pull his shirt on and lean on his cane more.

“You have a seriously bleak outlook on life, don't you,” she said while shaking her head and looking right at him.

“I rather like to think of it as just me being well informed,” he retorted with a smirk.

“Of course you would.”

Ginny cleaned herself up a little and within a few additional moments she was dressed and presentable. Draco grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles before dropping it away slowly and leaning down stiffly to grab his new guitar.

Ginny led the way out of the room and back into the living room where Michelangelo and Clarissa were sitting quietly, Michelangelo looking bored and Clarissa apparently happy to see them.

“Wow, is that what Ginny got you?” Clarissa asked, looking at the guitar Draco held in his left had as he limped into the living room.

“Yup,” he said, smiling, leaning on his cane.

“That is so wicked,” she exclaimed as Draco set it down on the coffee table. “You gonna play for us more then?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“Were you playing for her in the other room?” she asked, assuming that was what took them so long, that being the obvious explanation to her.

“He was strumming something,” Michelangelo muttered without looking away from the television, looking bored with his chin propped up on his hand still. Unfortunately Draco was within hearing, and caning distance, and smacked him on the head.

“Enough of that,” he said in an irritated voice, Michelangelo pouting and rubbing his head.

“Draco,” Ginny sighed, not wanting Draco to cane his son in front of her, even if Michelangelo was seriously asking for it.

“Come on, you, we need to have a talk,” Draco said, pointing at Michelangelo and crooking his finger in a come-hither motion, wanting his son to follow him before turning and walking off to the kitchen. Ginny and Clarissa looked at Michelangelo as he got up and groaned and sighed and moaned the whole way. He disappeared through the doorway, Draco already waiting. Clarissa gave Ginny an “uh-oh” look and Ginny felt a little uncomfortable. Was Draco going to scold Michelangelo? She really didn't want to overhear that.

A few moments passed and they heard no raised voices, so Ginny got the impression that Draco was keeping his voice down in whatever he was saying.

“Did Daddy sing to you?” Clarissa asked, surprising Ginny since she had nearly forgotten for a second the little girl was sitting with her while so concerned over Draco and Michelangelo.

“Oh, no,” she confessed.

“Then what took you two so long?” she asked.

“He played the guitar a little for me,” she said, fighting not to blush. She did not want to say Draco had sung since she had yet to hear his voice and did not want Clarissa asking what she thought. She was sure Draco was good at playing the guitar and that would be easier for her to lie about.

“He is so good,” Clarissa beamed. “He's teaching himself, did you know that?”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“I swear, there is, like, nothing my dad can't do,” he said so seriously that Ginny laughed softly.

“Really?” she teased skeptically.

“Well, actually,” she said, getting a mischievous look on her face then and smiling. “There is one thing he can't do,” she confessed, ready to divulge the information should Ginny show interest. Ginny leaned down a little, like they were sharing a big secret, and smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“He can't whistle,” she giggled. Ginny looked at the girl, saw she was being totally serious, and laughed then.

“Whistle?” she repeated.

“He can, like, do anything and everything there is on this planet, but he just can't whistle. He says it's his only flaw,” he divulged and Ginny couldn't hold back her laughter then. She was positive Draco had more flaws than just the inability to whistle, but she would say nothing on that to Clarissa. It was cute, and Draco obviously built up quite admiration in her.

“Can you whistle?” Ginny asked. Clarissa puckered her lips and whistled a perky tune before her lips broke into a smile and she could not whistle anymore.

“I can too,” Ginny laughed, whistling a few notes then herself. Clarissa laughed.

Ginny was happy she and the girl had made some sort of connection. If only she could think of a way to win Michelangelo over too, life would be so much easier.

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

“You are being a serious troll, you know that don't you,” Draco reprimanded has he leaned on his cane, Michelangelo standing before him.

Draco could recall many memories like this one as a boy, but the setting was far from where he was now. Draco could remember standing in front of his father's desk in the study, his father looming before him. He had to stand up straight and keep his hands at his sides the whole time his father reprimanded. He never yelled, but Draco sometimes wished he had because disappointment was always so much harder for a child to handle when hearing it in their parent's voice. Lucius always carried a sort of angry disappointment in his tone when telling him off.

Draco now stood before his son, reprimanding him in nearly the exact same way, something as a boy he swore he would never do. He had promised himself that his children would be allowed to stay up late, and have ice cream for breakfast, and fly their brooms in the house, because those were all the things he had been unfairly denied. Draco knew though, in hindsight, his parents had only done what they had to: been parents to him, and he could not resent them for it, but he did make sure that his children never feared him like he had his father. When Michelangelo slouched or fidgeted during a reprimand, he need not fear the swing of his cane, and it was not only because Draco needed it to lean on for support.

Michelangelo stood, facing his father, standing tall but chin down.

“You are being unfair to her. I know things started off…badly, and that is entirely my fault, and I am truly sorry about that, but the level of disrespect you are showing her, and me, is completely unacceptable. Did I raise you to treat women in such a way? Did your nana teach you to talk like that to me?” he demanded.

“No sir,” Michelangelo muttered, still looking down.

“I understand you are not happy about all this, and I'm not asking you to like it, but I am asking you to show respect. Be mad at me for all this, but not her.”

“Ginny told me to hate her, and to be happy for you. Now you are telling me to respect her and be mad at you, and you are both saying I'm being unfair either way,” he said, looking up at his father, them both keeping their voices low.

“Michael-”

“I don't think any of this is fair to me. Have you thought about that? I mean, that mess on Christmas Eve night aside, I think you spending Christmas with her, or running off on your little dates with her, and neglecting Claire and I for this case, is terribly unfair,” he said heatedly.

“I do not mean to make you feel abandoned. That's the last thing I would ever do, and the thing I have been worried about most when it comes to how you two would respond to this idea. Ginny and I are dating, but that doesn't mean I'm not your father anymore, that I won't be here still.”

“But you're never here anymore! You are working late, you are on a date, you are going to a ball…I thought coming home would mean I get to see more of you, not less,” he said, sounding hurt now. Draco's brows creased, crumbling under the pressures of being a father. He could not handle his children being unhappy.

“Michelangelo, I'm sorry,” he said softly. “What do you want me to do? Stop working on the case? People would die. Stop seeing Ginny? Then I would be miserable. I want you and Claire to be happy. You two are my everything, but I have to be happy too. I have based my happiness purely around yours and your sister's happiness for years. I have been happy because I knew you two were happy…but that is not enough…now that I have been with Ginny, as brief a time as that has been, I realize just how unhappy I was.”

“You mean Claire and I don't make you happy?” Michelangelo accused.

“I'm saying…” Draco said, taking a deep breath, his son's words cutting him deep as he was just abut to admit to something terribly personal, “I have been lonely,” he confessed watching Michelangelo's face for his reaction. Michelangelo's glare seemed to soften around the edges slightly and Draco knew his son was taken aback. “I have never had the chance to really be with a woman. I was young, then in Azkaban, then out but shunned and a fulltime dad.”

“What about mum?” Michelangelo, probably for the first time in his life, muttering those three words. No one talked about “mum” in that house, Narcissa always needed to get a drink at her mention, and Draco's eyes got hollow. Clarissa and Michelangelo had learned to just not ask, but he was asking now. Draco looked a little wounded and did not know if his son was ready to know about his mother quite yet. He was twelve, but was twelve too young to try and explain what a nymphomaniac was, or what it felt like to be taken advantage of to feed such a need? Could he tell his son his mother had abandoned him and Clarrissa after his nana got out, to die only months later?

That was a harsh truth Draco didn't even want to fully believe still, let alone share with others, especially his son.

“Your mother and I were…not meant to be, and we never got to be together…bars always between us,” Draco said sadly. “I spent ten years so lonely, and the last three happy just to be free-ish, and being with you…but you have to understand my need for a little companionship.”

“Why her?” Michelangelo demanded.

“What's wrong with her,” Draco asked, a little heated now. Anger what he clung to because he was feeling vulnerable. It always made him feel better, but he hated letting it surface when he was dealing with his children. He did not want them fearing his temper like he had his father's. Still, he remembered what Ginny had said in the bedroom, about her feelings being hurt by Michelangelo's attitude and supremacist dribble, and Draco was angry. Not entirely at his son, but his mother, the woman who had filled his son's head with such garbage like she had him. It had taken him years, several near-death experiences, a few harsh beatings (among other things) while in Azkaban, and a lot of work to overcome all his parents had done to him and raised him to believe. He hated to think what damage had been done to his son already.

“She is a Weasley, she is a Gryffindor, she is in another relationship already, she…”

“Is a Blood-Traitor?” Draco asked, his voice low in a sort of warning that made Michelangelo recoil just a little, honestly about to have said that and realizing it would have been very bad. He could not lie to his father about his intentions, he knew that, and he knew he was in trouble. He did not want to be in trouble.

“I did not mean -”

“Do not try and lie to me, young man, or I will get angry,” Draco warned. Michelangelo eased back and lowered his chin. He knew it was impossible to lie to his father, a man that could read minds and feelings. “I did not raise my son to hold to such ideals,” he then went on to say, carefully keeping his voice smooth and calm but so disappointed and harsh. It was official; he had become his father, only he was defending the Muggles, not putting them down. ”I did not realize this was such a problem with you. When I got that owl a few weeks into the school year, McGonagall claiming you had called a student a Mudblood -”

“That was one time -”

“And that you had received a week's worth of detentions, I figured it was nothing. Now I realize you seriously buy into all that garbage,” he said, talking over his son so that he could not try and defend himself.

“I don't understand, I mean, you…”

“I talked that talk for years,” he scolded. “It's really easy to feel superior when putting others down. I got so much satisfaction and self-worth out of that, but when it came to walking the walk, and acting like the Death Eater I had been raised to be, I couldn't do it.”

“I'm not trying to be a Death Eater,” Michelangelo breathed, looking a little scared at the prospect, at the accusation.

“You are certainly talking like one. I spent ten years in Azkaban because of words like that. All that saved me from a lifetime in that place was they couldn't prove my actions…whatever they were,” Draco muttered that last, not about to divulge his past to his twelve-year-old son. “Do you want to go to Azkaban?” he asked.

“No, I mean, they wouldn't…”

“The Ministry learned their lesson after the first war. They cut people breaks, they let people plead their case and protest their innocence…and because of that a lot of guilty Death Eaters walked. When it came to the second war, they were not about to let that happen again. Once bitten, twice shy. They would not bat an eye at throwing someone away for spewing such things.” Draco was trying to scare his son, and by the look on Michelangelo's face, it was working. He did not honestly believe the Ministry would throw a twelve-year-old in Azkaban for saying a “bad word” but then again, he had only been under-age and seventeen when he was locked up, and Michelangelo had a lot going against him already being a werewolf and Malfoy and all. Even if it was an empty threat, Draco was sure Michelangelo saw the seriousness of the situation.

“I…I'm sorry,” Michelangelo muttered, looking away. “I just, I don't like you being with her…she is with someone else…”

“I know,” Draco said softly.

“How does that not bother you?”

“It does.”

“Then why are you putting up with it?” he asked, looking at his father, his need to understand very apparent on his face, the only problem was, Draco did not know what to say.

Why was he putting up with it? Why was he willing to be the other man, or Ginny's dirty little secret at the very least?

Michelangelo seemed to pick up on his father's inner struggle.

“You really like her that much?” he asked. Draco looked at his son. Was it that obvious?

“Michael,”

“You deserve more than this, if you're giving that much,” he said, displaying his wisdom beyond his years. In many ways Michelangelo was a brat, and in many ways he was very perceptive and knowing.

“Ginny and I have been together for a week. There is time to figure out exactly what we are and what we mean to each other. I only ask for your blessing so that I may continue,” he said softly.

Michelangelo considered him for a long moment.

“I only want you to be happy,” he sighed. “I'm sorry,” he then said. “I am not being fair, or nice, to either of you.”

Draco smiled in a sort of sad way and held his left arm out to his side while still leaning on his cane, welcoming Michelangelo to give him a hug. His son did and Draco was thankful that he had not truly become his father. His daddy had not given him many hugs, and certainly not after having reprimanded him.

Ginny and Clarissa looked over as Draco and Michelangelo reentered the living room. They were not talking, and though neither looked angry, there was a very real heaviness they brought into the room with them. Ginny stood.

“I ought to go, I mean, it's late and…”

Draco just grabbed her hand and pulled her into a kiss, fierce but just a press of lips. Michelangelo sat back down in his chair and Clarissa blushed a little while pretending not to look.

“Thank you for watching them today,” he said softly, still holding her hand, face up close to hers.

“I, I enjoyed myself…really, it was nothing.”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he whispered into her face, not even making it a question, suggestion, or request. Ginny took an unsteady breath and tried to not let all the sex show on her face. Draco had the sort of whispering voice that made womens' clothing fall off, which wasn't a problem except for the fact that the children were in the room.

“Yes,” she managed with only a breath.

Draco escorted Ginny out the door, opening it and leaning on it as she turned to mutter more goodbyes. He eventually closed the door, shutting out the cold, and turned to the children in the room with him.

“Is it supper time?” he asked. Clarissa beamed and got up to rush to the kitchen, the routine initiated and them all about to cook dinner together. Michelangelo got up more slowly and Draco lingered, so close to the kitchen door already, waiting for him. Michelangelo managed a meek smile as he approached and Draco held out his arm again.

They together walked into the kitchen, Draco's free arm down around his son's shoulder as he walked slowly with his limp.

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

Thursday went by in a flash, Draco working in the hall and receiving a dozen notes a day from Reamann asking for information on this and that and everything in-between. Draco got the impression Reamann was avoiding him. Not that he cared, but he kind of, sort of, maybe felt a little bad. He did not know why, because Reamann had been such an arse to him, but he felt he might have, maybe, overreacted…again.

Draco, hating the feeling of guilt, decided to be grumpy instead. He answered, as best he could, all Reamann's notes, sending him texts and theories, all the while wondering how long it was going to take someone to figure out that he was Reamann's “informant.” Draco knew it was only a matter of time, Sebastian already suspected him, and should the Ministry at any time pull their heads out of their own arses to maybe fixate on something other than this case, they would surely come down on him and do a full on investigation. Draco did not have much to hide when it came to his knowledge of the case, and knew that was not what they were going to bust him for should they bother. He knew they would very easily discover the deal he and Reamann had made, his aid in exchange for potions, and Draco was not looking forward to being sent back to Azkaban. In fact, he was downright scared. What seemed so harmless a week or more ago, now seemed ominous and risky.

Draco was feeling like shit but was too afraid to ask Reamann for a potion.

It was taking more potions now to get the same effect. Draco understood this as being an accumulative effect, his body was building a tolerance, a resistance to the antidotes he was taking. A single potion was not getting him through a whole day anymore and the low once the ache came back was so much worse than before. He was caught, once again, in the awful cycle that bordered addiction, and yet knowing this was not enough and he could not stop himself or prevent it from taking hold.

The only thing that stopped him that day from driving himself crazy with guilt, worry and anxiety, was Ginny. She came down before her lunch and spent some time with him. Coderdale was mysteriously absent throughout Ginny's visit, and Draco did not take advantage of that…right away…but when Ginny started playing with his hair, raking her fingers through it slowly from behind and then parting it to kiss the back of his neck, he set aside his worries, and ignored his aching, to enjoy his “alone time” with Ginny.

Friday meant Draco had to go to his Probation Witch and Support Wizard in the morning. He did so, and lied through his teeth again to Laura, only compounding his guilt, and accepted bitterly from Marcus his flasks of Wolfsbane for the week, getting two large ones since his children were home with him of course.

Draco returned to the hall to find half a dozen notes from Reamann.

He sighed grumpily, set his flasks down on his desk and swatted the notes out of the air with his cane. Bending down the get them turned out to be harder than plucking them out of the air likely would have been, but it was a little late at that point.

“Been a busy week,” Sebastian said with a smile as he leaned in the doorway some feet away. Draco froze in his collecting of the notes and felt his insides wiggle in a nervous way.

“That awful case has the whole Ministry hopping now that they are no longer denying that it's happening,” Draco said, his back to Sebastian still. It had been in the Evening Prophet Wednesday, the day after Christmas and the report in the Prophet wondering what all the Auror activity was about, that the Ministry had finally admitted to the attacks, making a plea to all the readers that anyone with any information come forward.

“Yes, quite. I was thinking to myself, while up in my lush office,” he said mocking Draco's department, “that I bet you would be getting a lot more work, everyone sending for information on this, and that,” he said lightly, walking into the room. Draco looked over his shoulder and glared at him, Sebastian being too friendly to have any sort of good intention in mind.

“I have gotten a lot of notes from the Department of Aurors, yes,” he said, Sebastian standing right next to him at that point so that Draco's neck was craning up at him at a nearly painful angle.

“Oh, let me get that,” Sebastian offered, noticing the note just underfoot and the crumpled planes in Draco's hand that he had already gathered.

Draco eyed Sebastian with suspicion as he stood stiffly, managing not to groan, but barely. Sebastian picked up the note he had been partially stepping on and the few others that were left and straightened with a pleasant smile on his face.

“Why are you here, Sebastian,” Draco demanded, knowing they were not chums, knowing Sebastian did not need texts, and knowing Sebastian was being nice as a means of being insulting.

Sebastian's face remained pleasant and smiling as he opened up one of the purple paper airplanes. Draco took a sharp intake of breath through his nose, knowing exactly what Sebastian was doing then, even though he couldn't read the man's thoughts.

“Oh, look, a note from Reamann Rossiter,” he said, holding up the first note and then dropping it on the desk to open another in hand. “And this one too, and this one,” he said, opening note after note, breaking the little wax Ministry seal each time. “This one too, oh, and look, this one is from him as well,” he teased, his voice light and amused. Draco was standing there, glaring at Sebastian through his limp curtain of hair, hugging his elbows so that his arms were crossed over his stomach, planes pinned there.

“Congrats, Sebastian, you can read,” he scathed.

“Oh, come now, Malfoy…but it does seem that I have discovered Reamann's little informant. Just as I had suspected, it was you.”

“It was not difficult to figure out. The number of days that had gone by and no one came to me on the matter, I figured no one had looked into it. If someone had it wouldn't have taken but a moment to figure it out, but the way you are talking, so proud and triumphant, it almost sounds like you have solved some great mystery. I'm sorry if I am shooting your accomplishment down slightly or something -”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Sebastian snapped. “I knew it had to be you all along, but I have been too busy to look into it until just now. No, it was not hard to figure out, and you just admitted it to me now, saving me the trouble of enquiring further,” he said, sounding as though he had somehow manipulated Draco into giving something away. Draco didn't see it that way, nor did he honestly care what Sebastian thought on the matter, but he was worried about what Sebastian was going to do with the information. Surely the man would not be this happy if he weren't about to do something terribly nefarious.

“Am I in some sort of trouble for helping the Ministry out and volunteering my expertise on the matter?” he questioned.

“You admit then that you have some sort of expertise on the torturing and killing of Muggles?”

“I have knowledge of the Dark Arts,” Draco answered flatly.

“These attacks, I have been looking into them, they are all recreations of attacks from the two wars. All those attacks were done by Death Eaters.”

“I'm aware of the connection.”

“Yet, looking over all Reamann's notes and theories, essays and reports…that I assume now were all actually written by you…you do not make a single mention of the similarity, or the pattern,” he accused.

“There is not pattern, the attacks have been random and -”

“There is a pattern and you know it,” he snapped. Draco pursed his lips together. “The attacks are all recreations of Death Eater activities. You knew this, probably from the beginning, yet you steered innocent little Reamann away from that possibility from the start.”

“What possibility?”

“That Death Eaters are behind this.”

“That is not possible,” Draco said firmly.

“Really? And how is that? Who else would attack Muggles in such a way?”

“There are no Death Eaters left. They are all either old and in Azkaban for the remainder of their lives, or dead.”

“There is you.”

“I do not like what you are insinuating,” Draco seethed.

“You are covering up for someone, aren't you?” he accused.

“Who would I be covering up for? Who do you honestly think is out and capable of this, who is someone I'm willing to risk my own arse to protect?”

“Well, that is true, you have always worried more about your own arse than anyone else's.”

“Self-preservation over selflessness.”

“I have to turn you in to the Ministry, Malfoy. They are going to look into you, more than they have so far with that hair of yours on the scene, and they are going to get to the bottom of this,” he said, Draco not having been cleared as a suspect as of yet, even though the hair had been a dead-end lead. Thankfully the Ministry's plea for help in the Prophet had not named him as a suspect to the magical community. Draco could only imagine how much harder life would have been if they had. He had a feeling he had Tonks to thank for everythuing, her working the case but looking out for her baby-cousin too.

“There is nothing at the bottom of things, I am not the one behind all this.”

“Well, so far you have been manipulating this investigation away from the idea that Death Eaters are involved when it is a justifiable lead, you have been tampering with files,” he accused and Draco opened his mouth to deny that, having never done any such thing but Sebastian continuing, not allowing him the chance. “And we found a hair of yours at one of the scenes. I don't know, Malfoy, things certainly seem to indicate you are covering something up, like, say, your involvement in all this.”

“I have nothing to do with any of this! Reamann Rossiter came to me a few weeks ago, asking for my help, believing my knowledge of the Dark Arts would be of some use. He just wanted the promotion this job offered. I have done nothing but answer his questions, pose theories, and give insight -”

“All in hopes of covering your own tracks.”

“I am not a Death Eater, you goddamn bastard! You have read the transcripts of my trial and you know the whole thing was entrapment and a gross misuse of Ministry influence. I just got out of Azkaban, what would make you think I would do something like this, risk everything I have and end up back in that hellhole…just to attack some Muggles?”

“Funny thing about crazy people, Malfoy, is they don't always do rational, sensible, things,” he answered coolly and Draco flushed.

“Why are you down here?” Draco demanded again. If Sebastian really was just going to turn him over to the Ministry, he would have done so while taunting him, Ministry Guards in tow. Him being down there, alone, gave Draco a very strong suspicion that something else was going on. He wished he could see into Sebastian's thoughts, but he was being blocked and Sebastian was not looking him in the eyes, wisely.

“I want you to stay out of this case,” he said and Draco blinked at him.

“What?”

“I would have the Ministry tear your life apart, but that would be at the expense of this investigation. You stay out of this and I won't see to it that you spend the next three years in Azkaban, for what you have done already,” he warned, not saying what Draco had done already and Draco not sure if Sebastian was bluffing or really did know about the potions, but was not about to call his bluff and risk tipping his hand and be wrong. Three years in Azkaban was a long time. A day in that place is like a lifetime.

“What am I supposed to do? Some of these notes are from others in the department and my job dictates that I do what is needed of me.”

“Send up your texts, but if I catch Reamann with one more thesis or report written by you, if I see one more silvery hair anywhere in the vicinity of this case, you are going to regret not taking me up on my offer.”

Draco glared at him, Reamann's notes in his hands, in Sebastian's hands, and open on the desk beside them. What could he do? He couldn't protest his innocence any more, Sebastian wouldn't believe him. He couldn't abandon Reamann on the case and hope that it would be solved anytime soon, but he could not bear the thought of going back to Azkaban. He had not set foot on that rock since his probation, not even to visit anyone inside. He did not know how his mother managed all those years to visit him after getting out. He was thankful of course, but he couldn't do it himself with anyone still in there.

Draco dropped his glare, and tilted his chin down a fraction, not about to verbalize his agreement to Sebastian's orders. Sebastian got the idea though and smiled.

“Good boy,” he praised, sounding as though he were talking to a dog and resisting the urge to pat Draco on the head rewardingly.

Draco resented this, and hated that he was being bullied off the case, and was pissed that Sebastian would implicate him in it, but he couldn't do anything about it. Sebastian was right when he said there was enough evidence to create enough suspicion that a serious Ministry investigation into him could take place. He was sure if they looked into it they wouldn't be able to pin the case on him, unless they wanted a scapegoat again, but that wouldn't stop the attacks. If they were to look into it, however, they would see the exchange of potions between Reamann and him and three years in Azkaban was not worth telling Sebastian to go fuck himself.

Sebastian left Draco to stand there, his Friday thoroughly sucking.

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

Ginny was in a room at St. Mungo's. Hermione was with her and Ginny was leaning over the small sink in the sterile room, looking in the rectangular, wall mounted mirror, dabbing at her neck.

“God, I have so many hickies I look like I was making out with a squid,” she complained and she tried to cover them with spells and makeup, aggravated that Hermione insisted that there was no magical cure for them. Ginny was sure her friend was lying and this was her way of objecting to her relationship with Draco.

She had gone down to see Draco before her lunch, like she had the day before, and he had seemed so upset and frustrated, but he would not tell her what was wrong. She thought he wanted to be left alone because he had made an inkwell explode from his own aggravated surging power, but he had used her to apparently get out some frustration. Sore and limping before their romp, he looked downright ill afterwards. Part of the reason Ginny was at St. Mungo's now was in hopes of getting him a potion. The sex had been his idea, but it really did look like the act was going to kill him one of these times.

“You need to be careful,” Hermione hissed.

“We are being subtle, and careful, and -”

“No…I mean, yes about that, but what I meant was you need to be careful with all this sex.”

“We are using protection,” she said.

“Ginny, I'm talking about something far more serious than a pregnancy,” she sighed and Ginny blinked at her, not sure what could be more serious than her finding out she was expecting her secret and forbidden lover's baby. “Gin, he could get you sick,” she warned.

“He and I already talked about this,” Ginny argued. “He made it very clear to me all the risks before we ever got intimate with each other. His Support Wizard told him that condoms would protect me, and -”

“Ginny, I'm not just talking about that, but this,” she said, pointing at the marks Draco had left on Ginny's skin.

“They are just a few hickies,” Ginny tried to argue. Boys had left hickies on her before, and she had on them, they were nothing serious, just a little embarrassing.

“Gin, I can see teeth marks on the one on the back on your neck. He didn't break the skin, but he bit you hard enough to leave a bruise.”

“'Mione,”

“You can't let him take nips at you like that.”

“He didn't mean to, it's just all part of the moment, and…” she said, not wanting to admit that Draco seemed to lose a little bit of himself whenever they hooked up. It wasn't anything scary, per se, but he growled a little, and bit a little, particularly the time they had tried the position where he was behind her. It had been amazing while a little hard on her knees, and he had certainly enjoyed himself, that time maybe more than any other time they had hooked up, but it had been a little alarming for her when he had bit the back of her neck. She knew that it all had to do with him being a werewolf, so talking to him about it would probably mortify him. It didn't bother her enough to mention it, not enough to upset or embarrass him in such a way when he seemed to be less withdrawn recently.

“Ginny, if he bites you, you could get sick.”

“He's not contagious while in his…human form,” Ginny said, her stomach tying into knots at saying that, saying `Human form' …It seemed degrading to talk about him in such a way, but it was true. She sometimes forgot that he was not “human”…he looked and acted it most of the time, and had only let slip on a few instances were it was apparent that he truly wasn't, but she was comfortable with the idea that he was a werewolf so long as she could pretend it wasn't an issue. She really wasn't being all that big and open-minded about it by denying it, but she was being better about it than most because she was not simply rejecting him. Right? So why did she still feel so disgusted with herself?

“Gin, he is a Greater-wolf. He is more contagious than the average werewolf. He wouldn't be able to infect you, but he could very possibly taint you.”

“You are just trying to scare me into ending it with him,” Ginny accused.

“I can't deny that I feel it would be best to end this, but Gin, this isn't just for Reamann's sake, or to avoid your family's wrath, or a spot of bad publicity, it's for your own good,” she urged.

“So when were you going to tell me you and Harry have been shagging?” Ginny suddenly asked, Hermione visibly recoiling at the question.

“What?”

“When were you going to tell me you and my ex-husband were having sex?”

“Gin, Harry and I…we are not…we…” Hermione stammered, tucking a section of her bushy hair behind her ear. She was supposed to be on duty, checking patients, but she was putting that off to help Ginny and talk to her. Now she was being interrogated.

Ginny looked at Hermione, waiting to hear the answer, waiting to see how Hermione would try to salvage the high ground she was attempting to cast stones from.

“What makes you think that Harry and I are seeing each other?” she asked.

“Please, you can try and act innocent, and trust me, whatever you two were doing you hid it well because I was unaware, but you can't lie or hide things from Draco when he is curious,” she said, crossing her arms under her chest, looking stern, like her mother.

“Draco told you that Harry and I are seeing each other, and you believe him?” Hermione asked.

“Tell me right now that you are not. Look me right in the eye, Hermione, and tell me you are not having sex with my ex-husband,” she demanded, her jaw set, eyes focused. Hermione looked at her with her frowning brow and looked away, unable to even look Ginny in the eyes. “And you feel you are in any position to say anything about my relationship-s,” she said, making her “relationship” plural at the end.

“Harry and I are different. We are two adults that are seeing each other in an honest way. Neither of us is in a relationship already!” Hermione fumed.

“You are my best friend and Harry is my ex-husband, and you are shacking up with him behind my back, and yet feel you are is some position to make me feel guilty over my relationship choices?”

“Harry and I have been friends for almost twenty years, and it's not like he and I planned this! We were friends, through thick and thin. He was there for me when things didn't work between Ron and me, and I was there for him when things didn't work out with you, or with Miranda…and it just sort of happened,” she said, flushing in the end.

“I don't care who you choose to shag, Hermione, so long as you grant me the same liberalism. You are an adult, live your adult life, but don't expect me to be so nonjudgmental while you stand here and shit all over my choices,” she fumed.

Hermione sobbed and Ginny was left off balance. She did not mean to make her cry. They were shouting, they were both angry, they were both hurt of course, but they weren't supposed to start crying. They were supposed to argue, and have their row, then make up and be best friends.

“'Mione, I'm sorry. You just got me so mad. Don't cry. We are both being stupid trolls,” she urged, stepping towards her friend. Hermione sobbed and placed on her hand on her stomach as she hiccupped back her tears.

“Ginny,” she managed between two hiccups. “I'm pregnant,” she confessed, hand still on her stomach, tears still in her eyes. Ginny's face drained of color and her freckles stood out sharply.

“What?” she asked.

“I haven't told Harry yet because I just found out this morning. You are the first I have told,” she sobbed.

“Oh, `Mione, don't cry, please,” she begged, hugging her friend, their argument forgotten now that she had to deal with this new problem.

“You don't understand, I'm really excited over this, but, he and I…we, we are not married, neither of our families know about us,” she said, talking about her own parents and Ginny's, since Harry had no family but the Weasleys. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley never adopted him, but Harry was their son as far as anyone was concerned. The fact that his and their daughter's marriage dissolved did not change that. He would forever be an honorary Weasley brother.

“I'm happy for you, Hermione, I am. I know Harry will be too. He has wanted children for so long,” she said, tearing up then herself. It was then Hermione's turn to hug and comfort her friend.

There was much crying for a while, then hiccupping, then finally silence.

Ginny and Hermione were sitting side by side on the examining table that stood against the wall.

“You and Harry, huh?” Ginny finally asked.

“You and Draco, huh?” she asked back.

“I don't know what I'm going to do,” Ginny confessed, her hickies still so plain on her neck.

“You are falling for him,” Hermione accused and Ginny said nothing, not even to deny it. It was true. Draco had become more than a fling within days of seeing each other, and now she was tumbling into dangerous territory that was beyond affection, something that bordered a much more serious feeling. “You are looking at him as more than a fling now.”

“It was what I thought I wanted.”

“But it's not what it is.”

Ginny said nothing.

“When was the last time you had sex with Reamann?” she asked. Ginny flushed. “Not since you have been with Draco, probably some time before,” she assumed and Ginny only flushed further. “There is no spark left in that relationship and you have given up on it. When are you going to clue him into that?”

“He is too busy to notice that he doesn't care anymore,” she sighed.

“He does care,” Hermione assured.

“He does, but in that comfortable `she will be there waiting for me when I get home' sort of way that just makes me feel used and underappreciated.”

“You think he wants out as much as you?” she asked.

“I don't know what he wants. I can't even remember the last time we truly talked. Talked about something that wasn't about the case, or him asking about Draco, or this and that and the other thing.”

“I think,” Hermione said and Ginny looked over at her. “I think you need to get back to the Ministry and get this potion to Draco. If he looks half as roughed up as you after your sexual escapades, he's probably about to collapse,” she said with a soft smile, her hand back on her still flat tummy.

Ginny smiled at her friend.

Was this Hermione showing her support, maybe even giving her blessing?

They were best friends, until the end.

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

Author's Note:

Thanks you House for the little quote about how dangerous sex can be/is. It was recalled from memory, so it is not word-for-word, but it is very much from the one episode of House I saw.

The term “Pureblood” and “Half-blood” are really quite complex.

-Pureblood: A witch or wizard of 'pure' wizarding ancestry, without any Muggle ancestors whatsoever as far as can be determined.

-Half-blood: A witch or wizard with at least one wizarding parent but at least one Muggle parent or grandparent.

Then what about someone who has had witches and wizards in their family, exclusively, for, say, 5 generations? Are THEY Purebloods? Are they still considered Half-bloods? I'm not sure. Attempting to follow canon is hard sometimes when it is kind of vague like this. I say that Christina is a “Fourth-generation Pureblood” as a sort of denomination of Pureblood status.

There is some correlation drawn between the Nazis tattooing serial numbers on their concentration camp victims, and the Ministry numbering and marking their werewolves. It is all part of the persecution and intolerance theme that is quite prevalent throughout the Harry Potter books with the Blood-supremacy and such.

-->

23. Chapter 23

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-three

Ginny returned to Draco after her visit to see Hermione, to give him the potion, and she did not mention what Hermione had divulged to her. Draco looked at Ginny and noticed her tension and was curious, but was trying to stay out of her mind. He was sure if it was something important having to do with her and him, she would mention it, right?

He wasn't completely sure about that, so he took a peek, just enough to see if he figured into it. He got a hint of her, and Granger, and Potter, and so Draco stopped there. If he was not one of the first names that he came across while sitting right there next to her, then he couldn't have been a part of what was upsetting her.

Glad to know whatever was bothering Ginny was not something he had brought about, he comforted her as best he could while still clueless to the problem and took his potion. He nibbled at Ginny's throat as he waited for it to take effect, feeling a warmness spread through his body.

Though she really needed to get back to her office, Ginny lingered. Draco had not been expecting it, them already having had a chance earlier for a romp, but Ginny was apparently in need of relieving her own frustrations now. Draco was happy to oblige, but was still, understandably, achy. They disappeared into the bookshelves and Draco let Ginny have her way with him, it was fun.

Draco was left alone nearly half an hour later. They had either had a long “quickie” or a really brief encounter, but either way, Draco was left feeling satisfied but extremely pained. He was in a content mood, but it was hard to maintain with Réamann's notes swarming him unanswered. He nearly lost an eye to one particularly eager plane and Draco, in his frustration and pain, swiped it out of the air with his claws and made sure it was thoroughly deceased.

Not only was he shagging the man's girlfriend, but he was no longer going to be helping him on the case… Somehow, Draco, as he clawed up the irritating purple planes, felt he was being terribly unfair to Réamann, and his guilt was back.

That made Draco grumpy and paper planes very dead.

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

Draco thanked his mother for watching his children so late that night when he got home. He assured her over and over that he had been working and it wasn't him blowing his family off to go out with Ginny after work. He was blowing them off for work. Did that make it any better? To his mother it did apparently. He promised her he would not have any more late nights due to work, however, because he had been booted off the case. Narcissa seemed pleased in some way about that.

Draco was not sure how he felt about it when he got home at first. At the Ministry he had felt nervous, and angry. Mostly angry. At home he was feeling better and almost excited over the prospect of having more time with the children.

The case would do fine without him; it was not like he was single-handedly solving the thing.

Draco, in the end, was actually in a good mood. The potion had kicked in, he was home with his babies, he had spent some quality time with Ginny that day…how could he complain?

“What's that?” Clarissa asked as she sat at the kitchen table with her brother.

“Dad's humming,” Michelangelo answered, sounding astonished.

“Humming?” Clarissa repeated, just as shocked as they started over at their daddy.

“What, am I not allowed to hum contently while I cook for you little monsters?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at his two children. They had requested eggs and bacon for dinner. He did not know where his children got this odd practice of requesting foods that are not normally offered at that time of day, (hamburgers for breakfast, pancakes for dinner…) but he was sure it was from their mother's side of the family. He and his mother certainly never stepped out of the bounds of what was formal and proper eating etiquette…when he actually ate.

“You never hum while you cook,” Michelangelo stated flatly, looking at his father suspiciously.

“You never hum, Daddy,” Clarissa tagged on.

“Am I not allowed to start?” he asked with a chuckle, walking over to the table with a hot skillet full of scrambled eggs, using his spatula to push a portion of them on to each of their plates, warning them with a whisper to watch themselves with the skillet so hot and close.

“You have been acting really weird lately,” Clarissa commented in a way that showed total child's innocence yet understanding that something was different at the same time.

“Yeah,” Michelangelo agreed.

“I don't think I have…”

“You know what I think it is?” Michelangelo said slyly, eyeing his sister.

“What?” she asked, pretending to exclude their father from the conversation by both dropping their voices.

“I think he is in love,” he said and Clarissa giggled in what seemed to be agreement.

“What?” Draco gasped, looking over at his children again from the stove in complete surprise and slight embarrassment.

“It's alright, Daddy, I'm happy for you,” Clarissa said, Michelangelo not exactly adding his support there but not saying anything negative either.

“Now children, honestly, I have been seeing Ginny for two weeks.”

“So, what does that matter? Mum was already pregnant by now,” Michelangelo pointed out, Draco dropping his spatula with a clatter into the skillet in his surprise and then turned bright pink, hunching his shoulders so as to hide it from his children who were to his back.

“Michael, now that's not true,” he mumbled, though not about to say it took him a whole two months before getting their mother pregnant. That was not the point. He knew his son was being neither mean, nor helpful, he was just being a pain, that being the best he could honestly hope for, so there was no sense in yelling at him. Yet. At least he wasn't being a brat, though not quite as supportive as he would have liked, but he was kind of asking a lot from him so quickly.

Clarissa was in a fit of giggles.

“He-he, Daddy is in lurve,” she teased, taking a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth at that point.

“Only with myself,” Draco assured with a burning blush he continued to hide from his children as he tended to their bacon. He hated being teased, and his children could never pass up an opportunity to do so.

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

The phone was ringing and ringing, and Draco was ignoring it. There was only one person that would be trying to call him and he did not want to talk to Réamann. Surely Sebastian had said something to him, right?

Thinking on that, Draco was sure Sebastian wouldn't have said anything to him, leaving him that lovely mess to deal with.

Michelangelo looked over at his father questioningly after the fifteenth ring. Draco was tempted to pick up and hang up real fast, but that would only confirm that he was home, which he was pretending not to be at the moment, but the ringing was disturbing their movie. Clarissa was curled up with him on the couch and Michelangelo was in his chair, and they could not enjoy “Flight of Dragons” with the phone going off every few seconds.

Draco sighed loudly after Michelangelo made to answer the phone. He leaned down and snatched it up before his son could reach it and held it to his ear.

“Malfoy,” he sighed.

“Draco, what the hell took you so long to answer your phone?” Réamann demanded.

“It never occurred to you that I might not have been home?” he asked, both children listening, not caring much about the movie they had seen a hundred times in the past. It was Draco's night to pick the movie, and he picked “Flight of Dragons” a lot. Was it terribly cliché or ironic that he liked Dragons so much? So long as his children never told anyone he was sure the secret was safe, he could endure their constant teasing over it.

“It is a Friday night, where would you be other than home with your children after work?” he asked and Draco sighed.

“I can't have a social life?”

“Speaking of work,” Réamann pressed on, ignoring Draco's indignant question, “I didn't notice you doing much of that today. What happened? I got no response to any of my notes I sent down and I was worried. I couldn't get away from my desk long enough to go down and see you and-”

“Réamann, Réamann?” Draco interrupted, trying to preempt one of Réamann's irritating chronicles. “I'm sorry that I could not get back to you,” he said and Réamann was quiet, waiting to hear the explanation. “I'm sure if you ask Sebastian about it he will tell you: I have been kicked off the case, by him,” he disclosed.

“What? But you are not officially on the case to be kicked off! How did he know, what happened?”

“He figured me as your informant, me being a very obvious choice after all, and he made it clear that I'm not to have a hand in any more of your reports and papers, and he made sure I understood exactly what he would do if I disobeyed.”

“Disobeyed? Draco, did he threaten you?”

“Not physically,” Draco sighed, leaning back to prop his feet up on the coffee table like his mother hated.

“What did he say?”

“Réamann, we are both going to end up in a lot of trouble if we continue this, and you have never been to Azkaban, I can tell you, it's no vacation retreat.”

“Azkaban, Draco, you can't be serious…I mean, we are just trying to solve a case here and save lives.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” he said coolly.

“Draco-”

“You are conversing with a Death Eater out on probation, and sharing classified information, and supplying him with potions, and sneaking him on to scenes…Réamann, honestly, there is enough going on here that compounds into some serious prison time. I'm glad to have been of some help in the case, and I wish you the best with it, and I'm sure we can have tea and sandwiches some time when you start to miss me,” he said flatly and Réamann tried to interrupt. “I'm afraid we can't see each other anymore,” he said, making it sound like he was breaking up with Réamann, Michelangelo smirking and Draco smiling over at Clarissa who was hugging a pillow to her mouth next to him to stifle her giggles.

“Don't call here again,” he said, hanging up and Clarissa finally allowed herself to laugh out loud, while Michelangelo looking thoroughly amused by it himself. Draco yanked the phone line plug out of the back of the base and tossed it aside to not have any more interruptions.

Why hadn't he thought of that twenty minutes ago?

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

Saturday was just another day of work for Draco.

Everyone that normally had the day off, still had the day off, unless they were somehow tied to the case. Réamann was most definitely in, but Draco had not gotten a note from him all morning. By lunch Draco had caught up on all the work on which he had fallen behind. His inbox was still taller than he was while sitting, but at least it was down to one stack, not three. He had a normal day's worth of work left, and that was almost a relief. Maybe he could get through it, plus whatever requests came down during the day, and get home at a reasonable hour to spend the night with the children. Tonks and Lupin would be coming over for supper like they did most Saturday nights, and Draco was really looking forward to that. It felt like his life was back to how it was before, only now he had one added bonus: Ginny.

He had her up against the bookshelves, her right leg up and wrapped around him. The potion he had been given the day before was different than the ones Réamann gave him. It was either better, or stronger, or had different ingredients so that it did not build off his tolerance to the one Réamann had been supplying him. Draco prided himself at potion making, but he could rarely tell the difference between two similar potions by taste alone without them at least side by side. They all just tasted grainy and foul.

He was, however, feeling quite spry at the moment and Ginny got to feel the effect of that. There was a lot of panting, moaning, position changing, sloppy kissing and hair gripping. Draco was glad he had the devious foresight to have a small supply of condoms at work. He had not really thought he would be having sex at work, let alone this much, but he had humored the idea of a quickie while on break and had wanted to make sure that such a fantasy didn't die just because, in the heat of the moment, they realized they had no protection. He had started with just one, but when he realized that Ginny was making a habit of visiting him on lunch, he had brought more in. He was certainly making good use of them. For the first time in three years, Draco actually looked forward to going to work. The good far outweighed the bad now as Ginny moaned and pulled his hair.

In the midst of all their naughty business making, Ginny and Draco heard someone call out.

“Hello?”

Draco turned and Ginny leaned around him, both panting and hearts pounding, but now for very different reasons than a moment before.

“Oh, bloody hell, it's Réamann!” he hissed, pulling away from Ginny and allowing her to panic and fetch her clothing. They were still dressed, sort of. She was topless and her skirt was up around her waist, so really, anything she would want to cover to call herself “clothed” was exposed. Draco's white dress shirt was hanging unbuttoned, his jeans down around his knees.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Ginny hissed over and over, pulling up her bra, down her skirt, buttoning her blouse and looking for her knickers.

Draco got his pants up and was working on buttoning up his shirt, but his fingers were fumbling slightly in his panic.

“Hello?” Réamann called again.

“Oh God, Coderdale, just head him off,” Draco hissed as he buttoned his pants, hoping the old man would somehow hear his desperate begging, or Réamann's calling, and do it.

Ginny grabbed her pantyhose that were on the floor and her shoes she had taken off the get the pantyhose off because they had tangled around her ankles and prevented her from being able to do much of anything. For some reason it seemed that Ginny always ended up more undressed than Draco. She gathered up her robes that were in a pile on the floor and dashed away, deeper into the bookshelves to hide. The place was a maze and Réamann would never know she was there, so long as Draco could make himself presentable enough that Réamann would not wonder.

Draco was zipping up his black sweatshirt with his white shirttails hanging below its bottom edge, by the time he heard footsteps. He pulled his long hair out of the back of his collar and ran his fingers through it. He wished he was vain enough to keep a mirror on him, he needed a mirror. Had Ginny been wearing lipstick? He could not remember.

Rubbing his sleeved hand over and around his mouth vigorously to hopefully rub away any lipstick that might be on him, Draco saw Réamann wander into view.

“Oh, Draco, there you are,” he called, walking a little quicker now to come up to him.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he asked, not having to fake any of his annoyance. He was plenty annoyed.

“I needed to talk to you but knew if I sent a note down you wouldn't even reply,” he started to explain, looking at Draco's slightly out of breath state with questioning eyes.

“I'm not working with you on the case,” Draco sighed, mentally relieved that Réamann didn't note anything odd about his appearance right off, so there probably not being anything terribly out of place about him other than for the fact he looked rather startled.

“I know Sebastian came and warned you, threatened you and intimidated you-”

“I think you are taking it a little far now. Malfoys are not that easily intimidated,” Draco snapped indignantly, but Réamann ignored him.

“But I was hoping we could look the cases over, one last time, you know, to see if you can't help me see anything else before you quit.”

“I'm not quitting,” Draco argued, irritated. Malfoys never “quit,” they never “gave up.” He was not quitting, he was being forced off…but not because he was intimidated.

“Please, I really do need your help in this. I have been honest with you about that since the beginning.”

“Implying then that there are things you have not been honest with me about,” Draco quipped smoothly. Honestly, he was a Legilimens, he could tell when someone's feelings didn't match what they were saying…in other words, he knew when he was being lied to. He had never sensed any great dishonesty from Réamann, the bloke was just tactless and irritating.

“No, no, that is not what I meant. Damn it. Please, Draco, I'm begging,” he said, lacing his fingers together in front of him, literally begging. “Please.”

Draco groaned. “I don't want to end up in Azkaban.”

“You won't. I could come over to your place, say tonight, where no one would be able to snoop or prove a thing, and we can have a look over the files one last time.”

“I can't tonight.”

“Draco-”

“I am having a family supper, with Nymphadora, Remus, my mother, and the children.”

“Oh,” Réamann said softly, feeling like a jerk to have been about to accuse Draco of not having a social life to use as an excuse. He supposed family dinners were hardly a “social life,” but he was not about to bet that Draco would appreciate him saying such. “I have to work `til really late, if you wouldn't mind waiting up,” he offered.

Draco sighed, wanting Réamann to go away, seriously. He did not want to help Réamann at risk of himself, but if agreeing got him to go away…

“Fine, fine, one last look over,” he agreed, running his hand through the ends of his slightly tangled hair.

“Really? You'll do it?” Réamann asked.

“I just said as much. Now, if you please, I do have an actual job and the Ministry does want me to do it.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Réamann nodded, understanding that his presence was no longer appreciated, though, since their little fight, he doubted it was ever appreciated. Draco still got the impression that Réamann was kind of avoiding him, and at the moment, he wasn't feeling guilty about it if that meant Réamann would leave.

Once Réamann was out of view, Draco turned and headed towards the way Ginny had disappeared. He looked around for her and eventually found her near the section about Carnivorous Plants. He noticed her sitting there and he immediately knew something was wrong. He did not have to see her face or hear her soft sobs to know she was crying.

“Ginny?” he asked softly, squatting down next to her once he was close, not touching her as he crouched there. “Ginny, why are you crying?” he asked. He was a firm believer in not asking stupid questions. “Are you alright?” was a stupid question to ask a crying person.

“Oh God…Réamann,” she sobbed. Draco's brow frowned and he turned a little so that when he fell back onto his bum he was sitting beside her.

“He left and didn't ask any awkward questions,” he assured.

“No, I mean, that's good, but…” she sobbed.

“You worried about him nearly discovering us?” he asked, using all his self control not to just look into her mind and understand all that she was feeling. He was not used to asking questions and waiting for responses. If his daughter was upset and crying, he could just know why. If his mother was mad at him, it was not a mystery. He wanted to show that he respected Ginny by not prying into her private thoughts, but he was so unaccustomed to this, and felt so awkward and inadequate at the moment. He felt like a typical guy: clueless and insensitive.

“No, I mean, yes, but no,” she cried and Draco blinked at her. Women confused him as a whole, but how was anyone supposed to understand that: what Ginny had just said? He really wanted to look into her mind then and try and figure this out.

Ginny sniffed loudly and lifted her head to look over at him. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her cheeks were wet with tears.

“Ginny,” he sighed.

“I can't believe I'm still doing this to Réamann,” she sobbed.

“Cheating on him?” he asked, that being the obvious answer for any mind reader but for the average guy he was attempting to be at the moment, it was an honorable guess.

“Oh God, if he had caught us, he would have been so hurt,” she cried. Draco blinked at her again.

“I think you are overestimating men,” he said. “If he caught us, he would not be hurt, or sad, he would be very, very angry,” he explained, Ginny looking at him. “Sure he would be hurt and sad later, but not until after he was through beating my delicate features in,” he said and Ginny's eyes held such horror before she doubled up into a fit of tears. Draco recoiled a little and sighed. He didn't know what to do but take advantage of the fact that Legilimens literally meant “reader” and “mind” in Latin.

While she cried, Ginny was really open to him so it was easy to slip in and see what she was feeling.

Guilt.

It was odd to be relieved that she was feeling such a terrible amount of guilt, but it was reassuring. It showed him that she was bothered by what she was doing, that she truly understood what she was doing was wrong, and that she really was a good person, even if she could not help herself.

He was irresistible, he knew it.

“Shh,” he soothed, leaning over to wrap his arms around her like he did his daughter when she would cry. Ginny let him hold her as she sobbed and he eventually started rocking a little so as to ease her.

“It's awright,” he soothed.

“I can't do this, I can't keep lying,” she cried.

“You want to go and be with Réamann?” he asked, knowing the answer was no already, knowing her mind and feelings on the matter, but his stomach contracting anyways.

Insecure? Him? Never.

“No, but,” she hiccupped, pulling away to look at him then. “Lying makes me feel so terrible.”

“Noble Gryffindor,” he sighed, shaking his head with a small smile, brushing her hair away from her damp face.

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” she accused while hiccupping still.

“Oh, no, I think it's what about you I'm so drawn to,” he said, smiling warmly before releasing her and looking away as he continued. “Your kindness, your willingness to trust and believe in someone like me, your ability to love,” he said, hugging his knees to his chest, looking at the bookshelves across from them rather than at her. “They are all admirable things, and you feeling guilt just shows that you are a good person in this word of arseholes.”

“Don't you feel guilt?” she asked.

“Of course not,” he said dismissively, not about to admit to such a thing. The rumors were all true, he really was an arsehole.

“You're lying, lying about not feeling guilt,” she accused.

“No, I'm not.”

“Then look me right in the eye and tell me that you don't,” she demanded.

Draco looked her right in the eye easily, like she wanted, but he had forgotten what he was supposed to say.

“I love you,” was what came out, and it seemed to surprise them both and catch them off guard. They just sat there for a moment, eyes a little wide, a very heavy and awkward silence hanging over them following that unexpected declaration.

Draco looked away first, eyes wide and searching the bookshelves across from them as a means of escaping Ginny's stare.

Oh God, what had he just said? He said `the words'!

He wasn't supposed to say those words, those words were powerful, serious and manipulative, and women held those words in very high regard.

Oh god, why had he said that?

Why?

He didn't mean it. Surely he couldn't have meant it.

Draco looked over at the still stunned Ginny and felt his heart flutter and he looked away again quickly.

Oh God, he had meant it.

Ginny licked her lips, trying to find her breath that had been stolen for a moment.

“Draco,” she managed and he very intently looked away. “Draco,” she repeated.

“I'm sorry. I'm not sure why I said that,” he mumbled, still refusing to look at her. Ginny reached over and grabbed his shoulder. He hunched it for a second, like a flinch, and she pulled a little to indicate that she wanted him to look at her. He did, slowly rounding his head to her, but he kept his eyes down. Facing her, his eyes were still down.

“Look at me,” she commanded. Draco raised his silver eyes to meet her brown ones slowly and he looked very meek all of a sudden. “You meant that, didn't you?” she asked, knowing he wouldn't be able to lie while looking her in the eyes.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows while his eyes were still locked with hers.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

“For what?”

“I shouldn't have said that. I don't know why I did.”

“Because you felt it?” she suggested. He just shifted uncomfortably. Ginny smiled and leaned in, kissing him. Draco closed his eyes at the kiss and left them closed even after she pulled away. Ginny let a calming breath out of her nose.

“You know, I think I love you too,” she admitted, watching him as his eyes snapped open and stared at her.

“Ginny…”

“I love you,” she said.

“See, no, not love…no. We have been seeing each other for two weeks. That is not long enough to be using the `L' word,” he mumbled, looking uncomfortable.

“We have known each other for a long time though,” she attempted.

“We hated each other in school and spent a lovely and very cold night together thirteen years ago. We have only just recently reacquainted. We have affection, and fluffy feelings maybe, lust for sure and the excitement of a new relationship of course, but-”

“You do not believe in love at first sight?” she asked, not really believing there was a timeframe for when love strikes. Sometimes it grows, sometimes it hits you over the head like a Bludger, but the effect is always the same, always that feeling of completeness that kind of makes you think you're about to puke.

“Of course I do, I was given a mirror at a very young age,” he answered dryly and Ginny laughed at Draco's “prat-titude.” She leaned forward, her cheeks still damp from tears but her face so bright and happy now.

“I love you,” she said against his lips, holding his face to her with her hands on his cheeks.

Draco kissed her back, little smooches as they pressed their noses and foreheads together.

“I love you, but this is bad, I hope you know.”

“What are we going to do about Réamann?” she asked, their foreheads still pressed together as they both looked down.

“And your very large family of burly and fit blokes?” he asked a little meekly.

“Oh God, and Harry…He thinks we hooked-up `that night' and will pitch a fit when he finds out we have now…” she moaned.

“In particular, Ron, who would likely see me castrated,” Draco mumbled on, Ginny able to laugh softly and kiss him again.

“And the media?” she asked meekly.

“We can't really expose ourselves, it would just be disastrous.”

“But what can we do?” she asked, sounding hopeless.

“We can continue to see each other,” he answered.

“But, Réamann-”

“He doesn't know yet, and if we are careful he won't find out.”

“But what if he does?”

“You any good at Memory Charms?” Draco offered and Ginny nudged him with her elbow as they settled down beside each other again.

“Draco.”

“We can be more careful, he wouldn't know, I'm not going to be working with him anymore.”

“But what if something happens?” she asked.

“Like he stumbles in on us again?”

“Like I end up pregnant?” she asked and Draco stiffened, unable to breathe for a brief moment.

“You are not pregnant,” he said, though the question was still there, as was his frantic internal panic.

“No, but Hermione is,” she sighed. Draco's eyes widened and he started shaking his head.

“I had nothing to do with that,” he assured and Ginny managed a laugh that faded into a sad sigh.

“No, Harry did,” she said and Draco looked at her.

“Potter and Granger are procreating?” he asked. She nodded. “Ew,” he said and Ginny chose to ignore that.

“They thought they were being careful in their secret little affair, but now, well, you can understand why they need to come out and tell the family.”

“You worried out little affair will have to be exposed because you will end up pregnant?” he asked, supposing, with his record, and her family, he could not blame her for the concern. The fact that they had just had sex a dozen times that week, and had a condom break once, only compounded that worry.

“I don't know. Just, finding out about Hermione and Harry, it puts into sharp perspective everything, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said softly.

“We can't tell anyone about us, but it's almost like a time bomb waiting to go off if we don't. We can't hide it forever.”

“We can try.”

“Draco,”

“I like the idea of putting it off indefinitely,” he said sheepishly. He was not much of a procrastinator, and it was odd because he had wanted so much for them to be proper before, but now, after having spent a night at the Burrow, he still wanted that but understood finally why they couldn't have it.

“But-”

“Lets not worry about it right now,” he said, kissing her again.

“But-”

“I have tomorrow off and you do too. We can get together and talk about all this and come up with a better plan.”

“Alright,” Ginny agreed and Draco leaned over to give her a kiss. They shared several little smooches because they knew that once they were done kissing Ginny would have to leave. So they would kiss again, and then once more, and then again after that, delaying her departure.

“I really should go,” she said between two kisses.

Draco nodded, but gave her another kiss.

“I need to get back to work,” she attempted, making no attempt to get up.

Draco nodded more and kissed her again, and neither seemed to want to be the first to get up, so they sat there, smooching.

“Come to my home tonight, for dinner,” he asked between kisses.

“What? Draco, I couldn't…”

“Réamann is working late, and you are not. Come over.”

“You sure it's a good idea?” she asked, not knowing yet who else would be there.

“I spent a supper with your family, you should spend a supper with mine. It would mean a lot to me if you came,” he said softly and Ginny groaned.

“Ugh, I hate it when you talk all pouty and soft and ask so sweetly,” she whined, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

Draco smiled. He was a mama's boy and he knew how to manipulate a woman who loves him in just the right way to get what he wanted. It seemed Ginny knew how to do the same in regards to him, probably something Clarissa had taught her, so they were on a level playing field it seemed. Pounting was fair game. They could manipulate the crap out of each other to get what they wanted.

“Come tonight?” he asked, adding a slight pout to his lips and Ginny looked ready to hit him, or kiss him.

“Alright, alright. What time?” she asked with a sigh, giving in to his boyish charm.

“Eight,” he answered before giving her another little smooch.

Draco stood first and offered his hand to Ginny and pulled her up to her feet. He did not let go of her hand however and Ginny was surprised when he then proceeded to hold her hand the whole way back to the front of the hall in a sort of leisurely stroll.

“I never would have pictured you the hand-holding type,” she commented.

“I used to lead Pansy around Hogwarts by the hand all the time. You must not have been paying attention,” he scoffed.

“You're right, I was too busy ogling your bum,” she teased.

“Please, like you could have gotten any decent peek of my bum through all my school robes.” He rolled his eyes. “They made them exceedingly baggy and lacking any form to try and hide from each of us the fact that, underneath all that dark material we were swimming in, there were other horny pubescent teenagers with bodies we wanted to touch inappropriately.”

Ginny laughed. “Draco, you're terrible,” she said, swinging their clasped hands between them. “And I did get to ogle some bum. Quidditch robes are quite sleek and form fitting, particularly when they are wet and clinging.”

Draco looked over at her.

“You look good when you're wet,” she teased with a wink but being completely honest.

“Weasley, you are, without a doubt, the most shameless and deprived Gryffindor I have ever met.”

“Are Noble Gryffindors not aloud to be randy?” she asked, her nose up just a touch.

“No, but look out for those Hufflepuffs. Whoo, are they surprisingly all little sexual deviants. I was nearly raped a dozen times while at Hogwarts by those yellow clad miscreants,” he mocked. Ginny just reached around to pinch him and he blocked it but she got him from behind making him jump as she pinched his bum.

“Hey, ouch, no fair,” he whined as she grinned. She had wanted to do that for so long.

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

“I can't believe you invited her,” Narcissa fumed while moving around Draco's small, horribly colored kitchen. Orange cupboards, olive-green countertops and floors, gold appliances, sky-blue walls…honestly, with a similar color scheme in the living room and bedrooms, the previous occupant had to be the worst home decorator ever. But the atrocious decor was one of the reasons he had gotten the place so cheap, so he didn't complain…too often.

Lupin, Tonks and the children were in the living room while Narcissa and Draco finished up preparing dinner. Draco was sitting on the edge of the counter now, shoulders slumped slightly, his mother scolding him.

“She is my girlfriend and I wanted her to be a part of supper,” he said timidly. He had just told his mother about Ginny's plans to join them, but not that he and she had had a major revolation in their relationship and shared some “I love you”s. She had taken the news as well as Draco could hope for, but better than he had expected. She hadn't smacked him with her spatula.

“This is a family dinner, and she is not part of this family,” Narcissa stated firmly as she tended to the food on the stove with redirected aggression.

“I want her to be.”

“Angel, stop being silly. You are in an affair with a woman and are talking like you want her to be a proper girlfriend.”

“I do want her as a proper girlfriend.”

“People always seem to think that they will be the one to change a person. They get it in their minds that this person will cheat on their partner to be with them and that they will stay with them forever and never cheat on them, but it's a load of poppycock. If they are willing to cheat on someone else to be with you, they are willing to cheat on you to be with someone else. Once you get old, and boring, and they lose interest, they will look to someone else, just like they had done with their previous relationship and how they found you,” she fumed.

“Ginny is not a chronic cheater. She has never done anything like this before,” Draco said in Ginny's defense.

“Cheaters have to start somewhere.”

“You are not being fair, Mother. You do not know the whole story.”

“What else is there to know?” she snapped.

“Réamann is just as unhappy with the relationship as Ginny,” he confessed and Narcissa looked over at him.

“What?”

“I can see it in him. He is not happy, and I think if he weren't such a patsy he would just end it, but he fears the Weasley family and displeasing them, just like Ginny, so they are both just sitting in this stalled relationship, both miserable but unwilling to just end it. Ginny is at least doing something about it by looking for love while Réamann just fixates on work and pretends Ginny doesn't exist half the time.”

“All relationships hit slumps. Love takes work and effort. It's not a free ride the whole way. After the internal butterflies have fluttered away you have to then compromise and make efforts and time. I don't think they are trying. They just want love and life to be perfect and it's not,” Narcissa snapped. “What makes love so rewarding is the effort you put into it because it shows that you care and it's not just some chemical imbalance in your brain that makes your stomach clench and heart flutter.”

“You certainly have a nice way of making love sound like a malfunction of the brain chemistry and then a vocation after that,” Draco grumbled.

“Angel, you are feeling butterflies and lust and excitement. I'm not belittling any of that, it's all very real, but understand that it is because the relationship is new. Ginny doesn't sound to me like the kind of woman that fairs well once that has ended and she has to then commit and work to be in a serious relationship. I don't want you to get hurt because you are trying and she is just taking.”

“She had one bad marriage, I did too. You can't hold that against us forever,” Draco glowered. “You can't see me as a fool forever, and you can't treat Ginny like an incompetent wife, just because we wound up with people that did not suit us. I know you are strongly opposed to divorce, but it sometimes just happens.”

“Are you saying Ginny suits you?” she asked.

“I think she understands me better than anyone else,” he said and Narcissa glared. “Other than you of course,” he reassured. “But I can't marry you, you can't be my companion. You are my mother, and I love you, but I need more than my mummy,” he sighed and Narcissa then did too, understanding what Draco was saying but still upset over this whole “Ginny thing.”

“Angel,” she said while turning the knob of the stove so that the little blue flame died. “You always give one hundred percent in all that you endeavor. It is a very predominant Malfoy trait and something I really loved about your father…I just don't want you to be disappointed after you try so hard, so much harder than her.”

There was a knock at the door and a hoot from Frank, Draco's Barn Owl.

“I know,” he said while sliding down off the countertop. “But I have faith in her, and know that she is capable of love.”

There was some soft commotion from the living room and Draco stepped in to see Ginny standing there, hugging Tonks.

“Hey, oh my goodness, I didn't expect you to be here,” Ginny laughed while a little nervous but still very happy to see her friend. Lupin had stood from the couch respectfully at the entrance of a woman, and Michelangelo and Clarissa were looking over, Clarissa looking a little more excited than Michelangelo to see Ginny.

“Yeah, Saturdays are our family supper night,” Tonks replied, pulling away to be holding both of Ginny's hands. She had the night off, even though she was a head Auror of the case. She was of high enough rank that she didn't get her balls busted, if she had balls to bust in the first place. “What are you doing here? Where's Réamann?” she asked, looking around Ginny's shoulder as though waiting for Réamann to enter in through the already closed front door.

“Réamann won't be joining us,” Draco answered, walking over to them those few steps. Tonks looked between Draco and Ginny, and then looked over her shoulder at her husband who just raised his eyebrows at the situation before him.

“Dre?” Tonks asked and Draco smiled at Ginny and laced his fingers with hers. Tonks looked at them with wide, purple, shocked eyes. “Oh-my,” she managed.

“Supper is on the table,” Narcissa announced softly from the kitchen doorway. She dared only one fierce glance over at Ginny and Ginny smiled softly at her. Narcissa's face remained unmoved. She just closed her eyes and turned around, waking back into the kitchen.

Michelangelo and Clarissa rushed off to the kitchen leaving Lupin, Tonks, Draco and Ginny alone for a moment.

“Draco, I…wow,” Tonks said, staring back and forth between the two of them.

“I really don't want to discuss this over supper, so either ask now or wait until later,” Draco sighed, looking over his shoulder to the kitchen.

“You and Ginny are…?”

“Yeah,” they both replied.

“And Réamann doesn't…?”

“No,” they both answered again, this time a little sadly.

“Well, I think this deserves a proper chat, but let's wait until after a spot of nosh,” Lupin suggested with a kind smile, limping over to them and offering Ginny his arm. Ginny smiled at her old friend and accepted his arm graciously. They made their way into the kitchen and Tonks offered Draco her arm teasingly, holding herself up tall. Draco pretended to swoon and little and accepted her arm in a reversal of genders and let his older cousin lead him into the kitchen courteously.

The little four-seater table pulled apart so a leaf could be inserted in the middle, but that only took it from seating four, to seating four with a little more elbow room. It was ridiculous to try and seat six there, and with Ginny making it seven and the food taking up what little space the table leaf had offered, there was a lack of seats, as always.

Narcissa got to sit at the table, anything less proper and she simply could not function. The children got seats because if they stood they would spill, and Lupin got a seat because he was old and achy, (or so he joked) even when compared to Draco's pains. Draco, Tonks, and Ginny stood around the kitchen. Ginny leaning against a counter top, Draco sitting on a counter top (just like he often did and it drove his mother crazy) and Tonks sitting quite contently on the floor, legs crossed in Indian fashion.

Supper was quite pleasant, Tonks served as the usual entertainment and the children were talkative and friendly as ever. This would be Michelangelo's last dinner with them because Monday he was hopping the train back to Hogwarts, as the start of term was January 1st.

Draco stole a glance or two, or three, at Ginny throughout dinner as she stood across the small room from him. Everyone was pleasant, but there was a serious elephant in the room, and no one wanted to say anything. That elephant was Draco and Ginny's relationship and all the questions that were dying to be asked. No one was going to say anything about it over supper, but supper wasn't going to last forever, no matter how slowly Draco ate.

With the children off to the living room with their nana to start the movie, Draco assuring them he would join them after clean up, he was left to be interrogated by Lupin and Tonks. Ginny stuck by Draco's side for the support, but was pleasantly surprised by how well they were taking it, and how understanding they were being. They did not yell, or show much objection at all. Tonks and Lupin seemed more interested about how this came about as opposed to “what are you thinking?”

“You can't hide this forever. Ginny is too much of a celebrity and you have too much infamy for people to not notice,” Tonks warned, showing the first signs of disapproval.

“I know,” Draco sighed as he washed dishes, by hand. Ginny had offered to do it herself with magic, but Draco had declined. She had cleared somethings with the Ministry, but he didn't know what, he didn't trust the Ministry, and he didn't want magic cast about in his house. Besides, he was more than capable. He didn't need help.

Lupin and Tonks, in the end, made it clear that they did not like the dishonest nature of the relationship, but were by far the best at handling the news. Granted, the only ones that knew about it were Draco's mother, the children and Hermione, so there were not a lot of reactions to compare with.

Draco was thankful, however, that his cousin was so understanding. She had given him a hug from behind while he stood there, elbow deep in soapy water, and he was feeling good about this. His family seemed to be adjusting. He feared Ginny's family though. Draco's entire family only just added up to the number of brawny and protective older brothers Ginny had that were more than capable, and willing, of killing him nine times over.

There was more than one reason why he had become content in recent days in keeping their relationship quiet…there were actually seven, and their names were: Arthur, Bill, Charley, Percy, Fred, George and Ron. Oh, and certainly bitchy-little-Harry-Potter would have something to say about Draco porking his ex-wife. Draco was not looking forward to that since Harry clearly disliked him enough already.

Tonks, Lupin and Narcissa got the couch, Clarissa and Michelangelo hogged the beat-up brown chair, Draco's owl perched on his head possesively, and Draco and Ginny snuggled up next to each other on the floor, content on watching the movie side by side, sharing a blanket in the chilly apartment. Draco could remember the times they had shared a blanket in the past, minus the owl on his head, and Ginny seemed to too as she leaned her head over to rest on his shoulder.

“I love you,” Draco muttered to Ginny as he bid her farewell that night. They were on the metal front steps, everyone having left already. Narcissa a few buildings over to her apartment, and Lupin and Tonks home for the evening. Draco held Ginny's hands in the cold and she gave him a kiss.

“I love you,” she answered, a little flutter in her stomach as she said that. She couldn't even remember the last time she and Réamann had shared those words.

Ginny headed off to the closest safe point to Disapparate home, and Draco turned back inside to tuck his children to bed and prepare for Réamann to come over and work one final night on the case.

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

“I really appreciate this, you have no idea.”

“Considering I can read your mind, I think I do,” Draco said blandly, Frank still on his head, stubornly. “Now come on, I'm tired,” he sighed, directing Réamann to sit. Réamann obliged without hesitation.

Michelangelo and Clarissa were up still, and Draco had made the mistake of asking them to “keep it down” while they tried to work. His children did not take direction well. He couldn't imagine where they got it from. He would use reverse psychology on them, but that didn't work either. They were too free willed. His mother could always get them to be quiet, but him saying “a little less noise” seemed to accomplish a “little less” than nothing.

Réamann and Draco were left having to put up with the children bickering from their bedroom as they worked.

Draco spread all the files across the coffee table in their order, looking over them with intense eyes.

“Awright, we just have to look at them from a fresh angle,” he said firmly, Réamann leaning back to rub his face.

“What do you expect to see now that we, or the dozens of other people who are working on this, haven't already?”

“You asked me to look them over one more time,” he snapped.

“I was hoping to discuss it and toss ideas around, you know, things that would help me with this case since you won't be there to feed me facts and ideas from here on out.”

Draco said nothing, he just stared with owl perched on his head and glasses on his nose as he read.

“Draco,”

“Shut up, I'm thinking,” he said flatly, tilting his head, Frank doing the same. Réamann just stood up to walk away. He went into Draco's kitchen and started to make himself some strong coffee. He was learning. He walked away before he said something Draco would make him regret.

Draco was silent and time passed very slowly as the water boiled.

Réamann returned to the living room with coffee, Draco's stubborn determination not allowing him to have moved an inch while Réamann had been away. He sat beside Draco and said nothing, wondering how long it would take Draco to admit that he couldn't solve the case or make a breakthrough just by staring at the same sheets of paper for twenty minutes. Draco's stubbornness was useful at times, but it wasn't very productive at the moment.

Another ten minutes of silence and then Frank nearly jumped out of his feathers and Réamann sloshed his coffee when Draco suddenly spoke.

“Wait,” he said. Réamann wiped at the coffee he had spilled down the front of himself absentmindedly as he looked over at Draco and the paperwork with interest, too distracted to even care about his ruined tie.

“What?” he asked, looking and seeing nothing, waiting for Draco to explain himself.

“No, it couldn't be,” he said, looking and sounding angry now.

“What?”

“Son-of-a-bitch, it really was that easy wasn't it?” he growled, leaning back and kicking the table with his foot so that it slid and inch or two across the burnt orange carpet with a thump. Frank fluttered over to his perch in the corner and Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was silently counting under his breath to try and get control of his temper.

“What? What's going on, Draco? I have no idea what you are going on about.”

“It's so simple! I can't believe I didn't catch on before. Goddamn it.”

“What? Explain yourself because you are driving me crazy here!” Réamann demanded, anxious and growing angry himself at being kept in the dark.

Draco leaned forward and grabbed the first folder.

“The first victim: William, the second: Helen, third: Adrian, forth: Steven, fifth: Emma, sixth: Theodor, seventh: Christopher and the eighth: Ilene,” he said, handing Réamann each piece of paper as he read off the names.

“Are those names supposed to mean something to me?” Réamann asked, lap full of papers now.

“It's a goddamn acronym…scramble them up…S, E, A, W, I, T, C, H…” he said, leaning back to pinch the bridge of his nose again after taking off his glasses.

“Sea Witch?” Réamann asked, skeptical to say the least. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? And what about the ninth victim?” he asked.

“Victim number nine: Tracy. Another T, possibly to start another word, maybe `the,'” he sighed. “That son-of-a-bitch,” he then cursed.

“You have said that already, you know who's behind this, don't you,” Réamann said, shoving the papers back onto the table as Draco stood and paced for a moment. He then paused before he walked over to his television.

“You familiar with Walt Disney?” he asked, Réamann caught off guard by the question.

“The Muggle movie maker?”

“Muggle? He's no Muggle. Just knew how to exploit them to make a lot of money.”

“Disney was a wizard?” Réamann blinked.

“Was? No, is…as in still is… why do you think all his movies had so much magic in them? He knew it would sell to Muggles. He's still living comfortably off it.”

“He's dead,” Réamann said, only not so sure as he had been moments before.

“As far as the Muggles are concerned he is, but that's not the point,” Draco said, holding out to Réamann what he had grabbed from under the television stand.

“The Little Mermaid?” he asked, looking at the movie case and then back up at Draco.

“The villain is a Sea Witch,” he said as though that explained everything and if anything it made Réamann think that Draco had quite possibly gone mental under all the pressure. Draco knew what Réamann was thinking, and glared bitterly.

“I don't follow,” he confessed.

“Oh for the love of God,” Draco said, flipping the tape over in Réamann's hands and pointing at the little red crab character.

“Sebastian?” Réamann asked, reading the name off the box. Draco looked at him expectantly for a moment. Réamann then made the connection.

“Sebastian Aurum!” he finally said, Draco snatching the tape back from him with an “about time” expression on his face. “You can't be serious.”

“He thinks he's so intelligent and untouchable that he left us clues that would lead us right to him, confident that no one would figure it out and thusly stroke his ego that much more,” Draco growled. “What a pretentious, arrogant, self-assured…prat!” Draco said, seeming as though his words were failing him then. He paced around, kicking and scuffing his feet, hopping a little and punching the air in his miniature temper tantrum as he cursed and swore. Réamann just watched Draco frustrated and aggravated little dance.

“You honestly believe he is behind this?” he asked

“Of course, it makes sense now. He had great understanding of the case, because he is the one doing it! He would certainly come across as clever given that! And him coming to me and telling me to shove off…he was worried that I would figure him in some way, otherwise he would have just thrown me to the Ministry. He's never passed up an opportunity to make my life a living hell before. Shit…I guess this means he thinks I'm smart,” Draco added as an afterthought.

“You really think that this conclusively proves he is behind this? An acronym, and a children's movie?” Réamann asked.

“This conclusively proves nothing, if anything it's vague enough that we wouldn't even get a warrant to search his belongings, all part of him being clever…” Draco said in a huff. “You can't mention this to anyone.”

“But-”

“We can't risk tipping our hand if we are on to something, and if I'm wrong…which I never am…it would look best if we had never suspected him. Sebastian may be a creep, and an apparent murderer, but he is held in high standing at the Ministry. He is confident, but careful. Who at the department would think to look at the Muggle children's movie for the clue, even if they did figure out the acronym?”

“You did.”

“Because I have an eleven-year-old daughter that has been practically raised a Muggle and I happen to have the damn movie. I'm not even supposed to be working on this case. That bastard,” Draco said again, turning around and cursing over and over again under his breath.

“Well, okay, fine, we think we know who's behind all this, that is a huge lead and a start, but we still don't know why. Why would he attack and kill Muggles and then leave clues that would lead back to him? It makes no sense. Like you said, he has a high standing at the Ministry. I hear he has his eye on the Minister's Office later in his career. Why do this? Is he just that confident that he could do something and get away with it that it's like, I don't know, a power trip for him or something?”

“Oh, for sure it is, but that's not why he's doing it.”

“Then why?”

“How the hell should I know?” Draco barked.

“You are a fucking mind-reader!”

“And he knows Occlumency! Besides that, a mind is not a book I can just open and read; it is a honeycomb of thoughts, feelings, and memories, all milling around in active thought and filed away in the subconscious brain!”

“Then how do you always know what I'm thinking and feeling?”

“Because you make the constant mistake of looking me in the eye, and you are actively thinking about it. I can't see anything someone refuses to think about, but most people are not trained to clear their mind, so the harder they try not to think about something the more they actually do.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do now? You are not on the case, and I'm working with Sebastian!”

“We need find out what he is up to, by getting close to him or something.”

“I am close to him; I work with him every day.”

“No, not at the Ministry, we need to get close to outside that place, see if we can't discover what his angle is,” Draco said thoughtfully.

“You mean like a mole?” he asked and Draco looked at him. Réamann and him locked eyes for a moment and Draco just started shaking his head.

“Oh no, no. Don't look at me like that.”

“Draco, you are an accomplished liar, and you fooled one of the most powerful wizards of this last century with your acting. You could get close to Sebastian and-”

“He doesn't trust me,” Draco snapped.

“Make him trust you.”

“You make it sound so easy. I can't even get you to trust me, and you don't hate me as much as he does,” he scoffed and Réamann sighed, pulling on his hair so it was no longer slicked back so neatly.

“Damn it, Draco,” he sighed.

“What do you want me to do, walk up to him and be like `hey, Sebastian, ol'chap, you have been the bane of my existence for the last three years and you resent and hate every fiber of my being, but I just needed to know, have you been attacking Muggles lately and can I help? I'm interested,'” he said in a light and mocking tone.

“You are the clever one, you figure it out,” Réamann snapped.

“What exactly is your purpose on this case again?” Draco retorted.

“I am part of a team,” he grumbled.

“Surely an important part,” Draco drawled.

“There is no `I' in team,” Réamann growled bitterly.

“There is a `me' though, if you jumble it up,” Draco retorted, back on the thought of acronyms.

They glared at each other for a moment and Réamann sighed and backed down first.

“Fighting will get us nowhere. We need to clear our heads so we can think.”

“Having a clear and empty head is nothing new to you, Réamann,” Draco muttered as he moved and flopped down in his chair. Réamann glared but said nothing. They sat for a moment, Réamann unable to relax and think with all that Draco had just said.

“You have to go,” Draco said abruptly.

“What? Draco!”

“Go home,” he said, gathering up the files and shoving them in Réamann's arms. “Don't mention this to anyone, don't start hinting that you suspect Sebastian, do not reveal any of this to him…we need him to screw up, not try harder to cover his tracks.”

“Draco-”

“We know he has a secret now.”

“But we don't know what it is yet…”

“No, we don't, but the beauty of a secret is, as hard as it is to uncover, it's even harder to keep,” Draco said with a smile, Réamann looking at him.

“What am I supposed to do? I am working with Sebastian on this case, I have to talk to him about these things, these things he is doing?”

They were at Draco's front door now, Draco having shooed Réamann all the way over there.

“We only suspect Sebastian, we have no proof yet. Innocent until proven guilty and all that horseshit…just act normal around him, you know, like you despise his very existence, and all will be fine,” he said, already closing the door on him.

“Draco, you know more than you are telling me,” Réamann accused but Draco just closed the door in his face and locked it. He then turned towards the living room where he saw his two children peeking out at him.

“What's going on, Dad?” Michelangelo asked.

Draco looked at them and did not want to tell them that daddy was seemingly still on the case, something that could quite possibly send him to Azkaban for a very long time. His children didn't need to know that, didn't need the worry.

“You two should be in bed. Come on,” he said with a warm smile, heading over to his children and putting one arm down around each, to lead them to their room.

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

Author's Note:

Fuck me and my acronyms, who do I think I am, JK Rowling?

DRACO TOLD GINNY HE LOVES HER!

Do forgive Frank, the Barn Owl. I love him, but he was feeling rather neglected in this fiction. I can't seem to get him off Draco's head now. Draco has a bad case of head-owl apparently. XD

Some of my references in this chapter:

-House: “There is no `I' in `TEAM', but there is a `ME' if you jumble it up.”

-The Closer: “The beauty of a secret is, as hard as it is to uncover, it's even harder to keep.”

-->

24. Chapter 24

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-four

Sunday morning dawned bright and early, and Draco slipped out of his house quietly, not waking the children before going. It was Michelangelo's last day home so Draco had to divide his time. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, but knowing his son had taken to sleeping in to nearly noon while on break, Draco felt it was safe for him to spend the first few early hours of the day with Ginny. They really couldn't put off dealing with their relationship any longer, or fool themselves into believing that by ignoring the problems they would sort themselves out on their own. He would be home before his son even woke and realized he was gone.

Draco was actually really depressed over Michelangelo going away. After everyone had left the night before, Draco had tucked the children off to bed and curled up in his own and maybe cried a tear. Maybe. He had gotten up to sit in the children's room, watching them sleep with his knees pulled up to his chest and back against the door as though barricading the world, and passing time, out. He had spent so many years separate from them; it was killing him to have to spend more time apart. He had managed to convince himself that he was okay with Michelangelo being gone since summer by keeping busy and writing a lot of letters, but having him home again just to have him leave after such a short (rocky) time, Draco was feeling just terrible.

Ginny was walking up the street, wrapped up warmly, heading from the safe point which she had Apparated.

“Hey,” she beamed, happy to see him.

“Morning,” he greeted, kissing her quickly. Ginny was wrapped up in a rich brown-wool coat and had a gold hat and scarf that all complemented her cinnamon-red hair perfectly. She looked warm but for her nose and cheeks that were a little pink. Draco was in his same old faded-black cloak and Slytherin scarf. He had no hat so in the cold winter breeze his long hair whipped around.

“It's cold,” she complained.

“Nearly January,” he pointed out, reaching down to grab her hand. He had his black fingerless gloves on again. “Mind hopping a bus?” he asked, Side-along unpleasant and he hated feeling like an appendage.

“No, not at all.” She smiled, holding his hand in hers tightly.

Draco hated it that they could not be seen together anywhere in the wizarding world, that being the basis of why they were meeting to talk, so they stuck to Muggle establishments and shops for their morning excursion.

It being seven on a Sunday morning, it didn't look like many were commuting to work. There was only one man with an acid-green winter cap on and reeking of black licorice even near them on the bus. A pair of old ladies in purple sat in the front of the otherwise deserted motor vehicle.

“So, where are we going?” Draco asked, knowing they were going into London, but that hardly giving any hint as to their plans or ultimate destination.

“It's a surprise,” she teased, enjoying the chance to lead Draco around like he had her on their first date, not telling him where they were going.

“I hate surprises.” Draco pouted.

“Hey, you stay out of my head, Mister,” she warned.

Draco held up his partially gloved hands in an “ease down” gesture and smiled. He leaned his back against the cold window so he could look at Ginny who was sitting next to the aisle.

“Reamann off to work?”

“Yeah, he seemed especially flustered today while making the bed. He wouldn't say anything though, just that he really hated Sebastian. He talking about Sebastian Aurum?” she asked.

“Yup.” Draco nodded.

“I know he is a sod, but Reamann really seems to hate him.”

“He's not the only one.”

“You too?” she asked sheepishly.

“He has made it a point of making my life a living hell for three years. I have him to thank for the job I have now. I could have been working in the Department of Magical Transport, dealing with recordkeeping there, but Sebastian played it up as though I would use my position to try and flee the country and so on and I got closed up in that pit of the Ministry office I am in now,” he divulged, sounding bitter. He realized just then that Magical Transportation was the department Ginny worked. She and Reamann had been dating for three years, what if Draco had met her first those three years ago when he had just gotten out? Would things have been different?

Draco wanted to strangle Sebastian right at that moment, for more than the usual reasons.

“Oh, oh my,” she said, looking a little flustered.

“For curiosity's sake, why do you ask?” he inquired, respectfully staying out of her mind but Ginny looking away for good measure.

“I knew him, a couple of years ago,” she muttered.

“Knew him? Knew him how?” he asked, blinking at her.

“He and I…” she mumbled, shrugging a little.

“Oh God, you dated that man?” Draco gasped.

“I had just broken up with Harry and I was upset. He was my rebound guy. It wasn't anything serious and it was terribly brief,” she explained while flushing bright red, clashing with her hair and looking quite guilty.

“Damn, I don't know how upset I would have to be to shag him,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms in his sourness.

“Don't be mad, that was almost seven years ago,” Ginny said, looking just a touch moody. If Harry was not allowed to have an eppy over her and Draco kissing thirteen years ago, Draco was not allowed to pitch a fit over her briefly dating a guy he didn't like seven years ago. Honestly, what was it with men and their's girlfriend's exes?

“Oh, I'm not mad, but I'm seriously questioning your taste in men now. Potter, Reamann, Sebastian…”

“You,” she pointed out flatly.

“Well, you were bound to run across a decent guy eventually,” Draco drawled smugly, smirking, and Ginny rolled her eyes at him.

“So, do you know why Reamann was so upset this morning?”

“Because Sebastian Aurum is a slimy git and he has the pleasure of working with him on Sunday, a day he normally would have had off because of this cheery case?” Draco offered nonchalantly, looking just as self-satisfied as before.

“You are impossible,” she sighed but with humor in her voice.

“You're dating me,” he retorted and she pinched him.

Ginny pulled Draco along, clearly with an idea of where they were going. Draco complied with little fuss, until a salon came into view that is.

“No, uh-uh, let go of me, woman,” Draco protested as she dragged him along.

“You were the one that was complaining you looked mangy, so I made you an early appointment with my hairdresser this morning and you are going to be grateful,” she grunted as she pulled him.

“I will not be caught sitting under one of those ridiculous hairdryer chairs with a bunch of dames reading Maternity Monthly and Better Homes and Gardens. No, let go!” he fussed, still being dragged along by Ginny, people on the street watching the scene with some interest as they walked by.

“Come on, it's a haircut,” she laughed, imagining Draco with curlers in his hair under one of the driers and unable to keep a straight face.

“I thought you liked my hair long,” he grumbled, still fighting her.

“I do, but I think a trim would make it look nicer; it's long enough that you sit on it!”

“So!” he objected, at the doorway now and planting his feet against the mudguard.

“Come on,” Ginny laughed.

“Morning, Ginny,” a woman greeted as she came up behind the two of them, from inside.

“Hello, Lucy. Thank you for this, it being so early and last minute.” Ginny smiled, releasing Draco's hand with a sigh and turned.

Draco, who had planted his feet and was leaning back still, ended up falling backwards to spill out the door upon Ginny's release. Ginny and Lucy both turned in surprise as Draco sat on the snowy sidewalk, whining.

“Ow, my butt,” he moaned, people stopping to look at him where he had fallen before them.

Ginny gathered the stubbornly pouting werewolf up off the sidewalk and directed him inside, and Lucy led him over to her chair.

“So, this is who I shall be working on today?” she asked, eyeing Draco up and down in a not-so-subtle way. Ginny nodded and while Draco was looking away and sitting down in the chair, Lucy flung out the cape with a snap, facing Ginny and mouthing “he's hot,” causing Ginny to giggle. She had to agree.

Lucy wrapped the cape around Draco and pulled his hair out to let it fall in one quick and smooth motion.

“What are we thinking?” she asked, treating them all like a collective mind.

“Ginny is the one that brought me here. I haven't cut my hair in over three years.” He pouted.

“I was just thinking a bit off the ends, maybe a dye-”

“Dye? Hold on now,” Draco objected instantly. Women tinted and highlighted and dyed their hair. He was not a woman. He knew witches that got their hair done by magic and potions and such in magical salons, and maybe he would have considered that, but barbaric Muggle means? Dyes and pastes and smelly stuff that fried hair? No. no, no, no, he was not doing it.

“White hair makes you look older than you really are,” Ginny attempted to explain while being gentle.

“So you think I look old?” he asked in subdued outrage.

“You were the one complaining about it, so stop acting all wounded.”

Draco humphed. Ginny would have taken him somewhere magical to get his hair done, thinking he would likely trust a spell or potion more than a Muggle in these matters, but their problem they were out that morning to address was that they could not be seen together in a magical shop, or market, or village. They had no other option, but Lucy knew what she was doing, Ginny trusted her with her gorgeous ginger-locks. Muggle establishments offered peace from the sometimes hectic and overbearing magical community, thus why Ginny came here. Here she was just a woman, no one of particular importance or interest. It was nice.

“Well, we can cut about this much off, to get rid of the tangles near the end,” Lucy interrupted, indicating Draco's hair about halfway down as she raked her fingers through it, “And a little color would do you some good, no drying or damage or anything…and we can cover the white, don't worry,” she assured and Draco looked pink around the cheeks.

“When did your hair start going white?” Ginny asked, enjoying Draco's discomfort just a little too much. He had always been pale, but he had at least been blond at one point. Now his hair was white, utterly white, and she wondered how and when that happened.

“At nineteen,” he muttered. His hair had started to get lighter and lighter at the roots from the moment he was thrown into Azkaban, but he realized it was actually turning white by the time he was nearly twenty. Stress, plus that place, on top of being sick, had been what done it.

“How old are you now?” Lucy asked as she carefully brushed Draco's hair.

“Thirty,” Draco muttered.

“I agree with Ginny here,” she said with a smile, “far too young to have white hair, though it is quite eye-catching and soft. What were you before?” she asked, scrunching Draco's hair in her fingers as though appreciating its softness more.

“Blond.”

“Really fair blond,” Ginny elaborated.

“I can get you back to being platinum again, if you like,” she offered and Draco continued to mope. “It would really suit you with those pretty eyes of yours. Anything darker would look obviously fake,” she explained and he couldn't admit now that he kind of liked the idea of being blond, not after making such a fuss over it to Ginny.

Damn Malfoy pride.

“I think that sounds wonderful,” Ginny answered for him, saving him from having to agree himself so he could continue to pout even though he was secretly a little excited.

Nearly thirty minutes later however, Draco was reconsidering that.

“It burns,” he complained as he sat in the chair, his hair plastered up and foiled. He looked silly, he knew it, Ginny knew it, and she was doing her best not to laugh her arse off at him. “I feel like a pack of gum.”

“You look no worse than anyone else in here,” she pointed out and that somehow didn't make him feel any better while surrounded by old ladies in pink curlers, getting their hair sprayed stiff before church.

“When you said you had plans for where we could go, I had assumed you meant a restaurant or something, someplace we could talk.”

“You assume too much.” She smiled.

“This is hardly a setting for a private conversation of the deepest importance.”

“Well, I know I'm having fun,” she said as though conversationally.

“You are just enjoying my discomfort,” he accused.

“Right you are,” she teased.

“We haven't even talked about our relationship yet,” he pointed out.

“Must you bring the whole moment down with that?” she sighed.

“Hey, if I have to suffer then you have to too, and it is the reason we are out this morning, you know.”

“I know.”

“We going to talk about it then?” he asked, Lucy leaving them alone for the dye to do whatever it was it did, other than burn and make his scalp itch.

“I still have no idea what we can do though. I mean, your family is, well, dealing…but I really don't think my family would be so keen on the idea.”

“What if we don't tell them about the affair,” he suggested.

“We already agreed that we can't hide this forever, no matter how much we want to.”

“No, I mean, we tell them about us, but not about the affair,” he said

“I don't follow.”

“Break up with Reamann,” he said and Ginny opened her mouth to protest. “No, hear me out. Break up with Reamann now, since you really want to anyways, and we will, say, in a month, start dating openly. No one needs to know we had been together since Christmas. We can go out on a date, say Valentine's Day, and everyone would be shocked of course, but they couldn't be mad at you, or hurt me…too badly,” he added the last while giving shifty eyes.

“You think they would like that better?”

“Well, everyone will still pitch a fit, but it would be better received than news of us having an affair, don't you think?”

“I suppose,” she sighed.

“What's wrong?”

“I just don't want to break up with Reamann,” she sighed.

“I thought you did,” Draco said, sounding a little irritated. Why did it always seem like they were going around in circles?

“I mean, I don't want to be in a relationship with him anymore, but I don't want to break up with him. He's, like, a friend and a really great guy.”

“I think he is more likely to remain friends with you after a breakup than finding out you are cheating on him.”

“I know, and you're right.”

“As should always be assumed,” he said smugly. He was caught between assuring her it would be for the best, and telling her that Reamann was feeling trapped by the relationship too. Draco knew that wasn't his place to say, but it might help push her that little bit further so as to commit to the plan of action.

“Ginny…”

“You ready for a rinse?” Lucy asked, interrupting them and preventing Draco from divulging such a significant piece of information.

Draco got his hair washed, and cut, and dried and Ginny couldn't stop laughing the whole time.

“Stop laughing.” He pouted with his hair combed forward so that it was hanging over his face as it was trimmed. “It's not funny, it's called a haircut, and the majority of the population gets them on a regular basis.”

“It's just, you are so cute,” she gushed, giggling at Draco's unrelenting pout. God that boy could pout, but where most times it was effective in getting her to cave and do the things he wanted, or his way, right now it just came across as adorable, which probably offended Draco, which only caused him to pout more and thus the vicious cycle of giggles and moping. Lucy looked amused, though that had a lot to do with Ginny's giggle fits.

“There,” Lucy announced triumphantly, pulling the cape away with a flourish some time later. “I think you look marvelous,” she beamed.

“Of course I do,” Draco, not having seen himself yet, quipped as though there shouldn't have been any doubt in anyone mind that that wouldn't be the case, that familiar arrogance of his Ginny loved so much peeking through a little to make Ginny's insides squirm.

“Well?” Ginny prompted, Draco still not having bothered to look at himself yet, like he was so assured that he looked smashing that he didn't have to see for himself…he didn't want her to know he was actually just nervous. Lucy had spun him around so his back was to the wall of mirrors and after standing he had not turned.

Ginny was smiling at him and Lucy seemed pleased, so he was sure he didn't look terrible. If he turned around, however, and discovered he had pink hair and a pixie cut or something, he was going to start punching people. He loved Ginny, but he would kick her, hard.

Draco turned and saw his reflection, and stared.

“The color suits you,” Lucy complemented, fluffing at the ends of Draco's hair affectionately, “and it is still long, down your back even though I took off a good thirty centimeters,” she said.

“You are looking yummy, Draco,” Ginny assured, Draco able to see her smile in the mirror.

His hair was still long, but no longer down to his bum; it ended just past the center of his back now. It was also blond again for the first time in ten years. He actually looked a lot like his father, more than he had before and that was saying something. He had his mother's pointed features but he had his father's strong chin. Looking in the mirror he saw his father, and it startled him.

“Wow,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ear as he leaned just a little closer.

“I say, I think he likes it,” Lucy teased, walking over to the front desk, Ginny following, to deal with the bill.

Bundled up again they left the salon and Draco was stuck between pouting still for the embarrassment he had to endure, and being thankful for the gift.

“How much did that cost you?” he asked.

“It's impolite to ask how much a gift cost, didn't your parent's teach you anything?” she mocked, knowing how proper Draco had been raised.

“Sixty pounds!” he exclaimed and Ginny tried to pinch him, but it was hard to do with gloves and his winter cloak.

“Stay out of my mind, you prat!”

“That's ridiculous, that's outrageous,” he complained.

“It's a gift, so stop complaining.”

“They cut a few hairs and rub some paste in your hair with a rinse afterwards and it's worth sixty pounds?”

“You look really nice,” Ginny defended.

“Why thank you,” Draco said smugly, perfectly calm, no hit of outrage lingering.

“Prat,” she muttered, bumping into him slightly with her shoulder, hands deep in her pockets.

They sat in the fenced-in seating of an outdoor diner. It was awfully cold to eat outside, but with the white Christmas lights wound around the black-iron fence, the seating raised up above the sidewalk a few feet so their elbows where shoulder high to anyone passing, the snow all around them and the quiet, it was terribly romantic, even on a Sunday morning.

“So we agree then? We will go out on a date on Valentine's day?” he asked, sipping at his coffee.

“This seems so wrong,” she sighed.

“We could just not see each other,” he grumbled.

“No,” Ginny said firmly, unknowingly stroking Draco's ego with her vigor. “I just, I wish I could travel into the future, you know, and just exist in a time after all this mess is dealt with and everyone has finally accepted this and has moved on so we can just enjoy ourselves.”

“I think you are being terribly optimistic with the idea that there will be a time when everyone will be tolerant and happy for us,” Draco said, drawing out the word “terribly” a bit for emphasis as his eyes widened briefly at her naivety.

“I'm an optimist, and you are a pessimist, but I don't point that out and make it out as some sort of flaw in you.”

“I'm not a pessimist, I'm a realist.” He smirked and she scrunched her nose at him.

He sipped at his coffee and Ginny sighed.

“You didn't eat breakfast before you left, did you?”

“No,” he answered, looking at her from over his coffee cup.

“Then why didn't you order anything now?” she asked.

“Because I will be eating later, with the children,” he answered.

“Draco, normal people eat several times a day,” she sighed. Draco looked away. “Why don't you ever eat?” she asked.

“I'm never hungry,” he mumbled, not wanting to talk about this.

“Surely you have to have more of an appetite than this. I don't recall you ever skipping meals at Hogwarts or anything.”

“You kept that close a tab on me?” he drawled defensively.

“You are not refusing food, are you?” she asked.

“What?”

“You are not choosing to not eat?” she elaborated.

“You think I'm starving myself?” he asked, blinking at her.

“Well, you look pretty starved,” she reasoned.

“Ouch, my crippled self-esteem,” he grumbled, turning his coffee cup in his hands as it sat on the glass-topped table, warming his naked fingers with it.

“I don't mean to turn this into an attack on how you look, Draco, I'm just curious as to why you never eat. Your mother is worried about it, and I can honestly say that I understand that now having spent the last week with you.”

“I eat, just not a lot,” he muttered down at his coffee.

“Why?”

Draco was quite for a long moment.

“Draco…”

“Because I'm not hungry,” he said again, a little moodily.

“There is more to it than that,” she accused and Draco looked down at his coffee. He knew he was a little on the scrawny side, but how could he explain this to Ginny and not frighten her? It frightened him.

He took a deep breath.

“Sometimes it's hard to eat, when what you crave is often still alive and person shaped,” he said quietly and Ginny blinked at him.

“You crave raw meat?” she asked. Draco said nothing. It was more than just a bit of raw meat, he often fantasized about eating people, and that was a serious appetite killer most of the time. “My brother Bill prefers his meat on the rare side,” she said, attempting to show some understanding. Bill was tainted, he had a few of the characteristics, a few of the cravings, but he didn't let it get to him. By the look of Draco's emaciated appearance, it looked like it bothered him a great deal. “You can't not eat just because you don't like what it is your body longs for,” she argued.

“Would you be so accepting and supportive if I ate a few children? A neighbor's pet at the very least?” he snapped, defensive and angsty all of a sudden. He had a talent for that.

“Draco, no. But, you can't be ashamed of what you are. You don't have to embrace it to the extent Greyback did, but you could just not cook your meat or something…you really do need to eat…” she said, looking at him with sad eyes. This was not the first time she had gotten the impression that Draco seriously hated himself, but she had no idea he would be so self destructive.

“I used to be hungry, I'm just… not…anymore.”

“I think it's when starvation sets in that your body stops being hungry, Draco,” Ginny said, concern very apparent on her face.

“It's just…I'm not accustomed to eating a lot. Azkaban doesn't feed well and I was hungry for a while, then I just got used to it. I got out and I just continued to eat only a little, then that became less and less over time,” he said, trying to sound unconcerned.

“You're going to make yourself sick,” she warned grimly.

“Because I am the picture of health otherwise,” Draco retorted.

“I'm sure being extremely underweight is not helping any.”

“I'm not extremely underweight,” he pouted.

“How much do you weigh?” she demanded.

“I don't know.”

“I can tell you, you look like you weigh less than a fifth year student at Hogwarts. That's just too skinny. I'm going to order you something to eat, and you are going to eat it,” she said firmly. Was she turning into her mother?

“If I try to eat too much I get a stomach ache,” he whined in a last-ditch attempt to break her down with his pouty-mope face and tone.

“That's because you body doesn't know what to do with more than a mouthful of food. I'll order you something small. We will start slow and maybe we can get you up to two whole meals a day,” she teased though her serious concern was still there. She was not about to be detoured by Draco's pouting bottom lip. He was good, but he was no match for her stubbornness, no matter how soft and piteous he managed to frown his eyes to become.

“I worry you that much?” he asked sheepishly.

“Hey, you're my boyfriend, I'm obligated to care and worry. A few extra pounds would do you some good, and you wont be so cold all the time, or tired,” she assured.

Ginny got waffles with syrup and butter, and Draco got a bowl of oatmeal. Draco teased her, saying if she was so worried about his weight, and hers too, that he should be the one eating the waffles and she should be eating the oatmeal.

Ginny kicked him under the table, hard, and called him a prat.

Ginny shared a few bites off her plate, and while Draco was still leaned over the table, she stole a kiss. A bright flash went off beside them along with a puff of purple smoke and Ginny and Draco pulled away suddenly to look over, startled.

“Finally,” a man with an acid-green winter cap on said. “Ex-Mrs. Potter caught snogging Death Eater and Werewolf Draco Malfoy at Muggle eatery,” he said as though already narrating the article that would go along with the photo he just took. “Have anything you would like to say? Statements?” the licorice man urged, and Draco noticed a Quick-Quotes Quill etching away near the man's hip, hidden from view from the Muggles by his bag.

“Oh God,” Ginny gasped. Draco got up and hopped over the fence gracefully, landing and coming to stand next to the man with the camera.

“Give me the film,” he demanded, holding out his partially gloved hand.

“Draco Malfoy, are you aware that Ginny Weasley is still in an illustrious relationship with Reamann Rossiter?” the man asked, voice inquisitive yet strong as he backed up, holding up his camera.

“Give me the film,” Draco repeated.

“Do you have a statement about the dance you two shared at the Remembrance Ball last week?” he asked, snapping a picture in Draco's face when Draco neared too close.

“Get that camera out of my face now and give me that goddamn film,” Draco growled.

“How long have you two been dating?” the man asked, stumbling a little as Draco took a swipe at the camera. “Hey, you touch me and I will sue, for assault. I'm just doing my job,” the man shouted, pointing at Draco and holding his camera down and behind himself slightly so that Draco could not get at it. Ginny was gathering up her purse, in a state of panic, and rounded the fence to try and talk to the wizard.

“Please,” she begged, looking at him with his big, soft brown eyes.

“Ginny Weasley, you were caught smooching Draco Malfoy and have been recorded referring to each other as girlfriend and boyfriend. I have Malfoy already quoted as saying you are dating him on the bus. Do you have a statement for me? While the quill is still jotting away?” the man asked, lifting the camera to snap a quick picture.

“You little bastard,” Draco growled, taking a swing at the man. The photographer stumbled and shoved his camera and hovering quill and parchment away into his bag in one smooth motion.

“You are going to regret that, Malfoy. This is going out whether you like it or not, and you just sweetened the price for my story. No longer is it just about your little romance, but about your renowned temper as well!” the man shouted, pointing at Draco. “See if that paints a pretty picture of you, Death Eater,” the man spat before running off. Draco and Ginny were left standing there, the Muggles all gossiping about the scene they had just witnessed.

“Are they famous?”

“Where do we know them from?”

“I think I saw him on one of my soaps last week,” they muttered, thinking Ginny and Draco must have been some sort of Muggle actor or celebrity.

Draco was left breathing hard through his nose in anger, hands balled into fists at his side. Ginny was slightly behind him, hyperventilating.

“Oh God,” she managed, tears starting to well up in her eyes.

Draco turned to her and hushed her softly, wrapping his arms around her to hug her tight with her head tucked under his chin securely.

“It will be…awright,” he lied, hating that he was lying, knowing it was pointless, they both knew it was not going to be alright but him being at a total loss of how to sooth her.

“He works for the Prophet,” she sobbed.

“Witch Weekly, actually,” Draco corrected, but realizing after the fact that he was not being helpful as Ginny sobbed.

“Oh God, oh God,” she cried.

“Come on, let's get off the street,” he soothed, pulling Ginny along. She knew where a close Apparition point was so they would bypass the bus this time. That was fine with Draco. He wanted to barricade himself up in his home and never come out again as quick as possible.

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

Draco did his best to enjoy his day with Michelangelo, but it was difficult. Michelangelo and Clarissa had complemented him on his hair, liking and approving the change apparently. They were not, however, content with staying in. They wanted to go to the park and Draco very much so wanted to stay in doors, far from people, and wizards, and reporters with cameras. It being Michelangelo's day to do what he liked though, Draco did what he wanted.

He needed to work on his “no means no” still.

Draco stood under a bare tree, smoking a cigarette as Michelangelo kicked a football around on the path and Clarissa built a snowman. Draco kept looking out of the corners of his eyes, thinking every Muggle strolling by was a wizarding reporter about to snap his picture.

Michelangelo bounced his ball on his knee with practiced ease, oblivious to his father's discomfort but knowing he was smoking again while Clarissa was oblivious even to that. He didn't like that his dad was smoking, but said nothing, knowing his father had only broken his resolution to not smoke in the past when really stressed out or upset, and figured that was the case again now.

Draco noticed movement and looked over and was caught in a perfect leaning pose for the photographer. Draco was leaning his shoulder against the tree, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest with his right hand holding his cigarette part way to his lips. Draco knew the familiar cloud of purple smoke and glared but said or did nothing. His children were nearby. They had hats and winter gear on so that they were not easily recognized, but he did not want to cause a scene and have them wonder and ask. All he needed was for one of them to say “Daddy” to make Witch Weekly's story that much more sensational.

Draco whispered into his children's minds to be quiet and to ignore him. He assured them not to worry as he wandered away to leave them alone amidst the bright snow and strangers.

The photographer followed as Draco smoked and strolled, stopping to watch more children play. He did not know these children but he was trying to make it seem like he had not known Michelangelo and Clarissa either. Would Witch Weakley get the impression that he was a pederast? Surely his reputation could not suffer much more.

Draco glanced over at the wizard with the camera and glared. If they wanted a shot of him looking mean and surly, they would get it.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked after nearly ten minutes of being not so subtly tailed by the man.

“You have a statement for me?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” Draco said, taking one last dreg of his cigarette. The man seemed to perk up while holding his camera at ready, prepared to snap a candid photo at any moment. “Fuck you,” he said brightly, flicking the butt at the man.

The man brushed at the front of his cloak a little and glared before heading off.

Draco had sacrificed a little dignity to quench the man's desire for a sound bite, so that he would leave. Draco nabbed the opportunity to head back to his children, gather them up, and take them home.

Michelangelo wanted to know what was wrong, and Clarissa was a little upset about having to leave, her father's unease and fast pace only adding to her anxiety.

“We are going to spend the rest of the day warming up at home, awright? I'll make you some hot chocolate with extra marshmallows,” he said, looking around quickly, worried about who might be watching as he powerwalked with his children, Clarissa practically having to run to keep up.

He had known from the moment he and Ginny had met that morning to talk about their relationship and think of options, that keeping his children a secret from the world would be an impossibility. He had hoped, however, to have more time, to explain things to them, to get them comfortable with the idea, to train them to handle situations and answer questions, to ease them into the limelight, not have it chasing after them with flashbulbs and intrusive questions.

Draco knew how to take care of himself, and if he were just a single chap, not a single father, he would handle this whole mess so differently…but having to think of his children first, it limited just how many cameras he could smash and photographers he was allowed to punch in the face.

Home again, Draco walked in to the sound of his phone ringing. That was a first for him. He blinked for a moment before running over to it and scooping the receiver up from the floor in his hand.

“Malfoy,” he answered, unsure of whom could be calling him at four-thirty in the afternoon. Reamann was at work.

“Draco,” Ginny sobbed.

“Ginny, hey,” he said soothingly, Michelangelo's eyes darkening at Draco's greeting, not happy that she was calling on his day.

“Have you been out today…since this morning?” she asked, sobbing.

“For a moment. Why?” he asked.

“God, I must have had my picture taken a hundred times. The wizard paparazzi caught the scent of blood in the water and they are swarming now for a picture,” she cried.

“I saw one tailing me at the park,” Draco muttered, Michelangelo looking over at him, curious now, maybe about to learn why they had left the park so abruptly and the cause behind his father's smoking and unease. Draco turned around to try and exclude his son from the conversation and show he wanted some privacy. Michelangelo just stood there, trying to eavesdrop still.

“Oh God, this is going to be all over publications by tomorrow,” she sobbed.

“I wouldn't be surprised if those piranhas are not pushing for the night edition,” he scathed.

“Oh God, what are we going to do? My mother flipped out over the article after the Remembrance Ball, and all we were caught doing was dance!” she cried. Draco flushed a little at the memory because they had been caught doing a whole lot more than “dance” that night, but thankfully not by the paparazzi, and not by her family. Draco felt fait at the thought.

“Should we try and talk to them? Before this gets out?” he asked, meaning Ginny's family, and Ginny just cried over the phone.

“Dad, what's wrong?” Michelangelo asked. Draco was stuck and feeling conflicted. What was he to do? He was supposed to be spending the day with his son, but he needed to take the time to comfort his hysterical girlfriend.

“Ginny, breathe, breathe,” Draco commanded, though gently.

“They are going to kill me,” she cried, speaking of her parents most likely, barely audible through her tears on the phone.

“Oh, no they won't,” he sighed.

“They will! They are going to kill me!” she exclaimed.

“That leaves very little hope for me then, right?” he attempted to joke and Ginny just sobbed harder.

“What's going on?” Clarissa asked, joining them now. Draco sighed and sat down on the couch, still all bundled up and lacing his free hand into his freshly washed hair.

“Ginny, please, please don't cry. I don't know how to make this better,” he begged, hating it when women cried. It made him want to do anything they wanted just so they would stop. His mother and daughter knew this and exploited it often, but he could not give Ginny what she wanted so badly.

“Please don't get off the phone with me, please,” she begged.

“I wasn't about to hang up or anything,” Draco assured.

“They have been calling all afternoon, trying to secure some sort of interview or statement,” she sobbed. “I have never been as big of a celebrity as Harry, I do not have PR people,” she sobbed.

“Potter has Public Relations people?” Draco asked, a little shocked.

“They handle all the gossip and keep him from getting incessant phone calls and stuff. They are also the ones that go out and denounce tabloid rumors and…”

“I know what a PR team does; I'm just surprised that Potter has one. What a prick,” he said and Ginny sobbed. “Gin…Gin, stop crying,” he begged.

“That's the first time you have called me Gin,” she sniffled and Draco blinked.

“Ginny?”

“I like it when you call me Gin,” she said meekly. Draco managed a smile despite himself.

“Gin, please stop crying.”

“Reamann is going to be home in a few hours,” Ginny sniffled. “What am I going to do?”

“Hide?” he suggested, not being serious, well, being serious but keeping his tone light. He certainly wanted to hide.

“I'm going over the Hermione's,” Ginny announced suddenly.

“You sure that's wise?”

“I can't stay here; I can't go and be with you because that would only add to the fodder. I'll call you later,” she assured.

“You take care of yourself,” Draco sighed.

“I will. I love you,” she replied.

“Love you too,” he answered, hanging up the phone then.

Clarissa giggled.

“You said you love her,” she sniggered.

“Why is Ginny upset?” Michelangelo asked over his sister's continuing giggles.

“There was a little mess with a reporter harassing Ginny,” Draco sighed.

“What's their angle?” he asked.

“Relationships,” Draco said, rubbing his forehead as though to try and sooth his headache.

“Oh,” Michelangelo muttered, understanding then the dilemma.

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

Author's Note:

Draco cut his hair, and the shit certainly it the fan in this chapter. What started out so fluffy got real angsty real fast. Poor Draco is sad because his baby is going away. I finally truly addressed Draco's eating habits. He is, what I jokingly call, “accidentally anorexic”.

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25. Chapter 25

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-five

Draco was glad, as always, that he got to the Ministry so early and missed the morning rush. This day, however, it was not simply because he hated all the hustle and bustle, and the bumping, and the noise, and the occasional stare and mutter. Today was the day he knew Witch Weekly would splash his and Ginny's picture, and whatever story they wrote up to accompany it, all over their publications.

He slipped down through the Muggle street entrance, past the golden gates, down the lifts, down the stairs, down the corridors, all the way to the Hall of Records, without being stopped by one person. It was quarter past five, what people would be there to stop him on a typical day?

Draco focused intently on his work. His inbox was rapidly shrinking at an astonishing rate and Coderdale noticed this as well as Draco's anxious bouncing right leg. Down in that dark pit, they were isolated from the rest of the world. Coderdale had complemented Draco on the hair when he had first come in and told him he looked good, but something about the complement held an air of duplicity. Draco could tell Coderdale did not think he looked that great, but it had nothing to do with Draco's new expensive trim and dye job, but his sweaty unease and nervous habits.

“Draco, are you alright?” Coderdale finally asked after some hours and Draco was nearly halfway through his inbox.

“Fine,” Draco muttered without even registering Coderdale's question, reading over his paperwork with fast-moving silver eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses.

“You do not look fine.”

“What's wrong with how I look?” Draco snapped indignantly, looking up from his papers are glare with is bespectacled eyes.

“Don't turn this into some insecure tirade. You know what I mean. You look upset. What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Draco mumbled, going back to his reading absorbedly.

“This has to do with Ginny,” he said, not even making it a question.

“What do you know about that?” Draco asked, hunching his shoulders then, defensive but not snapping at him that time.

“What happened? You two have a row or something?”

“No,” Draco sighed as he dropped his impertinent paperwork, honestly wishing they had, that being something he could handle, deal with, and eventually get over.

“What is it then?” he asked softly.

“You will find out on your own soon enough. No sense in me telling you and spoiling the surprise,” he grumbled, ignoring Coderdale's non-work related questions from then on.

It took surprisingly longer than Draco had expected for Réamann to show up.

Draco stumbled backwards and his left shoulder bashed into the edge of a bookshelf before his back hit the wall hard. He slid down to sit on the floor, back still up against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, left hand over his eye and cheek.

Réamann stood there, breathing heavily from his rage, glaring at Draco with his right hand still balled into a shaking fist.

“Awright,” Draco managed with his hand still over half his face. “I'll admit that I deserved that,” he acknowledged, pain clear on his face while he held it. He stood slowly, bracing himself against the wall with his free right hand, dizzy from Réamann's little love-tap and unsure if he could stand on his own and didn't want to try.

“How could you do this? Ginny is my girlfriend, you son-of-a-bitch!” Réamann shouted at him, face red with anger, and outrage, and hurt…mostly anger.

“I did not mean for things to-”

“Oh cut the horseshit, Malfoy,” Réamann cut him off. “We have been working together for-for weeks, how long have you two been shagging behind my back?” he demanded.

Draco stood there, lips pursed together, not wanting to say.

“How long have you been seeing her?” he demanded. “How long?” he shouted, holding his fist up again then.

“Since the Friday before Christmas, the day after the full moon,” Draco confessed, flinching slightly. Twelve days to be exact. He and Ginny hadn't managed for long, had they? Draco had thought he was sneakier than this.

“Oh God,” Réamann moaned. putting his hands up over his face and turning once in place. Coderdale was off shelving texts, but not too far away since he wanted to hear this. He had seen Réamann storm in and Draco leap up from his desk. He had seen Draco backing up while holding his hands up as though hoping to ease the other man down. He had heard Draco begging for the opportunity to explain everything, and saw Réamann punch Draco really hard. It did not take a genius to guess that Réamann knew about Draco and Ginny's affair, and he now knew why Draco had been so agitated and antsy all morning. Coderdale cared about Draco, and respected his privacy, but still, he couldn't resist and eavesdrop.

“When that picture was taken, Ginny and I were out trying to decide how to handle this…situation. She has been so worried about hurting you,” Draco tried to explain.

“Hurting me, I'm no where near as hurt as I am pissed off!” he shouted, accent think and overpowering.

“That's what I told her,” Draco mumbled.

“So you didn't care that you were backstabbing me. She was worried but you-you didn't care?”

“I never said I didn't care. I felt guilty, but-”

“But not enough to stop? Not enough to realize that what you were doing was-was, despicable and wrong and low and-and shameful?”

“I knew it was wrong,” Draco snapped bitterly, not liking that Réamann was making it out like Draco hadn't any conscious understanding of what he was doing.

“You, you kept me busy, with all this work, so I-I would be at the Ministry late, so you could have your way with my girlfriend!” he accused with his stutter emerging. “Shit, no wonder Ginny was always defending you, she-she didn't like that I was sometimes harsh to you, because you were shagging her!”

“Ginny defended me because you are an insensitive jackarse,” Draco snapped, glaring, infuriated by Réamann's words in regards to Ginny. Draco felt protective of her, and though Réamann was rightfully mad at her about all this, he had no right to talk about her in such a way. Draco wouldn't stand for it. “And I never kept you busy with work just so I could spend time with Ginny. I was right there with you, working on the same shit at late hours. I think you are making this all out to be me trying to hurt you, or make you a fool, when this has nothing to do with you at all!”

“You are such a-a fucking liar!” Réamann shouted, his stutter coming out really bad now. It was usually just a stammer, but Draco knew it had been a stutter when he had been younger. It was a stutter now, again, like Réamann's anger robbed him of whatever control he had managed over it through years of patience and work.

“Réamann, have you talked to Ginny yet? She and I are both to blame for this relationship, but it had nothing to do with me trying to hurt you and everything to do with her not being happy. She has been dissatisfied for a while now and I just happened by at the opportune moment.”

“Dis-dissatisfied? Opportune moment? Fuck you, Malfoy, I was a damn good boyfriend and there was no reason she would-would be dissatisfied!”

“You have been just as unhappy, so don't stand here and act all shocked that Ginny was miserable too, or like me telling you as much is some sort of insult to your capabilities. You two both just fell out of love,” Draco growled, getting angry now too.

“How do-do you know how I feel, how Ginny feels?” Réamann demanded, outraged.

“Hello? Mind-reader?” he snapped, raising his hands to wiggle his fingertips impatiently.

“Stay out of my mind, Malfoy,” Réamann warned.

“I don't have to look into your mind to know that you are unhappy in your relationship with Ginny. You never talk about her, you don't get any sort of dreamy look in your eyes when she is mentioned or when she is around…if anything you have treated her like a burden! You do not celebrate your bond, you mourn it.”

“I have no-not; I love her!” Réamann shouted in outrage.

“Then why haven't you asked her to marry you?” Draco demanded.

“Because I-”

“Because you don't want to marry her. Why haven't you broken up with her?”

“I don't wa-want to.”

“Because you feel trapped, trapped by her, and the family, and the media writing stories about the two of you, and everyone's expectations of you,” Draco answered for him, them both fully aware of Réamann's true feelings on the matter.

“Shut up,” Réamann yelled.

“You are as much to blame for all of this as Ginny, or me.”

“You are just a ma-manipulative, lying, Death Eater!”

“I am not a Death Eater!” Draco shouted, tired of having to explain that to Réamann.

“Then what do you-you call that?” Réamann yelled, pointing his wand at Draco's arm so that his sleeve shot up as though pushed back by an invisible hand to expose the old Dark Mark.

“Scars left after I did all in my power to save my mother's and my own life,” he answered while glaring, bare left arm exposed leaving him feeling violated.

“And you expect me-me to believe that?”

“No, I expect you to stand here, yelling at me with your stupid stutter, calling me a Death Eater because you know it upsets me, because you want to hurt my feelings, because you are furious, furious because you knew that Ginny was cheating on you but outraged to learn with whom,” Draco spat. Réamann recoiled as though Draco had just physically hit him, but then held his wand up to point it at Draco's throat.

“I warned you to stay out of my mi-mind!”

“You knew she was cheating?” Draco asked, having seen as much within Réamann's thoughts and feelings and now enquiring further.

Réamann hadn't been sure, but seeing that picture of Draco and Ginny leaning in and kissing each other on the cover of Witch Weekly was more than he could bear or deny. Everyone in his office had been talking about it, but not to him. A coworker finally approached him with a copy; positive he couldn't have known about it and act so calm and oblivious to the fact that his name, along with Ginny and Draco's, was on the lips and tongue of everyone around him.

With clenched fists atop his desk, he had read the article, and the quotes, and saw the pictures of Draco and Ginny together as the walked hand in hand, stole a kiss, laughed. There was a picture of Draco standing alone against a tree in a side article, speculating about his motives, his “Dark and tortured past,” and critiquing his looks. Apparently, according to whatever editors down at the magazine, he was a “hottie.” There was an excerpt from the article they magazine had run after the Remembrance Ball and the two of them dancing, and Réamann was furious about that. He had given them his blessing to dance and they were shagging behind his back? It was insulting, infuriating, and hurtful.

“I had no idea,” Réamann denied.

“Please, you can't lie to me. You knew something was up, and you didn't do anything about it. You are just insulted that it turned out to be me that she was seeing. I'm offended by that.”

“Like I give a crap ho-how you are feeling, Malfoy,” Réamann fumed.

“Ginny did not want to hurt you with this. We had just agreed to cool things for a while so she could talk to you, end things with you amicably but officially, so as to possibly salvage your relationship as friends, and she and I would start dating each other quietly but properly.”

“Why the bloody hell would she want t-to date you?”

“I'm not sure I understand your insinuation. What about me?”

“Sure, have a fling with the bad-boy, ooh-ahh, every girl's fan-fantasy. But what makes you think she would actually date you seriously?” he said, apparently struggling more and more his stutter and thusly getting more and more aggravated with it.

“The fact that she told me as much,” Draco growled, not liking what Réamann was saying, or thinking.

“And I'm to believe you?”

“You never have,” Draco retorted bitterly.

“You have been pl-playing me from the start, you li-little shit,” he accused.

“I was not seeing Ginny when I first met you or started on this case.”

“No, I'm talking about th-this,” Réamann shouted, throwing at Draco the file he had been holding. Draco flinched as the papers flourished out across his chest and face and fluttered to the floor in a mess. “You, from the start, tri-tried to convince me that Death Eaters had no-nothing to do with this, and I-I let you lead me away from that possibility. The other ni-night you really had me going with the whole Sebastian thing, I have to admit. You ha-have been up upfront about your ability to lie, I just th-thought that was you being honest, not manipulating me-me into thinking you were being honest!”

“Réamann,” Draco attempted, not needing to read any of the papers that were now spilled at his feet to know what Réamann was talking about.

“These attacks are all re-recreations of attacks on people back in the wars, attacks by De-death Eaters!”

“You have to understand, there are no Death Eaters left,” Draco urged as Réamann fumed.

“You have been manipulating thi-this case from the start, and you have been-been fucking my girlfriend behind my back while taking the potions I have been gi-giving you as you stall this investigation!”

“I have been doing no such thing! If you would but listen you me-”

“You-you expect me to believe you? No wonder Harry doesn't trust you, how can anyone tr-trust you? You lie constantly, you-you sway those around you, you sneak, you steal!” he shouted, pulling out of his pocket and holding out the necklace Draco had given to Ginny for Christmas. Draco could see into his mind and know Réamann had found it while making the bed, thus why he had been so flustered yesterday morning like Ginny had mentioned, Draco having assumed it had to do with Sebastian, not a mysterious piece of jewelry discovered. It had been tucked away under the edge of the mattress, and he had brought it with him today to try and have it appraised, to figure out where it had come from and why Ginny would be hiding it. After seeing the article, however, there was no need. He knew where the serpentine design and emeralds had come from.

“Réamann,” Draco then pleaded, sounding nervous, not able to hold onto his anger.

“You are a Death Eater, and a werewolf, and you-you are surely on your way ba-back to Azkaban now,” Réamann warned, pointing at Draco again with his wand. Draco's stomach plummeted at the mention of the prison.

“What?”

“You have been tam-tampering with the case, and receiving potions. The Ministry is going to in-investigate this and you are go-going to have your probation revoked. You can spend the last-last seven years of your original term behind bars, plus however ma-many years they slap on for all this,” he growled, the necklace dangling and swinging from his hand.

“You…you told them about the potions?” Draco asked, unable to swallow the lump in his throat. He felt like he was about to vomit.

“They will investigate.”

“You can't do this, Réamann, I was helping you. This is Sebastian's doing! He is the one that told you about the Death Eater connection!” Draco said while panicking, able to see into Réamann's mind and the conversation Sebastian had had with Réamann earlier that day. He saw Réamann's initial frostiness and how Sebastian had played off Réamann's doubts in Draco to convince him to look at the file. Sebastian had leaned over Réamann's shoulder, explaining the file, pointing to notes, showing him all he needed to, to convince him that Draco was covering up for someone if not responsible for the attacks himself.

“He is manipulating you! Okay, I steered you away from the idea that it was Death Eaters behind it, because they aren't, it's just meant to look that way!” Draco acknowledged while pleading with Réamann to listen to him. Réamann looked bored and unconvinced. “Sebastian is attacking the Muggles and pinning it on me, or rather Death Eaters in general!”

“And w-why would he attack Muggles? He is a top-class Auror.”

“I don't know yet,” Draco admitted, breaking down and shaking in his fear. He couldn't go back to Azkaban, he couldn't; he wouldn't survive it this time, physically or mentally.

“Draco, you are a good liar, but you are s-seriously shoddy right no-now,” Réamann sighed, shaking his head as though disappointed in Draco. “You are pathetic, and, and despicable,” he said and Draco flushed and felt a pang of anger resurface at being called pathetic. “I need to have a t-talk with Ginny. I'm sure she won't like hearing all th-this,” he sighed while flicking his wand at the floor, Draco flinching. The file flew back together and into his hand before he turned away, walking back towards the door.

“Réamann, please, no! I'm not the one behind this. Don't go to Ginny!” he begged, rushing after Réamann but stopping and holding his hands up as Réamann pointed his wand at him, forcing him to take a step back.

“Ginny and I may be over, maybe not, but re-regardless, I care too much about her to l-let a snake like you manipulate and hurt her. You stay away from her,” he warned.

“Réamann, please, don't do this to me,” Draco beseeched.

“After all you have d-done to me? I may be a Noble Gr-gryffindor, but I'm not a fool.”

Réamann walked away brusquely and Draco was left standing there, shaking.

He could not think properly; too much was going on in his mind. Every separate section of his mind and consciousness was outraged, hurt, scared, and confused. Compartmentalizing himself had been useful when dealing with, or rather suppressing, things, and hiding his emotions, thoughts, and feelings…but when too much happened at once he had too many separate aspects of himself that conflicted with each other and internal chaos ensued. The segments were all milling around, creating a buzzing panic that then settled over him.

“Draco?” Coderdale called, coming around the bookshelves to stare at him. Draco looked at the man, tears in his silver eyes as he shook all over.

He had just been trying to help…

He couldn't go back to Azkaban…

What would happen to his children?

Draco turned, not about to cry while in front of the other man, and rushed off. He grabbed his cloak and scarf as he past his desk and fled out the door to leave the Ministry amidst the stares of those he past.

Nobody was home when Draco got there. Narcissa was still out, and Clarissa was back at primary school. Though he had planned to see Michelangelo off, he had gone into work early instead. He couldn't have risked being seen on Platform 9 3/4 with his children, not with Witch Weekly's story already circulating since early that morning, or maybe late that night before, but Draco felt terrible about not seeing Michelangelo off, and it caused a part of him on the inside to literally ache. He couldn't have sent Michelangelo off like that. The boy needed to survive life at Hogwarts, and being outed as the bastard son of a Death Eater and Werewolf would surly cripple any social climbing Michelangelo was hoping for.

Draco paced in his bedroom, on the verge, unable to catch a breath. He kept running his hands through his hair, then down his arms, then clenching and unclenching his fists before repeating. He knew the onset of a panic attack when he felt one. He had them frequently, though not recently, not since seeing Ginny, but just the thought of Ginny at the moment was enough to make his lungs feel like they were filled with cotton and his extremities shake.

The war had left him so…damaged, sometimes it overwhelmed him. He had been told many times by his Support Wizard that “no one from the war was perfectly adjusted,” that those like Harry Potter and anyone that had gotten caught up in all the fighting all had things…issues…to deal with. But seeing Ginny and how adjusted she seemed to be, only put into sharp relief just what a mess he himself was. It didn't help that he was fighting to stick with his sobriety and that he had a bad history of coping with stress and making bad decisions when feeling cornered.

“Bloody hell,” he growled, succumbing to a dark little demon in him. He couldn't have himself breaking down like this, not if he had a means to stop it.

Falling to his knees he reached under his mattress, deep, and pulled out a bottle. He had told himself that he didn't need these any more, that his will-power was stronger than this, but he needed to calm down. Pouring a small handful of the last little blue pills into his palm he tossed them back without the need of a drink. He needed to calm down, and Valium would likely do it…unless he just took enough to put himself in a coma. He doubted it; he didn't have that many pills left to do that again.

Draco curled up in the corner of his bedroom, back to the wall, dresser to his left, knees up to his chest, sitting alone and guarded as he rocked slightly. In his arms was his bunny, Leak, so really, he wasn't alone. He needed Leak's comfort as he continued in his struggle to breathe.

He could not go back to Azkaban. He would rather die than go back there.

How could this be happening? He had just been trying to help. He had promised himself though, promised himself before the end of the war, that he would never again do another good deed, that he would never be selfless again. Every time he had tried to do the “right thing”, tried to love, tried to help, it had blown up in his face and he had made a mess of everything. He had shunned all helpful urges, all desire for acts of charity. He had promised himself that he would never again be punished for trying to be noble, yet, in the end, he had helped Harry…and look where that had left him: in Azkaban. Had he learned his lesson? Apparently not because he had tried to love again and tried to help Réamann and the Ministry, and now look where he was: about to be thrown back into Azkaban?

He couldn't bare the thought.

The road to hell (aka: Azkaban) truly was paved in good intentions.

Draco wanted to talk to Ginny but she wasn't home and he didn't know Réamann's phone number anyways even if she was. She had called him back last night, crying still. He knew she hadn't gone in to work today, but where was she? Hiding at Grangers? Talking to her parents? Had Réamann found her yet? What would Réamann say to her once he did find her?

Draco didn't want Réamann to yell at her, but more than that, he did not want Réamann telling Ginny he is the one behind the Muggle attacks. He wanted to think Ginny would believe him innocent at least, but some insecure part of him was not so sure. She had doubted him in the past, and though they had grown close, they were still new to each other, and there was still a sense of unease in her when it came to him. He took it as her guilt and nerves about their relationship, but that nagging part of him suggested that it was because she didn't trust him. Why should she trust him? No one did.

He would have sent his owl out, but Frank was out hunting, or gathering mail.

Draco feared what kind of mail he would be getting.

Why couldn't anyone see what he had done for the Ministry?

Why were people so unwilling to believe him, or give him a chance?

No one, not even Potter, knew all he had done, all he had sacrificed!

Everyone had their opinion of him, and they were never good, but no one knew him. It wasn't fair! They had not been there; they had not seen what he had done!

Draco sat there, curled up in his bitterness, and paranoia, dwelling in his own anguished past, succumbing to memories that he preferred to keep hidden away but couldn't fight in this crippled state.

It was four nights before the final battle, but no one was aware of that at the time. It was just another gruesome night of fighting and uncertainty. Draco was walking brusquely, Lupin at his side limping as quickly as he could to keep up with the young werewolf. Draco had only hours before revealed to Harry Potter his desire to no longer be a part of the Order of the Phoenix. He knew now he was in a very dangerous position. Neither side would trust him since the Dark Lords trust in anyone was so fleeting, but he had to help the one side defeat the other so that he would be free of all their tyranny. He would continue to assist the Order while deceiving the Dark Lord, but not for some ambiguous greater good. He was doing it for himself.

He was on his own side now, him against the world, alone…and glad of it. He finally had control over his own destiny, and he liked the taste of power and control he now had that he hadn't before.

Draco was with Lupin now because that morning the three members of the Order that knew he was a werewolf: Potter, McGonagall, and Lupin, had met with him privately and he had agreed to meet with the werewolves and talk to them. The full moon was a night away and no one wanted the werewolves as opposition. The Dark Lord had them still and was thusly feeling confident, but the Order held out a desperate hope that they would come over to them.

Draco had met up with Lupin before Potter had any chance of warning him of what Draco had divulged to him that afternoon. Draco had a feeling Harry's pride wouldn't let him admit to anyone he had been wrong and that Draco really wasn't changed, or at least not in the way that he was on their side, but he feared the whole Order turning on him should Potter tattle. It would seriously complicate his situation and screw up his plans.

He was on his way to meet with a group of werewolves, and Draco would try, like Lupin had for months, to sway them over to the side of the Order. With the full moon fast approaching and a battle for them pending, they were nervous, and hungry, and scared so they were probably willing to listen.

“What have you been saying? What have you been saying to try and persuade them?” Draco asked as they walked. They were in an underground tunnel. It led to a sort of dungeon below the castle the Dark Lord was hauled up. There was no way up into the castle from there, so the passage was useless to the Order. It was just a crypt where the werewolves slept to hide form the bitter cold of the hollow.

“They need to understand that no side is going to offer them what they want, and we are not here to promise them everything, but we-”

“No, see, that's where you have failed. The Dark Lord won them over with empty promises. The only way to persuade them away is to do the same. Do not tell them it will be hard, do not tell them they won't get from you what the Dark Lord has already offered them. The truth will get you no where with these people,” he said.

“Draco, we can't lie to them, if they feel we have misled them they will turn on us.”

“They are already against us, so what are we risking by trying it my way? I'm sure they are tired of your drab and dismal sermons anyways. The truth has gotten us nowhere in this. Just let me do the talking. They do not want a friend, they don't want logic or reason; they want a leader, someone to guide, protect, and unify them. We have to be that leader, the leader they are looking for in the Dark Lord.”

“You think you can do that?”

“Just watch,” Draco said confidently.

The werewolves were looking for a leader. What a coincidence, he was looking for followers.

Getting in was easy. The werewolves welcomed their own, and seeing Draco they expected to hear from their master. They did not expect, however, for Draco to start speaking out against their master, their leader as well as Draco's: the Dark Lord. They had come to expect that from Lupin and though they did not chase him off for it, they paid him no mind anymore, no one humoring him with a listen. They gave Draco a listen, however, given the strangeness of the circumstances.

They massed around Lupin and Draco, hearing the boy's words but angered by them.

“You siding with the Norms, boy? Why should we listen to you? You are a traitor to your own kind, and so new! You are barely better than human!” a ragged alpha wolf shouted and the group muttered in angered agreement. “You have not had to live with this for years; you have not been treated like scum, like a freak!”

“Why should you listen to Greyback is my question,” Draco posed, cool and collected, like he was not surrounded in a sea of hostile werewolves he was only infuriating further with his words. Lupin was at his side, looking apprehensive.

“He has been there for us.”

“Of course he has, who do you think did this to you in the first place? It was not the Norms that infected you, Greyback -because of his own twisted resentment towards humans and normal life, and while under the Dark Lord's orders- did.”

“You wouldn't understand; you are not one of us. You may have the condition, but you have not struggled. You are still passing for human, still hiding what you are. You do not embrace yourself; you are not proud what you have become! You are embarrassed by it, by us!”

“Do not DARE stand here and assume that you know me or what I have been through. I may be new, but I have not had it easy. I do what I must to survive. I would be no good to myself or anyone else if it my condition were common knowledge,” he growled, showing he was just as beast as they were, even though he tried so hard to pass for human still. If they wanted to see just how much wolf he was, the animal he had become, if it would earn their respect, he would bare all. “You have been lied to, and deceived. The humans, the Norms, they are not our enemies. Greyback is the one that made you sick and then raised many of you away from people, to lead you to think only the worst of them. Yes, there are bad people out there, and the Dark Lord is one of them, but there are good people too.”

“You have not lived with this as we have!”

“No, I'm new to all this. I was one of the people that thought werewolves were monsters, I'll admit to that. But you have to understand, I'm sick, like you, because the Dark Lord ordered it. Greyback infected me on purpose. They together use this condition as a form of punishment. How can Greyback see it as a good thing if he treats it like an affliction? How can the Dark Lord respect us if he discards all his disappointing servants into our midst?” Draco argued and for the first time the werewolves only blinked in response to what he said, not sure how to combat that point at the moment. “You do not like what you are; you do not embrace it out of love, you embrace it out of a sense of unity amongst yourselves so that you can carry on feeling victimized and thusly justified in your hate. Truly, you resent what you are, you hate that you are not accepted, and I ask you: why infect others? How does that make anything better? It does nothing but cause more pain and only hearten the impression the Norms have of us, that we are vicious animals out to harm them. You have dug your own hole, you have instilled in them the belief that you are monsters though your own actions!”

“What would you have us do?” the man barked, angry, angry because he could see the logic in Draco's words but wanted to argue with the boy regardless, but unsure how.

“Come with me, join in my stand against the Dark Lord,” he said.

“Us. Our stand,” Lupin interjected, looking at Draco but Draco ignoring him.

“The Dark Lord has promised us freedom and rights that their Ministry has denied us,” the alpha wolf argued.

“The Dark Lord is a liar! He will do nothing for you for your loyalty. I have served him, I have done ALL he has asked, and STILL he punishes me,” Draco said firmly, pointing at himself. “He will not follow-through with his promises, he made them only to gain your trust and loyalty. I have been in his presence, he does not intend on honoring his word…he is just using you...us.”

“It is better than living underground, hiding,” the werewolf said, halfheartedly, looking a little lost, not acknowledging where he was at the very moment: underground and hiding, about to fight (and possibly die) in the Dark Lords war, on the man's orders. He did not seem to want to believe Draco's words but was unsure how to fight them either. He had never been in the presence of the Dark Lord like Draco had been.

“We out number the Death Eaters twenty to one! He would fear us if we but refused him and stood independent.”

“Fear us? He would never fear us.”

“He will! He does not know just how powerful we could be if we organized. He made you promises he could never keep but knew would appeal to you because he did not want you used against him, not knowing the full extent of what we could be, but intimidated by our numbers.”

“We could not take him on,” another werewolf argued, her voice carrying fear. Many in that room were not magical. Yes they were werewolves, but many had been Muggle before their affliction. Most that had been skilled in the magical arts discarded their wands once becoming werewolves, as a way for distancing themselves from their former lives and rejecting humanity, so they were under trained and also intimidated by the thought of going up against the most powerful wizard alive.

“You fear him, but why? He is a coward! He treats us like dogs,” he said and the crowd grumbled, outraged that they were compared to dogs but not angry at Draco. Draco was winning them over and Lupin was surprised. He leaned over to him and whispered into his ear of the grumbling noise.

“Draco, what are you doing?”

“They are looking for a leader.”

“But you haven't mentioned the Order yet,” he hissed.

“Is that what I'm supposed to be doing?” He smirked.

“Draco-“

“They need a little motivation,” he whispered back.

Draco stepped up onto the table that was at his back so he could address the whole room as well as be clearly seen, Lupin left to stand beside his feet, looking ready to yell up at him if he were one to yell.

“The Dark Lord thinks we're dogs that would follow his every command for the scraps he throws us. Are we dogs?”

“No,” the crowd grumbled, not quite riled up yet but definitely agitated as they muttered their disagreements.

“The Dark Lord thinks he owns us, but does he?”

“No,” they said, that time with more enthusiasm.

“Draco,” Lupin hissed. They had agreed to let Draco do the talking, and win them over, but he was supposed to be convincing them to join the Order. Lupin got the impression that Draco had something else in mind.

“We don't have respect, a leader, or magic on our side, but we ARE a power to be reckoned with…because we SAY so,” he said firmly. He then shouted over the whole crowd. “Together we can do what we have to until we break the hold the Dark Lord has over us and his confidence along with it!”

“Draco,” Lupin hissed, the werewolves getting more riled, Draco more confident and angry with every declaration. He hadn't even mentioned the Order's promise yet. What was he doing?

“What's it gonna take to stop the Dark Lord's giants? Can we do it?” he shouted.

“Yes! Yeah!” they all cheered and yelled.

“What's it gonna take to crush the Dementors? Are we willing?

“Yes!”

“The Dark Lord will know, and the Ministry too, that we are not going to take their oppression anymore!” he shouted down at the crowd as he stood atop the table. His own wounded sense of injustice was surfacing as he addressed the crowd, giving him courage.

“Draco!” Lupin shouted. He was turning against the Ministry now?

“The world will fear us, not for the beasts we are, but for the power we have!”

“Yeah!”

“I say Carpe Diem! NOTHING can beat us, and no one can make us give our rights away. We have given them up through consent but we will not be misled anymore. We will not lie down and roll over in submission. Once and for all we will stand up and we will stand strong! The history books will write of what we did, and how we made the tables turn,” he said. “Our ranks will grow, and we'll show them that we are more than they take us for!”

“Draco, what are you DOING? This is NOT why I brought you here!” Lupin shouted up at him from beside the table, the crowd all looking over at him now. “We are here on behalf of the Order, and the Ministry!”

“If you are not with us, you are against us,” Draco said, looking down at Lupin, the crowd instantly backing Draco on that. “The Ministry is corrupt and has shunned and abused us for too long!” he shouted over the crowed, them cheering and encouraging him to keep talking. They liked what they were hearing, and Lupin realized that Draco had been right, they wanted a leader to promise them everything, but Lupin, looking up at Draco, realized too that Draco seemed to believe his words, support and embrace them. He was talking of such grandiose things, surely Draco had gone mad!

“The Order is small, and weak. They are better than the Dark Lord with their ethics and sense of justice, but they would still imprison us. Mark my words: if the Order should win this we will be locked up like animals, hunted down and tagged like beasts, to be persecuted like always!”

“Draco!” Lupin shouted, two werewolves grabbing Lupin's shoulders.

“We are proud,” he shouted and they cheered in agreement, “We are defiant!” the noise was great. “We will not be compliant!” he shouted, the crowd egging him on. “The Dark Lord would exterminate us once our usefulness and purpose has ended in his eyes. We can't trust anyone but ourselves, we cannot rely on anyone else.”

The crowed jostled and shouted in agreement and outrage. The women dances and the men howled. The werewolves were very tribal in how they carried themselves,

“When the Dark Lord calls us, will we come?”

“No!”

“When the final battle rages, will we be serving the humans?”

“No!”

“We have a hundred to their dozens. Our voices are greater than theirs. Our day has come and our time is now…our fear is GONE! The Dark Lord may own the world but he doesn't own us. He may crack the whip but he won't whip us!”

“Never! Never again!” the werewolves shouted, some more howling, some stomping their feet in their circular dances. Lupin looked up at Draco, the boy smirking and looking very content and pleased with himself and all he had just accomplished. Lupin stared at him and wondered what had happened to make Draco this way? What had he done by bringing Draco with him?

“The world will learn,” Draco went on to say, costing on the approval he had built up, his own arrogance boasting him, the werewolves eating up everything he had to say, “and they will see that we had to choose, that we just could not continue on like this. Come with me, the things we do today will affect the future, our future, forever!” he deClaired, and they cheered, but there was a sudden ripple and a gasp that moved through the crowd, starting from the back and moving towards the center where Draco stood on the table.

Greyback stood in the back, obviously having just entered and stopped upon seeing the scene before him. There was, instantly, no more dancing, and the silence was heavy and uncomfortable. Greyback glared up at Draco and though Draco felt his stomach tighten, he stood tall and confident. He had won over the werewolves with his words; he needed to hold onto them now with his actions, with his conduct. If he showed any fear towards to older werewolf they would lose confidence in him and his goals, the goals he had just invited them to join him in.

“Malfoy,” Greyback growled, the rustling of clothing and shifting steps all that broke the silence amongst the wolves. Lupin looked panicked.

“Greyback,” Draco greeted, speaking smoothly, not getting down from his position on the table, maintaining the arrogant composure his parents had deeply instilled in him from an early age.

“You little bastard,” he growled, the crowd parting for him to approach.

Draco did not let his fear of the werewolf be seen. Greyback could smell fear, or so he claimed. Draco was about to see if that was true. He suppressed all he was feeling, all his dread, and stood confident.

“Yes?” he asked smoothly, almost mocking in its casualness. It was like Greyback had been invited for tea and Draco was welcoming him into his parlor.

“You would try and take my followers from me? You would turn your back against the Dark Lord, a man that has given you so much?”

“Given me so much?” Draco laughed, though it was bitter. “What has he done for me other than destroy my life, hurt those I care about, ruin my family's name, and send you after me?”

“Do not say that it isn't a blessing that you are a werewolf, you little shit. You are not worthy of the honor! I should have killed you.”

“Your mistake,” Draco quipped. “You say it is an honor, but you don't believe it. You wouldn't resent the Norms, the humans, so much if you did.”

“I hate them for how they treat us!”

“No, you hate them because you are not one of them, you just resent it that they don't accept you because you are sick.”

“This is not a sickness, we are GREATER than them!” he shouted, his face long ago developing a beastie appearance that made it impossible to mistake him for human, his voice perpetually stuck in a rasping growl that made every word he spoke sound something like a bark.

“Oh, I'm not saying we are not greater,” he said for the benefit of the wolves he was trying to lure to his side. “But this is a blood based infection, a sickness. You cannot deny that.”

“The Dark Lord will have your head for this!”

“Are you going to run to him, like his faithful dog, and tattletale on me?” he mocked.

“Don't you DARE call me a dog, Malfoy!”

“You prefer bitch?”

“Fuck you, you little-”

“You're right,” Draco interrupted Greyback's seething words. “That's an insult to all dogs. You are not a dog, you are a mongrel, a mutt. A flea-bitten scoundrel that serves the Dark Lord like any lowly domesticated beast would its master!” he said, building courage as he spoke, his voice firm and forceful by the end.

“You, you…” Greyback said, his fists uncurling to reveal claws. Draco's eyes widened just a touch but otherwise suppressed his reaction. “I WILL KILL YOU FOR THIS!”

Draco drew his wand with a gasp from the wolves aground him and pointed it down at Greyback with a smirk.

“I would like to see you try,” he taunted confidently, panicking on the inside.

“You COWARD. Not even willing to fight me beast to beast?” he ridiculed, Draco unaffected by it.

“What would that prove? I'm not claiming to be stronger than you. I'm barely a hundred and twenty pounds of boy and you have been a werewolf for decades. I do not humor the thought that I could best you in a claw on claw throw-down. But,” he said, holding himself (if possible) even more proper, “I am better than that. I am not a monster, I am not a beast, I am not an animal. You hate me for that. You hate that I can still pass for human, as one of the Norms, because you can't. I can kill you right now where you stand, and still have that, still have my dignity. You could kill me in a fight and what would you have but more proof of what a freak you are.”

“RAH!” Greyback shouted, jumping at Draco in his rage. Draco flicked his wand and flipped Greyback over him in mid-pounce so that Greyback shot over the table to land in a heap on the other side. Draco jumped down smoothly and hurried over to the werewolf as he pushed himself off the stone.

“Your spells cannot affect me, I'm too strong,” he panted.

“This is true, that spell would have blown you right across the room rather than just deflected you over me a bit so that you missed, but it is still an advantage over you,” he said, pointing his wand down at Greyback, keeping himself out of reach.

“I made you,” he seethed.

“Am I to thank you for that?”

“You really think you can lead them? You hate what you are.”

“No more than you, but I didn't make them, so therefore they would have no reason to hate me.”

“Or fear you. You can't rule people that don't fear you to some extent or another,” he said, glaring.

“In good time,” he said, raising his wand to curse Greyback. He did not expect there werewolf to be so fast, however.

Greyback shot up from the floor and tackled him around the middle. Draco fell to the ground, seriously outweighed by the man, and cursed at having held his wand right handed. His father had broken him so completely that he still automatically drew right handed, even though he was left dominant. He would have been fast enough with the left to curse the man before hitting the floor. Any spell less than a seriously powerful curse would have been nearly null, but it would have been something.

Greyback grabbed Draco's wrist and pushed his arm up so it was on the floor above his head. Draco bared his teeth in his effort to free himself from Greyback's hold, but Greyback was just so strong. Greyback lifted Draco's arm and slammed his hand onto the ground hard, again, and again, until Draco finally let go of his wand, but not by choice. The slender piece of wood rolling away slightly, Greyback had both of Draco's wrists in his hands as he knelt, straddling him. Draco gathered all his strength and was able to pull his arms up from the floor above his head and then down so they were between him and Greyback, but he could do nothing to break the man's hold and his arms shook from the effort.

“I am stronger than you,” Greyback sneered and he loomed over Draco.

“And stupider,” Draco said, lifting his left leg to knee Greyback in the groin. The man had him pinned with enough space between their bodies that Draco's knee had made a direct hit. Greyback's grasp on Draco's wrists became bruising tight as he was overcome by the pain. Draco gasped as his wrists started to break.

Greyback was not about to get off him, and Draco did not want both his arms broken, he would be helpless. The werewolves around them would not help. They would follow whomever won this bout, this fight. This was a fight for dominance, and like any animal, Draco had to do it alone.

Lupin stood to the side, the werewolves no longer holding him, a look of panic on his prematurely aged face. He might have thought Draco had gone insane, but he did not want the boy killed!

Greyback collected himself with his head turned and then rounded on Draco, baring pointed, wolf-like teeth at him. Draco's eyes were closed in pain at the moment, but when he opened them and bared his own teeth he surprised Greyback by showing his own set of elongated and pointed canines on both top and bottom.

Greyback was caught off guard for only a brief moment but it was all Draco needed to get the upper hand. He twisted his left wrist as hard as he could and his newly extended claws gouged out a chunk of Greyback's hand and wrist. He cursed and released Draco's one wrist, but held tight to the other. Draco pulled his legs out from between Greyback's and squatted there himself, Greyback still holding Draco's right wrist between them as they crouched, facing each other. Draco pounced at him, knocking him backwards and swiping at his face with his left claws. Greyback swiped at Draco in defense with his free right claws, raking four nasty marks across the left side of Draco's face, from ear to chin, causing his cheek to bleed rivulets down his neck and into his white dress shirt's collar and shoulder.

Draco gouged at Greyback's eyes, ruining the right and spilling a white-ish colored wash down the side of his face that mingled with the shed blood. Greyback screamed and turned his face away, putting his knees up so they were between him and Draco, pushing Draco off of him with just his legs, releasing his wrist so that Draco would stumble backwards so distance.

Greyback was in pain but he would not linger on the floor. He could not let Draco pounce while he was whimpering over his lost eye.

Draco crouched low, arms down between his bent legs like an animal, face bleeding, mouth open in a snarling pant. Greyback was up and they circled for a moment, the werewolves creating a ring for them to fight. The table was one edge, the crowd a circle around that.

Greyback sprung, and so Draco did too. They met in the middle with claws and fists. Greyback was stronger, but Draco turned out to be faster. He ducked under one swipe and came in with an uppercut to Greyback's chin. Greyback stumbled backwards and cursed at Draco's unanticipated strength, but attacked immediately. Draco's neck was sliced on the right side and for a panicked moment he cupped his bloody clawed hand over it, not sure how bad it was.

Greyback's back hunched and his muscles seemed to tighten and bulge.

“You ready to take on a true Greater-wolf?” he asked, slowly shifting before Draco, his face distorted slightly, in a sort of wolfman form. “You surprised me with what you managed so far. A Greater-wolf, I wouldn't have expected it out of a little runt like you, but your power does not compare to mine,” he said, his words a little imprecise from his wolf features.

Draco swallowed his fear. He could not shift part way, not like Greyback was doing now, not to that extent. He had produced claws, and some sharp teeth…the most powerful of the Lesser-wolves could do that, or the weakest of the Greater…but Draco was not fighting a Lesser, or a weak Greater. He was taking on a master werewolf. Draco knew, if he got upset, having already sprouted claws, his ears already tapering off into points, his teeth sharp and long making it impossible for him to close his jaws properly, he would just shift completely. He might win the fight, but he would be an animal, a beast, and lose the respect of those watching. If he didn't shift, however, he would lose the fight, and it wouldn't matter what the werewolves thought of him, he would be very, very dead.

Greyback leapt at him and Draco ducked, scurrying across the floor towards where Greyback had just sprung, causing the werewolf to miss him. He spun up from the floor in time to slash him across the back but Greyback was fast and turned on him, slashing Draco across the chest. Draco stumbled backwards and growled, his mind slipping enough that he was not even disgusted by his animalistic reaction.

The werewolves around them were growling, cheering, howling. The energy in the room was enough to make the weaker, lesser-wolves shift. Draco wouldn't shift, probably. He had to collect himself, keep his mind and senses. He was able to fight back whatever beast was in him, trying to break free, but it was hard. He had to rely on the skills he used for Occlumency to clear his mind to sooth himself now, to take control of himself.

Greyback leapt and they grappled.

Greyback was stronger, and Draco knew there would be no chance of him winning as things were right then. He needed the advantage, he needed his wand. Draco gathered his mind and spoke to Lupin.

“Lupin, my wand, I need it,” he said, Lupin jumping at the intrusion.

“Draco?”

“Now, or this will be the death if me,” he said, allowing Lupin to feel all his panic.

Lupin moved around the outer edge of the circle and put his foot on top of Draco's wand, drawing it towards himself. He then kicked it so that it rolled and bumped across the stone floor towards Draco, who caught it with his left hand. Kneeing Greyback hard in the gut Draco was able to roll away and up onto his feet in one motion. Without thinking, without considering his actions, he pointed his wand and shouted the killing curse with as much conviction as he could muster, which was quite a lot.

“Avada Kedavra!” he shouted, a burst of green light engulfing the man that had been the thing of his nightmares for the last year, a man who had taken his dignity, his humanity, his life away. Ultimately it was the Dark Lord to blame, but Draco had feared Greyback more than anything, even the Dark Lord, since that night he had been attacked and infected.

Seeing the man's face become slack as he fell backwards, open-eyed and limp, somehow released Draco from that fear, while something entirely different, yet just as cold, took its place and overtook him.

He had just killed someone.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

The werewolves were looking at him; he couldn't break down right in front of them. He could not puke, he could not cry…he suppressed what he was feeling and hid behind is confident and arrogant mask. He made it seem to all that were looking on that he had been sure of his victory from the start. He needed them to be convinced of him. He sealed away his feelings. He would deal with what he had done later, if ever.

Weak in the knees despite his resolve to stand strong, he fell, legs folding under him so that he was kneeling there, Greyback dead before him and the werewolves silent. They were shocked, they were surprised, they were scared.

Lupin ran to Draco's side and looked him over, careful not to touch Draco's hurting wounds.

Draco played off his collapse as being hurt, not on the verge of being sick over what he had just done.

He had never killed anyone before.

“You will be alright, Draco, we heal damn fast,” Lupin assured softly. “These won't scar, now that you are a wolf yourself,” he said.

They scared something terrible when it came to the wounds they got when human and made them werewolves, but anything after that, caused by them self or a fellow werewolf, healed cleanly, and quickly. That ability to heal such wounds was how Lupin and Draco were able to be werewolves in Hogwarts and hurt themselves (separated from humans to bite, they bit and scratched themselves instead) and not have much of a mark to show for it and give them away.

Draco's face was raked with nasty cuts on the left side, but given a day or two and he would have not a mark to show for it. Unfortunately, if he intended on hiding what he was from everyone, he would have to cast a spell or two to try and hide the wounds, no spell yet known capable of healing a werewolf's claw marks, even for those already infected.

Draco looked up at the werewolves around him and stood slowly, supporting himself on Lupin quite a bit at first before standing alone with his right hand clamped over the side of his neck to try and stop the steady bleeding that was soaking his un-tucked white dress shirt.

“Greyback is no longer someone you can look to as a leader. That leaves me, or the Dark Lord, a human, a Norm,” he said, looking around at them, his claws still extended, his wounded face dramatically intensifying his words.

No werewolf present that night would fight for the Dark Lord, unfortunately, the Dark Lord had many other wolves still, along with the Giants, and the Dementors.

“I think I got them riled up for you guys,” Draco whispered to Lupin as he was led away, too weak and shaking to walk on his own once out of sight from the werewolves.

Draco was pulled from the memory by a loud CRACK and flinched upon hearing footsteps in his hallway. His mother and Clarissa would have come in through the locked front door and it wouldn't have made a cracking noise. Whoever was in his house now was someone who could Apparate, thus the distinctive crack, and Draco had a feeling that it wasn't Ginny showing up unexpectedly by the sound of the heavy stride.

“Malfoy? Where are you? I know you're here. Come-out, come-out,” Sebastian teased, laughing and patronizing.

Draco felt the urge to growl, maybe because of the subject of the vivid memory he had just pulled out of, but remained silent and unmoving, stuck between outraged anger and paralyzing fear as he hugged Leak in his arms and pressed them between his knees and chest.

Why was Sebastian here? Was he here to arrest him?

The door burst open and Draco did not even recoil, he just sat there in his corner glaring at Sebastian as he stepped in like he owned the place.

“Ah, there you are,” he said with a smile. “I heard you left work early today, ruining my plans of going down to the Hall of Records and pestering you,” he smiled.

“Get out of my house, Sebastian,” Draco warned, his voice threatening, his body language not so much.

“You call this a house?” Sebastian sneered, looking around Draco's dark and dilapidated room, having already seen the living room and clearly not impressed. Draco's sore and throbbing face flushed with anger. “Nice hair,” Sebastian then complemented, not meant to be taken kindly and Draco just narrowed his eyes further despite how painful it was for him to glare. “I read a funny little article about you today,” he went on conversationally, ignoring Draco's warning.

Draco's glare managed to intensify.

“Not only were you lying to your partner, but fucking his girlfriend. Goodness, Draco, somehow you managed to surprise me with just how low you could be.”

“You told Réamann that I was lying to him this morning. You know I am not, but you are trying to turn this whole investigation around and pin the attacks and murders on me,” he accused, though really, he was just stating a fact.

“I showed Réamann that the attacks were all reminiscent of Death Eater attacks and he was able to come to the conclusion -all on his own- that you were lying to him, and you imposed your own look of guilt since you were trying so hard to keep him from exploring the Death Eater angle. It looks like finding out you were shagging his girlfriend was the last straw. Nice shiner.”

“Don't stand here and tell me you did not lead him by the hand to that conclusion,” Draco fumed, not wanting to talk about Ginny or think about how much the side of his face hurt.

“I would never do such a thing,” he said smugly, brushing his hands over the collar of his robes and smoothing them flat against his chest.

“You here to arrest me, or just torment me? Last I checked, having an affair broke no Ministry Decree, and you appear to be alone so I can't imagine this being Ministry business,” Draco snapped.

“Oh, I'm just here to torture you a little before Réamann balls-up and goes to the Ministry and turns you in…then I will have to act all professional as I tear your life a new-one,” Sebastian assured, looking and sounding so pleased. Draco's discomfort, anguish, and life crisis were enjoyable and amusing to him. “I hear Azkaban has become quite the arse-pounding prison. No doubt you were a bitch,” he laughed meanly, Draco flushing in rage and embarrassment.

Draco kept his knees up so Leak would remain hidden. No need for that little secret to be known by the one person that he quite possibly hate more than Potter now.

“You are not going to finger me in it personally? You are waiting on Réamann to act? I would think you would enjoy doing it yourself,” Draco said bitterly.

“That is true, and there are so many people I would love to see their reaction to the news that you are now a chief suspect. There is the head of the department, the field Aurors, your probation team, that frilly freak of a cousin of yours…my, my, I wouldn't want to miss Ron Weasley learning of you being brought back in as a serious suspect. Surely he, as an Auror working on this case, would be glad to hear we have a lead, though I'm not sure how he would react to finding out it is you, given your…business…with his dear, sweet, baby-sister,” he ragged, turning to leave Draco sitting there with all he just said hanging over him as he laughed with such vicious mirth. “But, alas, I have acted rather unprofessional in the past in this case, and by me going to the heads of this case I would have to admit I had information that I did not claim and report to them. As much as I would love to see your life ripped apart, I don't want to go up in front of the Inquisitorial Council for conduct review,” he said, nearly out the door now.

“I still can't quite figure out your angle yet,” Draco said, speaking to Sebastian's back. Sebastian twisted slowly to watch Draco stand. Draco shifted Leak behind him and dropped him to the floor so it was hidden from view by his dresser. He would apologize later for the maltreatment.

“What angle? You know how much I enjoy castigating you.”

“Surely you can't derive that same kind of joy from attacking Muggles,” Draco said, glaring at the man. Sebastian stiffened but remained otherwise unaffected.

“What?”

“Nice of you to leave clues behind for us to possibly find, confident that no one would of course, but it was foolish and arrogant. I am flattered that you bullied me off the case when you did. You felt threatened by me aiding in the investigation, fearing I would discover it,” he said.

“I don't know what you are talking about,” he denied, sounding bored but his eyes looking a little nervous.

“Now, now,” Draco said, tapping the side his own nose and smiling. “You clearly have been taught Occlumency, but you cannot lie to me.”

“So you figure me, why should I care? What are you gonna do about it? No one will believe you and why would they? You look guilty in the situation and you have a reprehensible past, not to mention it is widely recognized that you are mental. I am a Ministry golden boy, with no reason to harm Muggles,” he said smugly.

“What is your angle?” Draco asked.

“Assuming I am behind this, why should I divulge such a thing to you? Seems silly.”

“What do you have to lose? I'm mental and no one would believe me with all the evidence pointing towards my own guilt in these matters.”

“I don't trust you.”

“I'm curious.”

“I'm careful.”

“These attacks are just meant to keep the Ministry busy. You have something else up your sleeve, but what is it?”

“You think these attacks are diversions?”

“Obviously, otherwise you wouldn't have tried so damn hard to make sure there was no pattern. The whole Ministry is now fixated on this case, all other maters being pushed aside and all other departments being redirected to offer aid. You wanted this, so that while everyone is looking the other way you would have free reign to do…whatever it is you want to do,” he concluded. Sebastian looked at him, a little shocked and unable to hide it.

“Clever,” he commended, sighing and smiling, no longer fighting Draco's accusations. “See, this was why I didn't want you on the case,” he said, though still sounding oh-so-comfortable.

“What is your angle?” Draco demanded.

“You can figure me in the case all you want because, yes, no one will believe you, but I'm not stupid enough to expose anything to you.”

Draco looked into his eyes intently and Sebastian closed himself off, but not fast enough.

“This is about money?” he asked, it now his turn to look and sound surprised.

“You are just speculating.”

“No, this is about money,” he said firmly. “Not ransom, so what is it?”

“Knowing won't help you, Malfoy; you are still taking the fall for all this.”

“Let them try and pin me. I can honestly say I didn't do it, and Veritaserum would prove that,” he said stubbornly. He backed up a little as Sebastian drew his wand and pointed it at him.

“Ah, yes, well, there is that little problem,” he said, smiling wickedly. “Thanks for the reminder; I could have left without doing half of what I came here for in the first place,” he said with a smile. “Veritaserum is a hitch for me in this situation, but what I learned from your original trial is, so long as you are selective and careful about what questions you ask, and with all you are allowed to say is yes, or no, it isn't too difficult to convey the idea of guilt,” he smiled

“You son-of-a-bitch,” Draco growled.

“Hmm?”

“You have known all along that I was entrapped and wrongfully thrown into Azkaban.”

“Yup, well, since looking into your case when your probation came up…so about three years now,” he said simply.

“Why did you then try so hard to keep me in prison?” Draco demanded.

“Because I don't like you,” he said with a smile.

“That is not the reason.”

“Because fighting against your release would earn me favor amongst the Ministry leaders.”

“You used me as a steppingstone?”

“Yup, basically.”

“And now you are making it so I will take the fall for all this, so you can get your hands on some kind of money?” he asked.

“Yup.”

“You must be pretty close to your goal then, if you are starting to figure me as the culprit. You couldn't have any more Muggles attacked while I'm detained,” he said and Sebastian's expression soured just a bit, giving Draco the impression that that was not true at all. Draco felt a flicker of hope for himself in the situation then.

“No, I really couldn't. But it's none of your business how my plans are going, but I fear, despite your reputation and my confidence that no one would believe you should you mention any of this, that you know too much,” he said, pointing his wand at Draco with a steady hand.

“This won't work. You will try to pin it on me, but there are instances that I was simply incapable of carrying out some of the attacks, and having me thrown away for making it look like I was covering the attacks up won't reveal who was actually responsible and the Ministry will keep searching.”

“And it will be a cold-case, but with the attacks mysteriously stopping after you are locked up, people will assume and over time the Ministry will forget.”

“I work in the Hall of Records, Sebastian. Trust me, the Ministry never forgets,” he said.

“We'll see.” Sebastian looked about ready to flick his wand.

“You are devious, and malevolent, and entirely too full of yourself,” Draco said suddenly and Sebastian rolled his eyes, looking bored. “I like that, reminds me of me,” Draco then added with a smile.

“Excuse me?”

“I could help you,” he offered.

“Help me?” Draco just nodded. “Why do I need your help?”

“Because I am damn clever, and you are obviously struggling for it to be taking you this long, nine attacks, to finish whatever it is you are trying to do. You are not ready to have your scapegoat thrown into Azkaban, but the sudden whirlwind my personal life has created has thrown your plans and timeline off.”

“As enjoyable as it is to watch your life fall apart, I must admit that it came at a very inopportune time for me. Regardless, however, you still don't know what I'm trying to do, yet you offer to help me? What is your angle?”

“I really don't give a damn about the wee-Muggles you have attacked and killed, and I really don't want to end up in Azkaban. I can help you, in exchange for all this to go away,” he said, standing before Sebastian, wand pointed at him still.

“You want me to get rid of my perfect scapegoat last minute? No way, who else would I have to pin this all on?”

“Perfect am I? You can try and pin this all on me as things are now, and it will fail, and you will possibly, as a result, not get what you are seeking, ending up no better off. With my aid you can be sure at least that you will accomplish your task, and we can together find a more secure scapegoat. Surely you, as an Auror, are sufficiently talented to manage I memory charm powerful enough to deceive the Ministry, that is, I'm assuming that's what you are threatening me with now,” Draco said, raising his arm and putting his finger tip on Sebastian's wand tip and pushing it down.

“You are fooling with me,” Sebastian accused.

“This about money?” he asked again.

“Yes,” Sebastian finally answered.

“See, now there is something I understand and almost admire. Not the typical, maniacal, `I want to take over and rule the world' horseshit; just some down-to-earth, straight up, greed. It's refreshing, and honest,” he said with a shrug.

“You will help me, because this is all about money?” Sebastian asked, sounding skeptical.

“I have already had a taste of following those who would to rule the world, and serving those who just want to do the `right thing' didn't work out too well for me either. I know money, and I understand it. You want it, hey, I want it…so I can see us working together for a common goal,” he said, shrugging and shifting to stand in a comfortable pose, to show he was not threatened by the wand still in Sebastian's hand but no longer pointed at him. His heart was still pounding in his chest, but he kept his mind clear and calm.

“You have no moral hang-ups over this?” he asked, looking Draco up and down.

“Do you?” Draco retorted.

“How can I trust you?”

“You can't really, since no one ever has, but I don't think it's hard to assume I really don't want to go back to prison and you could look around a little and see that I could use a little gold.”

“So you would help me in my task, and find me a better scapegoat to pin it on, if I stop implicating you, but you want a cut on top of that?”

“A small payment for all I would be risking.”

“You still don't even know what I'm after.”

“Gold is gold, but I'm all ears if you would like to fill me in. It would be nice to know what I'm working for, otherwise, just say what you need of me,” he said with a humble sweeping bow. He looked up at Sebastian very intently and he looked right back, making the mistake of locking eyes with Draco for a moment but breaking the connection quickly to look at Draco's nose instead.

“Am I to really believe you trust me to not turn you in after you help me, or that I will actually give you a cut?”

“Well, if you turn me in, I will do you the same favor,” Draco said with a mean smile with leering silver eyes. “I'm a powerful Occlumens, good luck in finding a Memory Charm powerful enough to overpower my mental barriers,” he said, Sebastian paling a little, not able to hold to his initial plan of confounding Draco's mind so he wouldn't remember his little admission of guilt just now, or his memories of their actions should he help, if what Draco said is true. “As for trusting you to pay me,” he said, smiling a little wider to reveal his pointed canines, “I trust you will hold up your end of the bargain.”

“You threatening me?” Sebastian said while raising his wand.

“Are you?” Draco asked, not showing any sign of fearing the wand.

“You are to stay away from me.”

“Do not give me reason to come near you then; hold up your end of the deal,” Draco said civilly, like he didn't have a mouth full of beastie fangs.

“What of Réamann, and the Ministry? You have been working with them on this case, trying to solve it, or so you claim. Why turn on them now?”

“I owe the Ministry nothing, and Réamann Rossiter is a bloody addle-pate. I worked on the case because I did not know who or what was attacking Muggles, or why, and because it was what was requested of me. I got potions to ease my pains from Réamann in exchange for my services; otherwise I never would have gotten involved beyond what my job at the Ministry dictates. You have need of me, and gold and avoiding a stint in Azkaban would be more than enough incentive and payment for me,” he said.

Sebastian finally smiled, lowering his wand slowly. He was able to see that, as much as he could threaten and blackmail Draco, Draco could do the same right back. They had each other by the balls, and neither was about to let go and have the other rip theirs off. They were at a stand-still, a draw. Draco could help him, could he trust Draco? No. He could help Draco, but could Draco trust him? No. But…they both wanted gold, a “common goal” as Draco put it. They could both get off scot-free and a whole lot richer if they worked together, or they could fight each other, and both go down at the same time, Sebastian knowing he would be in a whole lot more trouble than Draco, Draco knowing that too.

“You really are a cunning Slytherin, willing to use any means to come to your desired ends,” he said admirably.

“I hear you were a Hufflepuff, Sebastian,” Draco smirked while crossing his arms, Sebastian's wand at his side.

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Author's Note:

Crazy pill-popping Draco. I love him, regardless. Valium is a muscle relaxer, which WILL kill you if you take too many because your heart is a muscle and too much Valuim will stop it. FYI, so don't be like Draco, you will wind up dead, or in a coma, (not fun) like he has done himself in the past and thus why he is not allowed any more pillZ. As you can see in this flashback, Draco embraces his beast a whole lot more than he let-on in the first major portion of this fic.

“You call this a house?” is, of course, a quote from Lucius Malfoy from the second HP movie. I could not resist the harsh irony. Poor Lucius must be spinning in his grave if he could see Draco now.

I credit, nay, blame The Newsies for the flashback. “The World Will Know,” “Seize the Day,” “Once and For All.” I should really stop listening to Disney soundtracks while I write. All good songs, though. I hope you liked the flashback since it was something I wrote before I ever decided on writing this fic. It was one of the first pieces of this story I wrote.

AN2:

I understand there may be some confusion over the werewolf bit of this fic and their ability to heal, so here is a little explanation. (I tried to explain it in the context of the chapter, but I'm dumb and wordy)

Werewolves are complicated. Cut one with a knife and you can heal that wound with the aid of magic. Have another werewolf bite or claw them and that can't be healed by anything but their own bodies. The reason behind that is werewolf bites/scratches cannot be healed by magic, period. If you are a human and just attacked the wounds cannot be healed by magic, you scar really bad as you heal on your own, and you become a werewolf yourself. If you are already a werewolf, the wounds cannot be healed with magic still but they heal on their own with no mark to show for it a little faster than what would be considered a “normal healing rate”

My reasoning behind this is complex and has a lot of different Lycanthrope Lore all mixed in. Have questions? Ask away.

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26. Chapter 26

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-six

Narcissa and Clarissa came home to find Draco alone, or in company of only Frank who had taken to perching on his head again, and Leak, who Draco had taken to carrying around with him. Sebastian was gone and Draco was not dead, so he had obviously agreed to Draco's proposal/threat. Draco was not feeling bad about this, mostly because he couldn't feel much of anything still after the Valium, but was certainly not feeling good, though that was largely due to his mother standing before him holding a copy of Witch Weekly. She was far more intimidating than Sebastian, even with his wand drawn and threats made.

Draco flinched every time his mother smacked him with the rolled up publication.

“Did I not tell you? This is a disaster! Everyone is talking about it! I was on the platform and could hear them talking all around me!” she scolded, having been covered up to conceal her identity so as to drop Michelangelo off without people making a connection between him and the Malfoys. That, however, also allowed her to move about without people keeping their voices down as they talked about the article, an article she had been unaware of until that morning.

“How could you be so foolish and irresponsible?” she cried.

“Mother, please, stop swatting me,” Draco begged, not even raising an arm to block and protect himself. His mother was not whapping him hard, but still, it smarted a little. Ginny appeared suddenly by Apparition in the middle of Draco's living room and Narcissa froze in the middle of rapping her son over the head.

“Ginny?” he asked, stomach tight.

“Draco,” she said, not registering Narcissa in the room, just rushing to Draco and curling against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her in a hug, letting her lean heavily into him.

“Gin,” he said, stomach unclenching slightly. Surely she couldn't have spoken to Réamann yet if she was hugging him. Even if she didn't believe what Réamann would have told her she probably would have wanted answers and verbal reassurances, not hugs, not at first at least, right?

“Oh, today has been just…horrible,” she sobbed.

“I know. I'm sorry. I did not mean to make such a mess of everything,” he whispered softly to her, his nose in her hair that smelled like strawberries, sweet but a little tart at the same time. He loved it when she left that scent on his pillows and/or on his body after they made love. That smell alone was enough to sooth him considerably. Scent was a very important sense to a werewolf.

“It's not your fault, this was all my idea. Really, I feel terrible for doing all this to you. What are you going to do about the media, and your children?” she sobbed.

“My life and my children were bound to be exposed eventually, I was only fooling myself into believing I could hide from the world forever. But really, privacy is not a possibility for any of us from the Order,” he said and his mother gave him a dirty look. “I couldn't keep them hidden forever, and it was cruel and even more unfair to them to try,” he assured.

“Oh God, I couldn't even bear the thought of work today. Did you go? I tried calling but no one answered and thought maybe you had gotten hounding calls like me and had since stopped picking up.”

“No to the calls, yes to the work. I only went for a short while though. Come here, sit down,” he said, releasing her from his embrace only enough to guide her over to the couch. Narcissa looked furious at being ignored and Draco gave her an apologetic “can we have some space?” look. Narcissa tightened her grip on the rolled up magazine and pursed her lips. She stormed out of the room, to fuss in the kitchen and drink her bourbon.

“Oh, my family is furious. I must have gotten, no joke, fifteen Howlers! My ears are still ringing! I don't even want to think about what my first talk with Réamann is going to be like.”

“So you haven't heard from him yet?” he asked, holding her close as they sat.

“No,” she breathed, Draco able to relax just a touch knowing that.

“I would suggest staying away from him for a while, to allow him to calm down some,” he said awkwardly. Ginny looked up at him then and her eyes widened.

“Oh my God, Draco, your eye! Did Réamann do this?” she asked, reaching up to could turn his face so she could see his bruise better but he leaned back to keep his chin out of reach. “He hit you?” she asked, sounding horrified and appalled.

“I expected no less. Did you?”

“He shouldn't have hit you! Oh, I'm so sorry!”

“This is as much my fault as yours, Gin, so don't keep apologizing. You didn't twist my arm, I wanted to do this, I wanted to be with you, no matter what that meant or what the repercussions would be,” he said softly, not meaning he “wanted” to be punched but hopefully getting the point across. He hugged her tight to his chest again so she couldn't keep staring guiltily at his bruised face. He had not gotten the chance to see it yet. Was it that bad?

“I blackmailed you, remember?” she asked, trying to be lighthearted and referring back to what he had accused her of when he had first agreed. Draco and Ginny jumped a little at the sound of a pot being dropped in the kitchen at that and Draco told his mother to stop eavesdropping and that Ginny had not actually blackmailed him, it was a joke.

Honestly, his mother had good intentions and cared, but she was so nosey.

“I…I don't know what to do,” she sobbed, falling right back into her fretful despair and tears. “How can I face my family now?”

“Give them time to deal with this on their own, then offer explanations when they are willing to listen,” he advised, speaking smoothly while stroking her long hair slowly.

“Explain what? I mean, they have every right to be mad, and upset, and shocked…I mean, what we did was exactly what Witch Weekly claims: we…I had an affair! How can I explain that?”

“By telling them why, and telling them what you told me when you asked me to see you. Tell them you felt trapped, tell them you felt unhappy and lonely, tell them you felt guilty deceiving everyone around you.”

“They won't listen. They won't see it the way I do and just think I'm making excuses,” she sobbed.

“They are your family; they are required to love you, unconditionally. Maybe, because they are so…officious…they will need a little more time to cool down than most, but they will come around.”

“Not so long as I'm seeing you,” she cried and Draco stiffened.

“You do not want to see me anymore, in hopes that your family will take you back?” he asked, feeling just a little queasy.

“No, no,” she cried and he felt only a little relieved. “But I feel like I'm in a position to choose either you or them and I can't, I just can't…”

“They can't be that bad,” Draco argued, though not exactly jumping at the prospect of meeting them himself. He kind of liked having testicles and would like to keep them if he could. “You have a wonderful and loving family,” he assured, having only witnessed their internal love a few times, and from afar, but able to recognize it regardless.

“I feel sick,” she whined.

“That's guilt,” he said, able to know exactly what she was feeling, “and though it feels yucky, it's good that you are experiencing it. It shows that you are a good person. You are not just feeling bad about being caught; you are feeling bad for hurting those you care about. You are a good person Ginny, and your family knows that. They will remember that…in time.”

Ginny sniffled and sobbed for a while and Draco rocked her gently. He felt guilty too. Being the cause of so many of Ginny's tears made him feel bad. He never wanted to be the reason behind another of her tears again. He wanted her to stop crying.

Clarissa came in at that point after having changed out of her school clothes, her fashion doll in one hand, a purple plastic comb in the other, looking concerned. She was dressed in a black jumper with brightly colored geometric shapes worked into its chest, faded-black denims and thick purple socks. Her hair was down and curling everywhere, kept out of her face by a bright pink headband

“Is everything alright?” she asked timidly, already having fussed over Draco's eye when she first came home and saw it. She had stomped and cried and swore bloody-vengeance on the one responsible. Draco had been comforted by that, but had to remind her to be kind and act like a little lady.

Draco smiled at her and opened up his right arm to welcome her to join them on the couch. Clarissa jumped at the opportunity and Draco sat there, snuggled between the two women he loved. If only he had a third arm for his mother to occupy so she would feel less displaced and a fourth for Michelangelo, then his life would be just that much easier.

“Don't cry, Ginny,” Clarissa pleaded, talking softly from around her father. Ginny sniffled and smiled at her with teary eyes.

“Hey there, you,” she said, trying to sound upbeat.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I will be…”

“In time,” Draco assured.

“You here so Daddy can make you feel better?” she asked and Ginny nodded while looking at the little girl, snuggling closer against Draco. Clarissa then did the same so that their faces were close while their cheeks pressed against Draco's bony chest. “You know what always makes me feel better?” she prompted.

“What?” Ginny asked, feeling quite comforted at the moment by the girl and Draco's very slow heartbeat beneath her ear.

“Daddy singing to me,” she said and they both felt Draco shift.

“Claire, sweet pea, really, I couldn't…” he tried but Clarissa just pulled away enough to look up at him.

“Come on, Daddy, you haven't sung to Ginny yet,” she accused like it was some great travesty and crime that he hadn't, speaking in her grumpy baby voice that she reserved just for Draco, knowing how it crippled him so.

“I know, but,” he sighed and Clarissa was already rolling off the couch and trotting towards the hall. “Claire,” he called and Ginny just held tight to Draco trying to assure him with her eyes that it was okay. Clarissa reappeared, obviously coming from Draco's room because she had his new guitar.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the instrument at him. Ginny quickly leaned back so as not to be hit by the guitar's neck. “Sing to Ginny to make her feel better,” she commanded but in tones so sweet it was hard to try and say no or scold her for being bossy.

Draco looked over at Ginny, then back at Clarissa, then over Clarissa's shoulder to his mother who was standing in the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed casually as she leaned there, willowy and tall, a glass held in one of her delicate hands.

He heaved a sigh.

“Fine, awright,” he said, giving in. Clarissa looked excited and hopped a little while turning. “Nana, let's bake cookies,” she said, skipping over to Narcissa and pulling at the edge of her crisp, black, parlor jacket, wanting to give her father and Ginny some privacy. Narcissa just looked very intently at Draco and Ginny for a moment longer before agreeing with a smile down at her granddaughter and disappearing into the kitchen.

“She certainly has a way with you,” Ginny smiled, feeling so much less sad already.

“Clarissa is a hopeless romantic at the age of eleven,” he sighed though he was smiling. “She believes in “Happily Ever After” and “Prince Charming” and lives by the convictions of Disney romances.”

“That doesn't sound too bad.”

“Or realistic,” he sighed, not smiling then.

“You are my Prince Charming,” she offered, teasingly but serious at the same time. He was charming, and as prince-like as you were likely to find nowadays.

“Frog Prince maybe,” he sniggered.

“Stop putting yourself down, it's ridiculous,” she scolded while nudging him with her elbow. She knew most of the time he didn't even realize he did it, like it was habitual. She needed to break him of that, he was so much better than he allowed himself to believe. “So what are you gonna sing me?” she asked eagerly.

“Oh, I suppose a love song would be most appropriate,” he mumbled, smirking, though not as confidently as normal.

“Oh yes,” she begged, leaning her head on his shoulder, “and so dreamy too.”

Draco took a deep breath while shifting his guitar.

“I can't deny I haven't thought about surprising you with a song, a bed full of rose petals, strawberries dipped in chocolate and candlelight…but I could never afford all that romance. Would you settle for just a song, on my settee while my daughter bakes cookies in the other room with my mother?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes, “having my boyfriend sing me a love song, without candles and roses and chocolates, in silken sheets? How can anyone call it romance?” she joked and it was Draco's turn to nudge Ginny with his elbow.

“Oh hush now, before I lose my nerve and reconsider doing this,” he said, looking down at the guitar as though mildly intimidated by it, or maybe just the task at hand.

He was so nervous and the memory that washed over him took him by surprise.

The night was bitter cold. Three days until the final battle, no one was thinking that far into the future or knew of what was to come. It was here and now with which they were concerned. The giants demanded everyone's full attention, but the werewolves on their way would try and compete with that, and honestly, they might beat them out when it came to what was most perilous.

The sun was gone from the sky, just a pink smear at the horizon where the Dark Lord's deathly castle known as Lonely Keep loomed as a silhouette in the dying light. It should have been beautiful but somehow managed not to be. The sky was deep blue, clouds purple, the moon rising full and bright over the trees. There was enough moonlight that there were night shadows, but even so, fires were scattered across the snow, illuminating the scene further for the Order out that night.

“Look out!” Hermione screamed as she grabbed Ron's collar and pulled him backwards. It was hard for a twenty foot giant to sneak up on someone, even someone as sometimes dense as Ron Weasley, but coming around a tree that edged the hollow, with such an impressive reach and a tree trunk in hand wielded like a club only increasing said reach, the giant did not need to get that close.

Ron fell backwards atop of Hermione in the snow just as the giant swung, taking out the tree Ron had been using as shelter.

“Thanks Hermione,” Ron gasped, both scurrying to their feet.

“We can't take on so many of them! They are resistant to magic!” she shouted over all the noise. There were at least twenty giants in the hollow that night, and the Order was not that great in number. As talented a group they were, giants were just so massive and powerful, even if they could somehow overtake them, or just a few of them if they teamed up on them one at a time, there were still the werewolves coming to deal with.

“We could fall back. They won't follow us into the trees.”

“But the werewolves will,” she shouted, running with Ron to keep out of the giant's reach as it took another swing at them and grunted low and loudly. The only thing that saved them was the fact that giants were not terribly smart or fast. It was quite obvious their intentions as they worked things out in their minds and problem solved, and they were incapable of running, moving at a fast walk at best, their massive strides making up for their lack of speed and stamina. They were not stupid like trolls, but they certainly were not clever.

“But we…” Ron tried to say but gasped in surprise as they were nearly struck from behind by a second giant, one that was coming up fast and had managed to surprise them as it stepped over the fire that had been to their back.

“Shit!” Hermione gasped, sending a hex at its eye and hoping to scare it back. The giant screamed in pain and stomped. It took its anger out on Ron and Hermione blindly, and they would have been crushed for sure if a streaking shape hadn't cut through the air and scooped them each around the middle to carry them off in that exact and opportune moment.

Draco zoomed off, low to the ground, his left arm hooked around Ron's middle, his right around Hermione's, legs all that held and steered his broom. He flew them feet above the ground, out of harm's way, before slowing and releasing them, letting them fall into the snow as he hovered.

They looked up at him as Draco turned on his broom to face the other way, a little higher up now so that he was looking down at them.

“Oi, watch yourselves,” he warned but in a frustrated manner rather than concerned. His shoulder-length hair was whipping around in the cold wind as were his robes, cloak and scarf. He was having trouble maintaining a steady breath and knew he could not stick it out with them through the battle, and he did not want their stupididty or carelessness offing them when he wouldn't be around to save their butts.

“Malfoy, where is the backup we were told was coming? I see no one but the Order out here with us,” Hermione called, having been assured by both Lupin and McGonagall that there would be more coming to help. They had not been told more than that, and now they were growing anxious as they waited for their undisclosed help. They knew Draco had met with both McGonagall and Lupin privately, but did not know the nature of the meeting. They thought maybe Draco knew where the help was, and he did, but he wasn't about to tell them. He didn't want, or need, them to know about his condition or role in the negotiations with the werewolves, and he did not feel they deserved to know anyways.

“I do not answer to you,” he said, turning and flying off on his Nimbus 2001 to deal with the rest of the Order while he still could. Harry was somewhere out there in the hollow and Draco did not want to meet up with him. He had apparently said nothing about him turning on the Order, (otherwise Hermione and Ron wouldn't have turned to him for answers and they would have undoubtedly verbally attacked him if not physically or magically just then) but what would Potter do if he saw him on the field that night? Draco did not care to find out.

He flew off, panting, feeling a familiar and frightening weight press down on him. He knew the change was coming, and coming fast, but every month he prayed it would somehow pass and leave him human. So far he hadn't been so lucky.

It was difficult to keep his balance on his broom while feeling so nauseous, so he glided down and landed, not far from a certain redhead that had showed him kindness on several occasions previously since he had joined up with the Order.

Ginny was shoulder to shoulder with three other members of the Order and Draco saw them collectively trying to hex a giant. It was good that they realized teamwork was key to taking down a giant, but unfortunate that there were so few of them to aid in the attempt. Draco wanted to draw his wand, offer his aid, but he doubled over at the crippling cramps that overtook him right then.

“Oh God,” he moaned, clenching his eyes closed tight, leaning on his broom for support in the snow.

The pain passed after a moment and he knew the change was about to happen.

He needed to get away.

Draco turned to stumble into the woods where he could be out of sight, his broom dropped to the snow, wand still away. Wolfsbane was in his system but that barely offered any ease for his violent changes. He would have helped Ginny and the other Order members if he could, but all he could do at the moment was help himself. He was no use to anyone if he got smushed by a giant while he was helpless during his transformation.

Giants were roaring all over the hollow, but Draco turned to the one closest, the one Ginny was hexing, when it roared and stomped. Ginny dropped her wand arm, panting, drained and exhausted from her failed attempt to take down the giant. It reached down and scooped up a frosted boulder near its feet. Ginny gasped, the other members fleeing. She wanted to move but her legs were not listening to her in that lingering moment of panic and the cold.

Draco, realizing Ginny was dead if he did not do something, rushed towards her, stupidly. Seriously risking his own safety and life, he dove at her, tackling her around the middle just as the wounded giant threw the massive rock. Draco and Ginny fell into the snow, him on top of her, sinking in a deep drift. Ginny was pressed into the snow like she was going to make a snow angel, Draco's weight on top of her. He looked down at her for a moment through his loose hair as it hung between them, surprised at the position he suddenly found himself in, but did not have time to appreciate how beautiful her red hair looked in the firelight atop the smooth white snow.

The giant was bearing down on them and he was pinned.

The ends of his cloak were trapped under the boulder, that's how close he had come to being crushed to save Ginny. Ginny slid out from under him as he reared back to be kneeling in the snow. She ripped open the front of his cloak as he struggled out of it, popping off buttons and ripping clasps from the wooly material to get out of the way quickly. Ginny grabbed him by the hand and pulled him hard towards her, the giant just missing him by a second as it slammed its bleeding hands down on the ground next to the boulder it had chucked.

Ginny pulled Draco along, him now only in his scarf, black jumper, trousers, and lightweight robes, too caught up in all that was happening to be cold at the moment, though it was so freezing he would likely die without realizing he was even chilled.

Draco allowed Ginny to drag him along for a few feet, but pulled his hand away and backed up.

“Malfoy, come on, we have to find a group, we need to team up to take down…” she tried but he was just backing up. They had not yet shared their moment together, their night. They did not have any connection yet, other than he felt this longing for her that confused and scared him. All they had at the moment was that she had been kind to him in the past week, and they were fighting for a common goal, or at least they were fighting a common enemy. He had just saved her life, she had just saved his, but with all the fighting, no one was really keeping track.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Malfoy!” she screamed at him.

“I'm sorry, I, I can't stay here,” he panted, sweat on his forehead despite the harshness of the cold and the biting wind.

“What?” she yelled but he turned and fled into the trees. “Malfoy! You bloody COWARD!” she screamed at him as he ran off. He felt guilty that he was ditching her, but he was not going far. They would all flee the scene when there werewolves showed up, but that was when the fighting truly would begin for him.

If only she, and the rest of them, understood all he had done for them.

He had killed - for the first time in his life - for them.

Collapsing in the woods, out of sight but not beyond of sound of the fighting, Draco clenched up, panting, moaning and twitching involuntarily. It hurt so badly, but Lupin assured him that in some years, with a steady ingestion of Wolfsbane, it would not be as bad. He then, however, went on to mention that it would start to get bad again, and that was the first indications that the condition was turning fatal.

Draco groaned and cried on his hands and knees in the shallower snow of the woods. It was much darker there, out of the firelight and the moonlight partially obscured by the bare tree branches above him. The moonlight still reached him though, still caressed his skin, still made his eyes contract in a way no human's eyes ever could. Blood dripped into the snow below him and he knew it was from the claw marks he had hidden with a simple illusion that raked the side of his face from earlier, when he had faced Greyback. They would heal because of this change, but they were reopening and bleeding at the moment because of the shift.

He felt his body ripping, even though it literally wasn't. It felt like his skin was splitting and his bones jutting out. It felt like his muscles were tearing and popping, but none of that was real. His body was shifting but it was all internal and waterlike, no where near as graphic as he imagined it just going by how it felt.

It was excruciating, and none-too-fast. He felt his robes and clothing fall away and he had no mind to even think about what that meant, that he could possibly lose his wand, his broom already discarded at the edge of the woods, probably not too far from where he was now.

Letting out a long yell that ended in a howl, Draco pushed himself off the snowy ground and shook out like a wet dog. He could feel his fur ruffle and the sensation was always so odd. He doubted he would ever get used to it. He also had a new appendage. He swished it from side to side a few times, getting a feel for his tail. He tweaked his ears, shuffled on his now four grounded feet, and sniffed the air. He could smell the fires now in a way he hadn't been able to before. He could smell the giants, and the trees, and the snow. He could hear everything so much clearer now, the fighting, the shouting, the grunting. He could also hear, in the distance, the pounding of a lot of fast moving feet.

They were coming.

Ginny was out in the hollow, still in her stand against the giants. There were screams, however, that had nothing to do with the fighting and she looked over to see dark shapes gliding across the show.

Dementors?

No, she could hear their feet pounding the ground.

Werewolves.

They where coming from the castle, and the battle was lost for the night. They had to retreat because they could not face the wolves and hope to live. They would be torn apart!

Ginny backed up, but sounds from behind her caused her to gasp and turn. She screamed though she covered her mouth. There were werewolves standing at the edge of the trees; maybe sixty or more of them, she could not tell in the light. They stood there perfectly still, having obviously just come from the woods, but their collective posture and silence making it seem like they had just appeared there.

They were surrounded.

“They are behind us!” someone in the hollow shouted, the fire and moonlight making it easy to see the hazards all around them. Giants dotted the valley like moving mountains, and werewolves now flanked them on both sides. What hope did they have of escape now? The Dark Lord must have been laughing himself sick while watching from his castle vantage point over the scene. It was won for him, surely.

Ginny looked at the werewolves closest to her, fearful to move and draw attention to herself. One dark one howled, and the rest followed suit. The wolves in the distance howled in reply, their calls echoing in the night. With much barking and scrambling, the wolves emerging from the woods charged at the werewolves coming from the castle. The Order stood, the wolves passing them by, leaving them unharmed. It was like they were rocks in a stream, the wolves just flowing around them like water, and they were left in awe and wonderment as the werewolves from the woods seemed to defend them.

In the middle of the hollow they clashed like conflicting tides. They crashed and there was instantly scrapping and fighting, and clawing and ripping. Growls, howls and roars cut into the night air as the Order backed up, ready to retreat, unsure of what to make of the scene other than Lupin must have finally done it, convinced the werewolves (some of them at least) to join them!

Ginny was relieved that they had some werewolves on their side as she backed up, but behind her, coming up as fast as its trunk-like legs would carry it, a giant raised its massive fists. Ginny turned to it and screamed, but she was not crushed thanks to a slender werewolf leaping in to take on the giant all by its lonesome.

The white wolf shined in the moonlight as it clung to the dark giant's chest. The werewolf barked and growled and dug in its claws as it tore away at the leathery thick skin of the much larger beast.

The giant roared and flailed its arms for a moment before reaching up and grasping the thin wolf in its massive left hand. The werewolf had a mouthful of giant flesh and even though its body was being pulled away, it latched on tight with its teeth and wouldn't let go. The giant ended up pulling a chunk of its own flesh from its chest to get the werewolf off. With an angry grunt of pain, the giant flung the wolf away where it hit a tree with a yip and a whimper as it fell to the snow. It made high-pitched whining sounds, just like any other wounded dog, pitiful to hear as it lay there while struggling to breathe past the pain it was obviously in.

Ginny was on the ground, on her butt, thankful that the werewolf had tried to protect her, but she had been unable to seize the opportunity it had provided to get away, unable to look away. She now felt the poor wolf's attempts had been in vain because she was now, still, in harms way. The giant rounded on her, raising its fists to take its anger and pain out on her.

Ginny tried to scramble out of the way but her body was so slow because of the cold. She looked over her shoulder at the giant nearly on her and screamed. The giant would have crushed her if it hadn't reared back and screamed at that moment too. Ginny was up on her feet now, wishing her legs could run. She saw the giant turn and try and reach up and back and grab the white werewolf that was on its back, digging and slashing into its thick flesh, swishing its tail from side to side as it growled and bit.

The wolf was out of the giant's limited backward reach but it climbed up the thing's flesh to latch onto the back of its head and then climb up over it to reach down over its forehead and start clawing at the eyes while partially upside-down.

The giant positively shrieked as it was blinded by the werewolf.

Ginny backed up as the giant stumbled. The werewolf was firmly grasped and ripped from the giant's head, and again tossed away. It landed with more grace this time, managing to nearly land on its feet, though that hardly mattered in the snow that almost appeared dull beside its luminous coat. Ginny looked at the beast for a long moment as it stood there, panting, seeing into its beautiful pale eyes that were surrounded by the giant's blood. It looked at her while flattening its ears and whined a little and Ginny got the impression that she knew it, him…definitely a him, somehow, from somewhere. He recognized her and looked upset, like she would recognize him.

She wished she could.

The werewolf turned his attention back towards the now blinded giant and growled, bearing his strong and intimidating teeth. He rushed past Ginny and leapt up onto the giant's chest easily, the giant unable to see and block him. The giant, so disoriented already, stumbled and tipped backwards at the werewolves' contact. It shouted and grunted in confusion and maybe even terror as the werewolf dug into it again before it even landed on its back in the snow.

Going for the vulnerable area, the werewolf caused blood to erupt and spray the snow and his beautiful fur. The wolf sank his teeth and claws into the giant's throat and ripped the flesh there apart. The giant's arms flailed and the wolf was hit once but it kept on digging, its head lost down into the wound.

Ginny backed up, stumbled, and fell into the snow watching it. There was fighting all around, werewolves fighting each other and swarming the giants, but she could not rip her eyes away from the white wolf that had single-handedly brought down the giant before her.

The giant grew heavy and limp, no longer struggling, and the head of the werewolf emerged from its throat, blood and flesh dribbling from his jaws, his fur matted wet with all the blood. He reared back, taking a visibly deep breath so that his already large (in comparison to his waist) chest expanded, and roared victoriously while perched atop his concurred giant.

Ginny stared, thankful but horrified, grateful that the beast had saved her, shocked, however, that something so large had been bested by something that seemed so small and fragile in comparison. Ginny never appreciated before just how powerful werewolves were.

This werewolf was certainly something, and she would always remember him.

Draco and Ginny stared at each other, Draco having succumbed to the memory and able to find that memory in Ginny so easily with his Legilimency without intending. She looked at him, realizing he had pulled that memory to the surface for her so that she remembered it too.

“Draco,” she managed and he looked away. “That was you that night…the werewolf that saved me, that white wolf, that was you,” she said, not making it a question. She remembered that night, and that wolf, but she had never made the connection, not even after learning Draco was a werewolf just that following day and spending that wonderful, but cold, evening with him. Somehow she had just not thought of him as a possibility for the identity of the shining wolf that had saved her. It seemed so obvious now, and Draco would most certainly make a white wolf, she couldn't expect anything less from him really. “You saved my life that night.”

“We saved each other's lives,” he said humbly, looking very intently down at his guitar and arranging his fingers on the strings over and over as something to fixate and concentrate on. He had not meant to drag Ginny along with him on one of his frequent memory deviations.

“No. You saved me, I saved you, but then you saved me again from that giant, and again the next day at the castle. I only saved you again the day after that in the final battle. You out-saved me,” she accused, though not ungrateful.

“What does it matter? Are we keeping score?” he asked, smiling at her just a little.

“You killed a giant, all by yourself,” she said and Draco flushed then.

“I was a beast,” he muttered.

“I saw you, in your eyes. You were there that night, not a beast,” she said.

“I want to believe it's the beast that could do something so gruesome, not I,” he mumbled and Ginny understood then what he meant. Draco prided himself at being very spruce and proper, very human…and he had acted very much like a beast that night. Was he ashamed? That made her sad. She knew he was embarrassed of what he was, refusing to eat because he wanted raw meat and so on, and she didn't know how to make this better. She didn't know how to make him not hate what he was so much when she honestly feared that beast in him quite a bit. What would he do if he knew she tried to forget he was a werewolf because ignoring it made it easier to deal with? Maybe he did know, maybe that was one of the reasons he was so down on himself. Was it her fault? Ginny felt terrible. How could Draco feel good about himself, and embrace his beast, when the woman he loved was scared of him, and unwilling to embrace his beast?

“Thank you,” she whispered, “for saving my life,” she said, hoping that Draco would understand that she was still growing accustomed to his…condition, but that she did not hate or fear him for it. She wanted him to know she loved him, unconditionally.

“You're welcome,” he answered, bowing his head a little.

Draco knew of Ginny's uncertainties, and though they bothered him, he knew it was an awful lot to ask of her to, within two weeks of dating, be fine and dandy with the fact that he was not human. He wasn't even fine with that yet, and he had been this way for fifteen years now, half his life actually. He thought, however, that maybe her talking to Tonks would help. His cousin loved Remus deeply, but there had still been a few bumps along the way…concerns, questions, worries. .

There was more on his mind than that, however.

Ginny did not know it had been him, not Lupin, who had convinced the werewolves to come over to their side, no one other than Lupin did. She was impressed with all he had done and sacrificed, but she didn't even know the extent of it, but he could not bring himself to tell her. To tell her would mean he would have to admit to his intentions, the intentions to bring the werewolves over to fight for him and to overthrow the Dark Lord. Draco knew Ginny believed him a tragic hero, and maybe he was, but he couldn't taint that with the truth of the matter. He needed her to be on his side because he knew, with all the trouble that was bound to go down, she would likely be the only one in his corner. He could not tell her that he would have turned on Harry after the Dark Lord had fallen if he had not been near fatally wounded beforehand by Nott, as well as wandless. But then…with Ginny there, he now kind of doubted he could have done it, not with her watching him. Even back then, with only their night of confessions and kissing, he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her.

He still couldn't, that's why he could not confess to her his current endeavors, or confide in her his intentions with Sebastian.

Was he being dishonest? No, certainly not. He was not lying because she wasn't asking.

There was silence between them for a long moment, both deep in thought over the complications of their relationship, but the memory past them, hopefully. Ginny sat with bated breath, anticipation making her insides squirm, all her troubles pushed out of her mind at that moment.

Draco started playing the guitar very softly, fingers strumming a very pretty melody as he warmed up to the idea of this romantic act. The memory had left a bad taste in his mouth, but Ginny's eyes on him were washing that away.

Ginny was already impressed, not that she was easily impressed, mind you, but she had never been in a situation like this before. She was impressed that there were still guys in the world that would do something like this for their girl, as cheesy as it is. Draco kept his head down, much focused on his playing but only because he was nervous about having to sing.

A Malfoy, nervous? It happens.

There was a part of him though, deep down, slowly awakening that knew all there was to know about wooing women and he felt his courage build in time for the lyrics of the song he was playing. It was that same part of him that had resurfaced at the Remembrance Ball, and every time him and Ginny made love. Draco only wished he could keep that portion of himself on ready demand and not have to draw it out. Maybe he would be able to with time, and Ginny's love. She had a great talent for knocking down the walls he had built around himself for so many years.

“Look into my eyes…you will see, What you mean to me. Search your heart…search your soul, And when you find me there you'll search no more,” he sang, soft like his playing, not having looked up yet. Ginny had forgotten to breathe now that he had opened his mouth. His voice turned out to be perfectly smooth and pleasant, like his speaking voice, but with a gentle flow to it now. Clarissa had been right, he was a good singer, she could tell already.

“Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for. You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for. You know it's true, Everything I do…I do it for you,” he sang, feeling his nerves relax at Ginny's already swooning face when he finally glanced up. He had enough courage then to look right at her as he sang. He was a hopeless romantic, had he mentioned that to Ginny? Maybe it was obvious, and he knew this was ridiculous, and if anyone were to watch this scene they would probably laugh themselves silly, or gag on the fluffyness, but he didn't care, Ginny certainly wasn't laughing, or gaging. He had chosen this song, a song from a movie he liked so much, because he honestly always thought of Ginny when hearing it.

How could he have fooled himself into believing he was not madly in love with this woman for so long when, for so many years, she - not his wife - came to mind at the slightest show of romance in a movie, song or show on the telly? Why did he find himself thinking of what she would have liked for Valentine's Day while sitting alone in his Azkaban cell and not what he would have gotten his wife?

It seemed silly to have not realized, now looking back on it, but he supposed denial was a powerful thing, almost as powerful as love, but denial something he was vastly more practiced in.

“Look into your heart…you will find, There's nothin' there to hide. Take me as I am…take my life. I would give it all…I would sacrifice,” he sang, Ginny's eyebrows creasing softly as she took in the lyrics, able to understand then why he would pick that song to sing to her, for her.

“Don't tell me it's not worth fightin' for. I can't help it…there's nothin' I want more. Ya'know it's true, Everything I do…I do it for you,” he sang, his guitar playing becoming a little firmer then, now strumming to signify a more powerful part of the song, the volume still low to keep things so intimate. “There's no love…like your love, And no other…could give more love. There's nowhere…unless you're there, All the time…all the way!” he sang, Ginny pouting out her bottom lip then, trying not to tear up just a little at that point as he just played the guitar for a moment, an instrumental break in the song obviously. He kind of smiled bashfully down at his hands as he played for a moment. Was he blushing? If he was she was seriously going to die right there from cuteness overload. She had never had a guy sing to her before, and it was too dreamlike to be real. What girl didn't want this? She wanted to tell him he sang beautifully, and if he ever tried to pass off his guitar playing as “substandard” again she would smack him upside the head with the instrument, but she did not want to throw off the dynamic of the song and spoil the moment that had her so thoroughly engrossed that she was not breathing again. His eye might have been badly bruised, and their world might be collapsing all around them, but at that moment nothing mattered, everything was perfect.

“Oh…you can't tell me it's not worth tryin' for. I can't help it…there's nothin' I want more!” he sang, guitar heavier again, singing just a touch firmer with the enthusiasm of the climax of the song, but still intimately, still softly. “Yeah, I would fight for you…I'd lie for you, Walk the wire for you…yeah, I'd die for you…” he let that last note linger for a moment. “Ya'know it's true…Everything I do…oh…I do it for you,” he sang, ending the song with one last slow strum of his guitar, looking right at Ginny, confident and bold then but waiting for her to say something, critique him maybe. He knew she could say nothing negative, except what a total loser he was, but he was a little nervous still, or were those butterflies in his stomach from something else?

Looking at Ginny right then, he could have told her he had murdered her whole family and he doubted she would manage much more than a gurgle as she continued to swoon.

Oh yeah, the Malfoy in him still had it. Draco was doing his little victory dance in his mind, a dance he had only dared outwardly display before his children in the past.

He smiled at her, waiting for her to say something but Ginny knew he would have to wait until she could breathe again.

Draco managed a smirk and with that triggered Ginny suddenly leaning forward, engulfing him in a strong hug, surprising him.

“Oh Draco, that was just so divine,” she gushed, crying all over again but for completely different reasons then than when she had showed up.

The guitar was being pressed between them rather hard and Ginny seemed unbothered by it, but it was his hip bones that were screaming in pain.

“Gin, Draco needs to breathe,” he managed with a tightness in his throat like he was refraining from whining, or groaning in pain, patting her on the back. Ginny released him to rub under her eyes to dry them while laughing breathily.

“That was really, really nice, Draco, and romantic…way more romantic than candles and chocolates and whatever else normal men would try and pass off as romance,” she said.

“I'm not normal?” he pouted just a little, sticking out his bottom lip in a comical way. Damn it he was a tease.

“Nope, and that's why I love you so. There isn't anyone like you anywhere in the world,” she said, pushing Draco's guitar away so she could hug him, but gently this time. “What song was that?” she finally asked after a moment.

“Um, a song from a Robin Hood movie,” he answered softly, thinking of a movie he had forced his children to sit through hundreds of times because he picked it often on his choice of movie night. He was going to watch the movie with Ginny. They were going to curl up together, closing out the world and all their collective problems, and forget their worries and families for a few short hours while they escaped into Sherwood Forest while wrapped up together in a single warm blanket. She could be his Marian, and he could be her Robin. It was perfect.

“It's beautiful when you play it,” she said, not knowing the original since it was clearly Muggle, but positive it wouldn't be able to compete with Draco's rendition of it.

“Thank you,” he whispered, holding her tight. They sat there like that for a moment before Draco had a terribly honest guy moment. “God I really want you right now,” he sighed, his body really enjoying Ginny's closeness as much as his sentiment did or even more.

“A chap deserves a good shag after serenading his woman with a song,” she breathed into his ear, pressing her body up against his just a little bit more, showing she was feeling much the same way and causing his body to stir.

“But my mother, and Clarissa-” he attempted, pulling away some, trying to keep his mind despite the diversion of blood flow. He was as randy and as easily stirred as a teenager, and it was mildly embarrassing.

“- are in the kitchen, busy baking cookies,” she whispered. “Come here,” she commanded just as hushed, grabbing him by the shirt after standing. Draco looked over at the kitchen doorway where he could not see his mother or his daughter as he was pulled along.

Ginny yanked and swung him around her so that he stumbled into his bedroom just a bit. He was still doped up on Valium, would be for several hours still, so his balance was compromised. She was right there on him after quietly closing the door and flicking her wand at it. Draco knew Ginny was using a Muffliato charm without having to look into her mind even though she was performing it silently. He did not have a chance to ask if the room was now locked again, however, because Ginny's lips were on his, hands fisted into the front of his shirt, pulling him to her.

She kissed him like these were their last moments together on earth and Draco liked the passion, the desire, feeling a lot of his own right then, feeling his body throb with need as his tight denims grew even more snug. He couldn't forget though that his mother was in another room, with his eleven-year-old daughter, and that was a serious libido slayer.

“Ginny,” he managed between her kisses, wanting to tell her they couldn't, that it was inappropriate and wrong and that it wouldn't take his mother long to notice the sudden quiet from the living room and realizing where they had gone and what they were likely up to. Draco was still a little prude and his mother a little scary.

Ginny did not let Draco refuse her, because she knew that was what he was going to do. It wasn't because he didn't want to have sex; she knew he did and she could tell his body wanted it. He just had a hang-up over his mother still.

She threw him down on the bed and sat on his stomach so he couldn't get up.

“No,” she said firmly, her own body aching for this, for him. She found herself in a position that lined them up enough to cause her body to react then. She had had a bad day, Draco had too. This would be a welcome release…literally. She sat there, rubbing herself against his stomach to stimulate herself as she looked down at him.

“Ginny, we are in a sticky spot already with, well, the whole world…we shouldn't really anger my mother, one of the few people we have that…” he tired to say but Ginny just placed her whole hand over his mouth and pressed his head down into the mattress slightly to show she was serious in him shutting up.

“Shut up,” she said firmly. Draco looked up at her, his eyes, one bruised, looking a little surprised at how forceful Ginny was. He knew she was fiery, but this was new. “I need you,” she said, leaning down and only then uncovering his mouth. “Please, fuck me?” she asked, softly then, almost as though she was begging him. Draco felt his insides squirm a little with Ginny's choice of vulgar but honest words as they seemingly conflicted with her soft and intimate tone.

Draco groaned as Ginny removed her hand and he leaned up enough to catch her mouth with his and kiss her deeply, left hand gripping her hair in the back tight enough for it to hurt and draw a panting gasp from her. Ginny could handle a little pain, she had demonstrated as much in the past with him.

Clothing rapidly disappeared, soft ripping sounds revealing more than anything their reckless abandonment for all things gentle at the moment, all the while Draco kissed and grasped, Ginny moaned and groped. Ginny felt him nibbling down around her neck as he lay atop of her and she remembered only then what Hermione had warned her about: Draco's little love-bites and nips, but all thoughts fled her as she felt the pressure of him bite down. A gasp escaped her from the pain and then surprise as he pressed into her, entering with tight friction with a grunt on his part.

His teeth stayed latched onto the spot where her shoulder met her neck and he held on tight, tight enough to hurt but not break the skin…yet. It was a very warm, almost burning sensation to feel him move in and out before her body became slick enough to allow him to pass more easily, him slowing a bit to move deeper with a few strokes, causing her to gasp.

They both enjoyed the raw roughness of uninhibited sex. Draco had started off in their relationship a little unsure of what he wanted, but once he found what he liked he went with it, and Ginny could not complain because what he liked was amazing, but it often hurt. It hurt right now.

Draco released his grip on her neck and licked the spot as though to sooth it, Ginny able to breathe again when she hadn't realized she had been holding it. He had done this before and she had been alright, but it still scared her. Draco kept his hands very firmly planted on the bed on either side of her shoulders for support and Ginny had her arms around him, nails digging into his bony back as she grunted with every one of this hard and needy thrusts. They carried on, hard and fast.

Ginny felt him gripping the bedding and heard some ripping. Panting, she looked over to see his nails elongated and claw-like while they tore through the bedding as he made fists.

She felt her heart stop for a moment.

“Draco,” she managed to gasp, her anxiety hardly able to compete with the sex. “Draco,” she repeated, but he only seemingly took that as her encouraging moans of his name and moved just a little faster. His clawed fists clenched and twisted in the bedding, ripping it enough for the metal springs on the inside to be exposed under its fluff and padding. Ginny was scared, but intoxicated by the sex, heart poinding for both those reasons.

“Draco,” Ginny gasped, but in pleasure as she felt her body suddenly clench, making it near impossible for him to move in and out, though he was trying.

He growled, or moaned, or both, as he climaxed and ended up collapsed atop of her, panting and quivering. Ginny was left there, frozen in numb pleasure and utter terror. Draco had not shifted, it was still a man atop of her exhausted and gasping, but he had lost more control that time than any time before. Some growling and animalistic behavior was one thing, but claws? That was new…and frightening.

“Draco,” she said, as he rested atop of her, not even pulled out yet. “Draco, are you alright,” she asked, concerned for him despite the throbbing she felt on her shoulder. He was quiet, quiet for a long moment, and then she heard him breathe a singular sob. “Draco,” she repeated, softer that time with her aching heart, but he just rolled off of her and turned away so that his feet were on the floor and legs curled up, back bowed as he rocked slightly. His hands were out of sight and she had a feeling he wanted them to be.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

“No,” she soothed, reaching up to touch him but him jerking away to end up sitting on the floor just out of reach, back still to her.

“I did not mean to hurt you…”

“You didn't,” she assured, looking over herself quickly. No blood. “You just scared me a little,” she said softly, that somehow not cheering him up much.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he started repeating, breathing as though fighting back more than just a few tears.

“It's alright-”

“I have not had a lot of practice to perfect…control…I'm sorry…” he whispered, not wanting to even mention the drugs he had taken. A muscle relaxer was bad for his control, he realized now, only nearly too late.

Ginny said nothing but just sat up more from the mattress. She saw the slashes Draco had made in the bed with such ease…like it had been tissue paper…and was in awe for just a moment before she shook her head and scooted to the edge of the mattress. She spread her legs so she could place Draco between them and hugged him from behind. He clenched up at her touch and he did not release, even as she embraced him oh-so-tenderly. She rocked a little, trying to encourage him to loosen up enough to move with her, and he eventually did, allowing her to hold and rock him like he had her earlier in the living room. She soothed him and he did not really cry, he was feeling too hollow to cry.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered again.

“It's alright. We will just have to be more careful,” she assured.

“I…I didn't put on a condom,” he confessed and Ginny held her breath.

“Don't worry about it.”

“I'm sorry,” he said yet again, sounding hopeless and Ginny did the only thing she could think of, she kissed the back of his neck reassuringly, showing that she didn't think of him as the monster he saw himself as.

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

Ginny looked in the mirror and saw the mark Draco had left on her. He hadn't broken the skin - thank any and every god there ever is, was, and will be - but damn, she would have a bruise. Réamann and Harry had never been biters, but it would have been much less of a problem if they had as opposed to Draco. She did not want to have to talk to him about it right now, while he was so upset over going a little beastie while in the middle of…everything, but it was a pressing matter. He seemed guilt ridden too, about not having used protection. He had seemingly been led to believe that any sex unprotected lead to babies. That was not true, but it was hard to convince him of that given his past experiences in the matter.

Ginny knew Draco very much tried to pretend he was not sick, and prided himself on how human he acted, but it seemed in the fits of passion he could not hide what he really was, he could not help whatever instincts he had inherited with his condition. He seemed mortified by this, and like she felt while on the couch with him just an hour before, she didn't know how to make it better.

She wanted to assure him that it was alright, and it was nothing to be ashamed of, but it was difficult to be so supportive when she was at the same time so frightened. What if he had made her bleed when he had bitten her while shifting slightly, or scratched her with a claw? Would she have gotten sick, tainted? She had seen him rip the throat of a giant out with those teeth and claws, what could he do to her, besides possibly getting her sick?

She felt nauseous at the thought, so she could only imagine how Draco felt, being the one…accountable.

She wanted to comfort him, but she honestly did not know how. If she gave him too much space he might get the impression that she was scared of him, too scared to get close. But if she was too cuddly he would feel she pitied him, and he hated that, and there were few things that could make him any grumpier any faster than pity.

“Damn it,” she cursed, sitting down on the toilet and gripping her hair. Her body hurt and felt so good at the same time, but all her worry was draining away all the satisfaction she normally got to enjoy after sex. She had dressed and darted across the hall to the bathroom, now she kind of felt trapped there. Not by Narcissa or the shame of what they had done with others in the house, but of her impending interactions with Draco once she returned to the bedroom.

She had known this would be complex, and she knew things were only going to get worse as the media went crazy with their reports on their romance, but she had somehow thought that they could ignore all that and hold up somewhere until it all died down…but there was enough inner conflict that there really was no refuge from the turmoil in her life.

She had started this with intentions of it being a fling. They were only supposed to be each other's convenient escape. How had it happened, how had she let it become so much more? Why did she love him? She barely knew him!

But…she knew him more than anyone else, though how much did that really say about the matter? No one really knew him, sometimes she felt like she hardly knew him.

Ginny groaned.

Was she thinking about ending it?

It certainly would make things easier for them both to just stop seeing each other, do a little damage control with the media and their families, and put it all behind them…but she doubted Draco would see it that way, not after what had just happened. He would think she is running from him and that would crush him…that would crush anybody.

Furthermore, she realized as she fisted her hair in her fingers so that the roots were pulled tight, she did not want to leave him.

Reprehensible reputation or not, beastie or not, needy or whatever, she wanted to be with him. The sex was great, and that song certainly helped, but those were not the reasons why. She loved him. She didn't know how to put it in words, not even to herself in her own mind, and she was just going around in circles here.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed over and over again as she readied herself to go back to the bedroom where Draco was undoubtedly waiting, dressed probably, and sitting there on his mattress with those hollow sad eyes.

She hated it when he got those vacant eyes. Azkaban had given them to him, but life had compounded those effects and made them so sad at the same time.

Ginny peeked out of the bathroom, saw no one, and jogged in a few quick steps across the hall to Draco's door. She let herself in quickly and only registered Draco once she was inside. He was standing but feet away, a little surprised it seemed by her sudden in-burst and just looked at her when she closed the door. She fought not to gasp when she turned around and found him standing right up against her, looking at her with sad but probing eyes.

He reached up and held her jaw so tenderly in his hand as he lifted her chin to look at her neck.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered, looking at what he had done. “I can't believe I…I don't even remember…I didn't mean to…oh, I'm so sorry,” he muttered, too horrified to look away from the teeth marks on his girlfriend's throat, unable to finish a single sentence. He was in shock and his tone was slipping into disgust. After all that anxiety of the day, after what Ginny had seen of him in that memory they shared…maybe it was the stress, maybe it was the pills he had taken making him too relaxed, but he had never been so close to losing control before, and it frightened him…a lot.

“I'm alright,” she assured, trying to act nonchalant, not like she was worried and conflicted and not sure what to do about their relationship given everything that was happening out there, and now in here.

“No.”

“Draco-”

“God, we can't have one romantic moment, can we? I always some how manage to fuck it up,” he said, and Ginny sighed with a tight gut. She knew he could sense and know what she was feeling and thinking. She hoped he could see in her that she loved him, regardless and intensely, and see past the mild horror she felt.

“Draco, you carry a little bit of a cloud of…angst…with you, but I have known that from the start, and I knew what I was getting into. And you have not fucked anything up! What happened yesterday was not your fault, and what happened just now wasn't-”

“I bit you,” he said in horror.

“Not hard.”

He gently touched the edge of it with his finger and she winced.

“Oh my God,” he moaned, sounding ready to break down again as he turned away to finally look at something else, anything else.

“This is alright. We just need to talk, maybe work something out so this doesn't happen again is all,” she said, trying to be proactive and not just sit there and repeat “it's alright” all afternoon. That would accomplish nothing and it was clearly not reassuring Draco any.

“What would you have me do, wear a muzzle to bed?” he asked, sounding bitter.

“No, and don't be so insulting and patronizing to yourself,” she scolded, tired of Draco's constant berating of himself. Sometimes it was cute, when it seemed like he was joking, but she knew he meant it to be anything from light most of the time, especially right now. Honestly, if there was no one else around making him feel like crap, he seemed to have to do it himself. Could he not function unless there was something making him miserable? It would explain a lot if that were true since he had admitted to being a bit of a “button-pusher” and a “glutton for punishment.” It was still completely mental and unhealthy regardless and she couldn't understand why he did it, habitual or no.

Draco sighed heavily, knowing his constant self-deprecation was irritating to Ginny, and turned away again after having glanced over at her, limping towards his dresser without a word.

Ginny was a little anxious now. Had he just been looking in her mind? She had just called him mental, and she knew how much that bothered him, even when they joked.

Draco reached the dresser where picture frames perched and he had his cologne and a few other small bottles. He grabbed one small glass bottle that stood beside his comb and turned back to Ginny, holding it out to her. She was going to ask, but he explained on his own.

“Take this,” he said. “It is the last potion Réamann gave me, take it to heal that…wound,” he said downheartedly.

“Draco, you need that,” she said, pushing the potion back towards him.

“I don't deserve it,” he muttered, pressing it into her hands and closing them around it. He turned and grabbed his cane, leaving the room without a word and unwilling to argue with Ginny over it. He knew he wouldn't be getting any more potions from Réamann, but what was giving up this last one to Ginny whom he had hurt? It was either tonight or tomorrow night that he would start to suffer the pains again, delaying then inevitable at the expense of Ginny's pain was unacceptable.

Ginny wanted to refuse and leave the potion behind, but she was about to go out in a room with Draco's mother, and she was not wearing a shirt that could cover the marks. What choice did she have? If her family saw such a mark on her they would kill Draco, she had no doubt about that.

Ginny sighed and downed the healing potion in two gulps. She made a face at its texture and wondered if she should have shaken it first. It was so grainy and had a little bit of a taste of eggs, and not good eggs. She shuddered past the taste and waited as her body became warm and soothed. Heat flared at her throat where healing must have been taking place, but she also felt other parts of her relax. Her lower back, her knees, her minor headache, they all vanished in a few waves of warmth. She was left feeling quite wonderful…physically.

She hadn't realized healing potions were so effective. Maybe it was so fast to act and such because she wasn't that hurt to begin with. She hadn't taken a potion like this before, and she recalled Hermione saying something about people building a tolerance to them over time, so maybe that's why it felt so great. She had always used spells to heal wounds, so it was an isolated treatment, a potion worked over the whole body it seemed and it felt magnificent. No wonder these potions were regulated by the Ministry. She would take one of these everyday if she could; now knowing how great she could feel without her constant back ache and the minor pains of everyday tasks gone.

Shaking her head, she didn't want to think about Draco's need for the potions, about how fantastic the effect must have been for him, or maybe, possibly, how limited it was due to how much more of an ache it would have to suppress and how often he took them so that their effectiveness waned. Setting the bottle down, she followed after Draco.

Draco was in the living room, Clarissa up in his arms. Ginny was a little surprised Draco could lift her. Clarissa was pretty small for her age, and Draco had managed to pick her up at the Ball, but he held his daughter on his hip with relative ease and laughed at her tale of baking with Nana. There was no sign of any of the emotions Draco had just displayed to her. In fact, he looked happy and content as she had ever seen him.

Somehow that infuriated her. She didn't like him putting on facades because they were so damn convincing it made her feel insecure in wondering which was the act.

“I was wondering where you two had gotten to,” Narcissa said smoothly, not exactly coldly, but her tone was not terribly friendly. The look she was giving Ginny showed just how furious she really was.

“Ginny and I just went off to talk about things in private since, as you know, our situation has become a touch more complex,” Draco said smoothly, lying so easily, even to his mother.

“Talked, hugh?” she asked.

“You didn't hear anything that would suggest otherwise,” he said, not making it a question.

“No.”

“So obviously, nothing happened,” he said matter-of-factly, making that the end of that. Narcissa seemed anything but convinced but had nothing to use in her argument, and with Clarissa right there in Draco's arms, she was not about to accuse him of anything but “talking.”

“Are things going to be okay, Daddy?” she asked, leaning back a little from his shoulder so she could look at him properly, her brow frowning while looking into her father's bruised and thin face.

“In time,” he promised, sure that in some weeks, months, years maybe, people would get over it. He did not pretend to know for certain when though.

“I wish everyone would stop picking on Ginny. She's nice,” she said and Ginny caught that from the feet away where she stood and smiled at the girl.

“I'm afraid it's not Ginny that everyone has a problem with, sweet pea,” he said sadly though keeping his face bright and strong for her.

“They have a problem with you?” she asked, somehow managing to be shocked by this.

“Yeah,” Draco sighed, nodding.

“But why?” she demanded, sounding insulted and outraged.

“Because Daddy is not well-liked by…many, but Ginny is, and we make an awkward combination,” he attempted to explain.

“People still can't be mad at you,” Clarissa said as though not so sure while looking at her daddy.

“I think they just might be,” he said.

“But, but, they let you out of prison, they felt you had done your time…I don't understand,” she whined.

“I don't understand either, but let's not dwell. Wash up for supper, okay?” he asked, kissing her cheek and putting her down with a “wow you are getting big” groan.

Clarissa skipped off to the bathroom to clean up like instructed and Narcissa disappeared into the kitchen again, to drink her bourbon.

“When was the last time you ate?” Ginny asked once they were alone and Draco looked embarrassed. “It wasn't yesterday when I made you eat was it?” she asked, hoping to God she was being over-presumptuous, that she was being outrageous.

“With everything that happened after that I didn't have much of an appetite,” he attempted to rationalize and Ginny groaned.

“Draco, dear God, you are going to kill yourself,” she nearly growled, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him towards the kitchen. She didn't want to be turning into her mother and forcing food onto people, but Draco was someone that seriously needed food forced upon him. He seemed incapable of managing when left to his own devices. “Not eating leads to malnourishment which makes you low on energy, makes healing slow, and makes you sick. No wonder you are always tired, achy and cold. You are going to starve yourself into organ failure. All you need right now is for your kidneys to quit on you or damage your liver,” she scolded as she pulled him along.

“Ginny,” he tried as his mother came into view. Ginny pushed him down at the little table and placed her hands on her hips.

“I give you the choice of telling me something you like and I will make it, or you can sit there and pout and I'll make something of my choosing. Either way, you are going to eat it,” she said forcefully. Narcissa was looking over at them and she blinked at Ginny.

Draco sat there, moping and pouting like predicted. He hated being reprimanded. It made his inner child feel rebellious and unwilling to comply.

Ginny, getting no answer from him, turned to the refrigerator and started gathering up some food, prepared to make him something hearty and force him to eat it as punishment for his stubbornness. She dared a glance over at Narcissa and was surprised to see a kind look on the woman's face. She looked grateful. Ginny gave her a timid smile and Narcissa returned a more confident one. This exchange was completely hidden from Draco as he pouted at the table, their backs to him.

It looked like the women, as much as they opposed and abhorred one another, could agree on one thing and that was Draco was too damn skinny and they would do all in their power to see him healthy.

Clarissa skipped back into the room to join her daddy at the table and her charming ways got Draco to smile. She could smile in such an angelic way, baring her teeth and squinting her eyes, making her look so open and excited, it was heartwarming. Ginny loved that little girl.

Draco let Clarissa sit on him, though Narcissa normally frowned upon that at the table, and she managed to look the other way while Draco played with Clarissa's hair. It was poor manners to groom one's self, or anyone else, at the table, but she bit her tongue as Draco braided Clarissa's thick and curling locks back away from her face and tugged on it, getting her to laugh and kiss his chin.

Ginny was cooking, and Draco was happily conversing with Clarissa about her day at Muggle primary school when there was a loud crack from the living room and all in the kitchen, minus Clarissa, knew the sound of someone Apparating. Draco froze, clutching his daughter to him, and Ginny held her breath. She was the only one that would Apparate straight into Draco's house and not bring trouble. When Hermione entered the room Ginny relaxed slightly, but Draco did not.

“Ginny, there you are,” she said, not registering the room as a whole yet, just seeing her friend and sighing in relief. “I was worried.”

“I'm alright,” she said, looking over at Draco with just her eyes, Hermione doing the same but turning her whole head and then freezing.

There Draco sat, with a mini-Malfoy on his knee, looking like a mouse caught in the middle of the kitchen floor with the lights flicked on.

“Draco?” she managed after a moment, Clarissa looking down at the floor, unmoving, as though trained that people's perception of her was based off of movement and they would lose track of her if she stayed still.

“What are you doing in my house, Granger,” Draco growled, still hugging his daughter protectively.

Hermione continued to stare at the little girl but swallowed and answered Draco his question.

“I was worried about Ginny, and you I suppose,” she said, blinking a few times. “Who is that?” she asked, indicating Clarissa.

“You Apparate straight into my home without permission, and then demand answers from me?” Draco fumed, Hermione's manners thoroughly offending and enraging him.

“No, no fighting, please,” Ginny begged from the other side of the small kitchen.

“I was worried,” Hermione argued, a little heatedly, looking at Draco's bruised face and knowing she had been justified in her concern apparently.

“About what?” Draco asked, standing as Clarissa slid off his knee to stand beside the table.

“Ron is having a benny,” Hermione warned just as there was another CRACK in the living room. Draco paled, if that were possible, so his bruise looked like a spill of ink around his left eye…more so than before that is.

“MALFOY!” Ron bellowed. Draco pushed Clarissa towards her grandmother and only managed to back up some as Ron stormed into the room. “You son-of-a-bitch,” Ron fumed, pushing up his sleeves and bearing down on Draco.

“Ron, stop it!” Ginny yelled as Draco backed up.

“I'm going to rip your arms off and beat you with them you greasy git!” Ron yelled. Draco ducked around the table to keep something between him and the massive and pissed off older brother.

“Ron, calm down,” Hermione shouted.

“Come to Christmas and act all well-mannered and social, talking to me on the porch like you had somehow changed in all these years? You haven't! You are still a slimy two-faced fraud and liar!”

“Ron, stop this!” Ginny screamed at her brother as he flipped the table over so that Draco couldn't protect himself with it. Draco was very intently staying out of Ron's reach, not quite running away, but backwards walking quickly around in circles in the small room. He was no fool, he weighed as much as Ron's left leg and he had no magic; there was no way he could defend himself.

Clarissa was sobbing against her grandmother's hip and Narcissa looked furious.

Draco did not try and explain himself because he knew Ron would not listen, and blaming Ginny, saying this was all her idea, was poor form and probably wouldn't earn him much favor from anyone in the room at the moment.

“You nasty little ferret!” Ron shouted, reaching for Draco and finally getting a hold of him, grasping him by the front of his shirt to pull him close.

“Ron, I-” Draco attempted at last in desperation but a fist colliding with the other side of his already bruised face shut him up.

“Ron!” Ginny and Hermione both screamed.

Ron looked ready to punch the very dazed Draco again, but a skillet swooped in from behind him and knocked him over the head. Ron stumbled and let go of Draco. Draco lay crumpled on the floor, face in his hands, and Ron stumbled to fall onto his butt several feet away near the upturned table, clutching his head.

Narcissa stood tall, skillet raised still. She looked fierce and menacing as she stood so strong.

Ginny and Hermione each respectively ran to a man and eased their hands away from their injuries to check them over. Hermione pried Ron's hands away from his head, and Ginny tried to coax Draco's hands away from the right side of his face.

“Don't you ever put your hands on my son again,” Narcissa warned pointing down at Ron with her hot skillet. Ron's eyes watered a little bit as he sat dizzily on the floor.

“Draco, let me see,” Ginny pleaded as Draco lay crumpled on the floor still, rocking on his right-side a little in the pain. He was proud of himself for not crying, but he had a feeling half his brain was bruised and he really was crying and he just didn't realize it.

“Daddy, are you alright? Daddy?” Clarissa begged, joining Ginny, Draco's face still curled into his hands and forearms.

Hermione and Ron looked over at her words and stared.

“Daddy?” Ron asked, staring over at the girl and the boney lump on the floor that was Draco. Clarissa looked over at him with a silver glare befitting any Malfoy, her sharp face harsh despite her adorable curls loose around her ears and freckles dusting her delicate yet sharp nose. Ron and Hermione's eyes widened in shock and surprise and there was a lot of silence in the room. The tea kettle started to whistle and it seemed shriekingly loud in the stunned silence.

Narcissa leaned against the wall, skillet in hand as intimidation and threat, and Clarissa righted a chair to sit in while Hermione righted the table. Ginny encouraged Draco to sit up off the floor though he still refused to let her see his right eye as he kept the palm of his hand pressed over it.

“What the hell is going on?” Ron finally asked, unable to stand the silence for so long. Draco looked up at him from the floor with only his bruised left eye. “You are fooling around with my sister, are you fooling around on someone else? Where did this daughter come from?” he asked, pointing at Clarissa.

“Do not talk about my daughter as though she is not sitting right here with us, able to hear and understand you, Ronald,” Draco warned, growling. Ron closed his mouth but glared.

“I think what Ron is trying to ask is, are you in another relationship, like Ginny?” Hermione asked, giving Ginny and apologetic look.

“No,” Draco grumbled, pulling his shoulder out of Ginny's fussing grip, his annoyance practically crackling around him.

“Then where…?” Ron attempted.

“Her mother is dead, awright? My wife died eight years ago,” he snapped, pulling away from Ginny again and standing, putting space between her and him and him and everybody. Clarissa looked a little stranded sitting in the chair in the middle of the kitchen. Her hands were folded on her lap as she looked down, looking as though she wished she were invisible, or deaf at the very least.

Hermione and Ron had nothing to say to that, they just looked over at the little girl, then over at Draco, then over to Ginny. Ginny gave them a long sad look before sighing and looking away.

“Ginny, why didn't you tell me about this?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, because you knew about the rest of it,” Ron fumed at her and Hermione turned to snap right back at him.

“Oh shut up, Ginny made me swear to tell no one!”

“This isn't some Truth-or-Dare, girly confession, Hermione! You should have told-”

“I didn't tell you, Hermione,” Ginny interrupted, talking loudly over Ron's anger, “because Draco had asked me not to say anything to anyone about…this,” she said. “I respected his desire for privacy in the matter, and I hope you will too.”

“Ginny, the family is up in arms,” Hermione said, holding out her hands to indicate Ron. “You can't honestly expect to continue on with this fling-”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Ginny, everyone is talking about it,” Ron argued.

“Since when do I care or pay attention to what people are saying?”

“Ginny, this isn't tabloids remarking on your weight or how you dress, this is serious!” Hermione urged.

“What the hell…” Ginny paused, “Sorry,” she said, looking over at Draco, knowing he didn't like people cursing in front of his children, “is so serious about this? Oh my God, I have a new boyfriend. I can't let everyone police who I date, Hermione, otherwise I would still be married to Harry!”

“Gin, Boyfriend? When did he go from casual and secret fling to boyfriend?” Hermione asked and Draco and Ginny both managed to flush a little and look away in opposite directions.

“Boyfriend? Ginny, are you listening to yourself? Draco Malfoy is not boyfriend material!” Ron bellowed.

“I beg your pardon,” Draco grumbled indignantly but going unacknowledged in the conversation as Ginny talked on.

“And why not? You don't know him!”

“I don't have to, he's a Malfoy!”

“I beg your pardon!” this coming from Narcissa now as she clutched her skillet a little tighter as Draco stood slowly from the floor.

“Next you're going to tell me it's because he's a Death Eater, or a Werewolf,” Ginny accused and Draco shifted uncomfortably. “Some open-minded, new age, progressive thinker you are!” she scolded.

“No, it's not that, it's that he can't be trusted!” Ron argued.

“I'm standing right here you know,” Draco drawled. “If you have something to say to me, say it to me.”

Ron rolled his eyes to glare at him. “I don't trust you,” he said very flatly, right to Draco's face and Draco gave him a very un-amused smile of gratitude for the honesty and taking him so literally.

“I don't feel I have to explain myself or my life choices to you, Ronald,” Ginny fumed.

“Expect to have to when Mum and Dad get a hold of you,” he warned.

“I am an adult, and I am free to make my own choices.”

“When did shagging Draco Malfoy ever become even an option of choice?” Ron barked and Draco cut across the room to grab his daughter and scoop her up in his arms, taking her from the room as Hermione watched. He was not about to have his daughter suffer through this, especially with the turn of topic.

“So I have to be having sex with him if I'm dating him?” Ginny retorted in indignation, a little angry that so much was assumed, and a little more angry that she couldn't deny it either.

“You telling me you're not?” Ron shouted.

“It's none of your damn business either way!”

“Why can't you just answer the question? Yes or no?”

“Because that would prove no point and I'm not about to reward your rude pig-headedness!” she shouted right back as Draco carried Clarissa through the living room and down the hall, still able to hear their angry shouting. He let her down in his room and kissed her forehead, pushing some loose curls away and holding her head reassuringly.

“Just lay down in here, okay sweet pea?” he said softly. He had flipped the mattress and put clean sheets on the bed while Ginny had locked herself in the bathroom earlier.

“Are you okay? Your eye…”

“Daddy is fine,” he assured and Clarissa sobbed a little as he hugged her.

Narcissa followed in after them and took a long look at her son as he stood, Clarissa crawling up his mattress to curl up with Leak. His right eye was swollen nearly shut but what she could see of it was red. The blood vessels in to surface of his eye had ruptured, turning the whites of his eye blood red. With the skin red and puffy already starting to bruise, and the other half of his face already purple and discolored, he looked like he was wearing some sort of non-comical mask over his eyes and elegant cheekbones, and she just had to sigh.

“I hope she is worth all this, Angel,” she muttered to him.

Draco just gave her a look, his eyes too hurt to show his assurances so he had to settle for a meek smile. Narcissa sighed again, almost deflated, but smiled back, running her hand through his long hair once to get it out of his face. It was a habit of hers from when he was small that she had never managed to drop.

“Go defend her, I'll be here with Clarissa,” she said, Draco nodding and closing the door. There was utter silence upon that, neither of them able to hear the fighting outside, and Narcissa held her breath as though counting silently to herself. Her son had lied to her about “just talking,” but somehow, she couldn't manage to be all that mad at him at the moment given what she knew he was about to go up against.

Draco limped back towards the kitchen, grabbing his cane from the living room as went. He walked in confidently despite the hobble and his bruised face and spoke over the argument.

“Gin, you're burning the nosh,” he said calmly, pointing at the stove with his cane before setting it down to lean heavily on it. Ginny blinked and looked over her shoulder to the food she had left unattended and forgotten. She cursed under her breath and rushed over to it, turning off the burners and throwing a lid over the burning contents of the pan.

“Weasley,” Draco then went on to say, rounding of Ron. “I accept that you are angry with me, and I'm willing to deal with that and tolerate is because I wouldn't expect any less from you, but I will not stand by and let you treat Ginny this way. She does not answer to you, and making her feel guilty for only trying to be happy is terribly shitty of you.”

“You think you care more about her than I do?” Ron accused, voice rising.

“I haven't screamed at her, ever, and you have made her cry,” Draco answered and Ron blinked, looking over at Ginny and realizing, as she turned away from the cooker, that she was teary-eyed. Ron looked back at Draco and frowned.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” he asked, looking right at him.

“For you to stop being such a clod,” Draco retorted.

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

Author's Note:

We were all just WAITING for Ron's reaction to all this. Well, there it was. Draco will be alright, minor head-trauma never stopped him before. GO NARCISSA! Sorry if I scared you with the sex scene. Was the fluffy-song-moment too mushy? I know I was gagging and spitting. I can't handle writing fluff.

…………….

Thank you Brian Adams for the song “Everything I do, (I Do It For You)” that Draco sang, From the movie Robin Hood Prince of Thieves. I was actually compelled to write this story because of that movie, it inspired me so (more than Wicked that just turned out to work so well after the fact). The lines that impinged upon me were:

Marian: How is it, that a once-arrogant young nobleman has found contentment, living rough with the salt of the earth?

Robin: I've seen knights in armor panic at the first hint of battle. And I've seen the lowliest, unarmed squire pull a spear from his own body, to defend a dying horse. Nobility is not a birthright. It's defined by one's actions.

I think that is one of the most profound quotes in the movie and a favorite of mine. Another is:

Marian: All I remember of you is a spoiled bully who used to burn my hair as a child…

Robin: Well, please allow that years of war and prison may change a man.

I feel that is a poignant and powerful line that sets up the romance between the two characters that climaxes with a simple but heartfelt kiss. I drew a lot of inspiration for Draco and Ginny from those characters and I see a lot of Robin Hood in my Draco.

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27. Chapter 27

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-seven

Explaining to Ron and Hermione all they wanted to know took the better of the evening given Ron's constant interruptions and Hermione's probing questions. Draco found it hard to protest his innocence while deceiving everyone at the same time. He was being honest about his feelings for Ginny, their relationship, and his past, but he could not mention his current endeavors, not even when he was directly asked `what are you up to?' by Ron quite frequently. It was a tricky balancing act but one he had mastered years ago.

Draco had to explain to them how he was a daddy but did not offer them quite as detailed a telling as he had Reamann. He explained to them quite simply that he had met his wife while in Azkaban, that they had wound up unexpectedly pregnant before he was even eighteen, got married in quite heist after the second unexpected conception, and that she had died only a few short years after that. It was the first time Ginny even learned as much, but she kept the surprise and wonderment off her face. She supposed Draco would have told her if she had but asked, but she had thought he would tell her about it on his own, when he was ready. She realized he would likely keep his secrets, and his privacy, unless asked to do otherwise. She hoped it was just a privacy issue, and not a trust. She wanted to believe he trusted her, but he played things so close to his chest, sometimes she just wasn't sure.

Ginny took the reigns at that point after Draco was finished and explained their relationship, Draco more than happy to let her take on that feat. They seemed to silently agree since it had been her idea, that she would be the one to try and defend it. Draco held her hand throughout, however, and she was glad for the support.

Hermione, who had been in on part of this, was left both uncomfortable, and a little shocked, shocked mostly because of Draco's part of the telling but also because this was no longer just a fling she was hearing about.

Draco and Ginny sat on the couch, side by side, holding hands, while Ron paced and Hermione sat in the armchair.

“This is mental,” Ron finally exclaimed.

“Please, Ron, don't shout,” Ginny pleaded, sounding tired.

“What am I supposed to tell Mum and Dad?”

“Nothing, I will talk to them, it's my responsibility.”

“You expect to be able to bring him around?” he demanded, not even using Draco's name.

“I'm sitting right here,” Draco reminded him blandly, Ron acting as though Draco could not hear him or something.

“He was received well enough at Christmas,” Ginny attempted.

“That's before we knew you two were fucking,” he fumed and Draco glared, warning Ron to back down some.

“Ron, I don't expect everything to be fine and dandy right away, but I'm hoping to find some support in this,” Ginny sighed.

“I support you,” Hermione mumbled. Ginny looked over at her with appreciative and relieved eyes.

“You are only thankful that this served as a major distraction so that nobody flipped out over yours and Harry's little announcement,” Ron barked. He was not looking all that happy. His best mate and his ex-wife were having a secret affair and having a baby, and his baby sister and ex-arch-nemesis were now shagging. That and his head hurt something fierce thanks to the wrath of Mrs. Malfoy. He was just not in a consolable mood.

“You told them?” Ginny asked, leaning around Draco to speak to her friend.

“Yeah, we did, together, and it looked like it was going to be a little difficult, until it came on over the radio about you two,” she said meekly. Ginny sighed and Draco squeezed her hand. He couldn't tell Ginny the feelings that just overwhelmed him at that moment, but knowing the nature of Granger and Potter's “little announcement,” he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if they were in such a situation and had to meet with “the family” and tell them they were expecting a baby.

He didn't know for sure, but he could make a pretty educated guess by looking up at Ron that such news would not be kindly received and happily welcomed.

Draco couldn't deny he really wanted a baby, however, that being what he couldn't reveal to Ginny. It was something he had longed for since getting out of Azkaban but had never a chance to even try for. Did men have a biological clock ticking away in them? He had missed out on experiencing pregnancy with his wife, and being a proper father to his babies, so maybe that was what was bothering him. Or maybe it was his life expectancy was so much shorter than a typical wizard's that he had a desperate desire to be a daddy again before he died. Despite everything, and the situation, and what had just happened in the other room between Ginny and him, he envied Potter and Granger….just a little.

“Ron,” Ginny said, snapping Draco out of those thoughts. “I know you and Draco don't have a friendly past, but you know he is not a Death Eater, and you can't hate him for being a werewolf, and he is being far more accommodating and civil than you are so you can't even go off on him being a prat. I'm not asking you to like this, I don't want or need your blessing, but I need my space and I want some respect,” she said firmly, face flushed red in anger like Ron's was.

Ron glared at Draco, the man that was sleeping with his sister and hurt his friend, Reamann. He remembered back to his conversation with Draco on Christmas and struggled not to punch him, trying to remember what was said, about how much Draco claimed to have changed. He was probably lying, surely he had been lying, he couldn't have been telling the truth. Could he?

“Gin…”

“Ron.”

Ron sighed. “Reamann is really upset over all this,” he said heavily, attacking this problem from another angle now.

“I know he is,” Ginny said just as heavily, looking down.

“How could you do this to him?” he asked, not sounding as demanding as before, just disappointed.

“Please, I feel terrible enough as it is. I will talk to Reamann; I will explain to him what I told you-”

“I don't think being told that he was kept around only as a cover for yours and Malfoy's little forbidden romance will make him feel better, Ginny. It will just make him feel used and foolish.”

Ginny let her face fall into her hands.

“I'll have a talk with him,” Draco offered, or rather announced. Ron looked at him

“I gave you the one bad eye, I'm only guessing here, but I would say Reamann gave you the other?”

“I'm out of eyes to blacken.” Draco flushed while looking down at Ginny. “I'll talk to him, so he won't blame this all on Ginny, or all on me. He needs to know we are both to blame, as well as him.”

“He is not to blame.”

“Oh, he knew about the bloody affair, he is just brassed off because it turned out it was me. He has been just as miserable as Ginny,” he said and Ginny looked up at him. “Why do you think he has not popped the question to her? He knew deep down that Ginny was slipping away and he was feeling smothered by the family as much as she was. It isn't that Ginny moved on that upset him, it's who she chose to move on with,” he said, grumbling at the last. “He feels like crap and he's angry, and I don't blame him, but he knew this was happening and chose not to acknowledge it, making him a guilty party in all this as well,” he said firmly.

“No, he would have said something,” Ron attempted to argue while Ginny just stared at Draco, completely unaware of this. Reamann had known, or been suspicious at least? She felt so scandalous now. Every night when she had given him a kiss and snuggled down beside him to sleep, he knew she was with another man? Every time she said she was going out for a few hours, he knew it was to meet with her other man? Ginny felt terrible, dirty, worse than even before, and she had felt pretty damn bad. She also had no idea that Reamann felt so trapped. She knew he had seemingly become distant and disinterested as of recent, but she had not truly believed that he had fallen out of love with her. Draco would know, wouldn't he, he could read people's feelings and emotions better than he could their thoughts. There was only one nagging doubt in her mind, though, and that was: had he fallen out of love with her before her affair, or only after he knew she was sleeping with another man?

Ginny held Draco's hand tight as her chest became thick with guilt. How big of a whore did Reamann believe her to be?

“Who would he have told?” Draco challenged, looking defiantly right up at Ron. “You, a Weasley, with those burly fists of yours and sense of honor towards your sister? I think not,” he said, resisting the urge to touch his eye. “He just kept himself busy with other things so he didn't have to deal with it, with any of it, making Ginny feel abandoned and only intensifying the problem,” he explained and Ginny felt her stomach contort in an uncomfortable way.

“You are just manipulating the situation, because we all know you are a Legilimens and we can't tell what you actually see or if you are just making shit up!” Ron accused.

“Ask Reamann then, and Ginny. Ask them what's going on. They haven't talked to each other, see if their stories line up, that they have both been looking for excuses to be apart, Ginny with me, Reamann with me…well…work,” he snapped. Ginny just looked up at Ron for a long moment and then nodded.

“Okay, fine!” Ron growled. “You two,” meaning Ginny and Reamann, “gave up a while ago on your relationship without ending it…but why Malfoy? Dear God,” he said to his sister.

“Do I have to remind you that I'm sitting right here?” Draco vocalized again but Ginny spoke over him.

“We already explained that to you,” Ginny fumed, having already told her brother about Draco's and hers interactions during the war, and how they had come together again in the recent weeks and how much they connected. She didn't get into intimate details, didn't mention the flutter she felt when around Draco, but did strongly dictate their mutual affection for one another. Draco and her were both mum on the “I love you”s they had shared as well. No need to get Ron all worked up again, Draco's face couldn't take another hit.

“But, Draco Malfoy…I mean…” Ron said, a very stubborn part of his mind refusing to accept that.

“I'm sorry that I offend you so,” Draco drawled; face still bruised and right eye swollen shut.

“You were terrible to my whole family while in school.”

“I grew up,” Draco reminded.

“You supported the Dark Lord.”

“I realized the mistake in that.”

“You…you are completely mental.”

“I am thoroughly offended by that,” Draco replied, just a touch angrier, getting the feeling from Ron that that was more than just a matter of opinion.

“Ron, please,” Hermione begged, wanting so desperately for Draco to not find out what she had done so foolishly a few years back, but because she was trying so hard to not think about it, it was all her mind would focus on, and Draco's discolored face grew very tight with anger.

“You slag,” he growled.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbled, looking down at her lap, sincerely meaning it and hoping Draco would sense that.

“How could you?” he nearly shouted, she knowing exactly what he was talking about, everyone else in the room clueless.

“I didn't see the harm in taking a peek, and then it just came up in conversation one night…it's not like I did it to make fun of you or anything...”

“What's going on?” Ginny asked, looking between Draco and Hermione, then up to Ron who was looking a little uncomfortable as he realized the repercussions of his remark. Clearly she was the only one not in on this.

“Nothing,” Hermione muttered. Ron just shook his head and Draco looked unwilling to say a word to her on the matter or explain why he was suddenly so enraged.

“No, no it isn't. Tell me!” she demanded.

“It's just a mistake I made a few years back,” Hermione muttered.

“You told Potter and Ron about information that is supposed to be protected under patient-Healer law!” Draco growled.

“Hermione!” Ginny gasped in shock, not wanting to believe her friend capable of such a thing. There were few things Hermione took more seriously than her job, and rules. Laws ands honor were two of them.

“I was not your Healer; I just saw the file and couldn't resist a glance. I only then mentioned it to Harry and Ron in passing…Ron shouldn't have just said what he did; it isn't fair, or…or true.”

“You basically lifted my restricted file, and told them I am mental,” he accused.

“What's going on?” Ginny asked again.

“I didn't say that, I just said Azkaban had clearly been hard on you-”

“No shit it had been hard on me!”

“What? What file. Damn it, someone tell me!” Ginny demanded, looking at Draco now, wanting to know the truth and grabbing his hand tight to show that she didn't want to be jerked around. She knew he hated being called “mental” in joking, and so she could understand why he was upset at Ron calling him it now as an insult, but she had a feeling there was more to this than that, that Draco had a real reason as to why he hated being called crazy. She feared what the reason was because she had a pretty good idea.

“After I got out of Azkaban, I quietly filed for custody of my children,” Draco explained, glaring at Hermione as he spoke now. “My mother was their sole guardian at the time. I was ordered to undergo a psychiatric evaluation, to see if I was fit to be their guardian after spending so many years in Azkaban and certain…instances…in my past,” he said, sounding bitter, foregoing mention that the `instances' were the times he had tried to kill himself. Ginny didn't need to know about that.

“And?” Ginny asked, looking between everyone.

“And Granger here got a hold of my file and apparently told people that I failed their damn evaluation,” he accused.

“You can't fail the review, you just…didn't get a really fantastic score…I didn't know why you got the test in the first place or why it was marked so confidential…”

“It was marked as such because you had no damn right to look at it, let alone tell people…”

I didn't `tell people', I just mentioned it to my two best mates when you came up in conversation. I meant it in defense of you, saying it had all be very unfair to you and that the experience -of the war and of the trial, and of the prison- had left you…damaged.”

“Damaged?” he fumed. “If you are trying to make me feel better about this, Granger, you are failing miserably with your choice of wording.”

“I'm sorry,” she assured.

“Wait, so the tests said, what, that you are crazy or something?” Ginny asked, looking at Draco, and then everyone else.

“Go ahead, Granger, tell her, you have told everyone else,” Draco fumed, crossing his arms to leave Ginny's hand abandoned.

“I have not, I have only told Ron and Harry-”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he snapped.

“I'm sorry-”

“No you're not,” he accused.

“What did the tests say?” Ginny asked again, speaking over Draco and Hermione's bickering, needing to know. Hermione looked away and Draco answered for her.

“They decided I was unfit to have sole custody of my children. I share it, with my mother, but she is still considered the primary caregiver. I was deemed `emotionally unstable',” he said bitterly.

“They?” she questioned but no one answered. `They' were Healers, probably, or the Ministry. “They said that? That's not true, or fair,” she said, reaching up to unfold Draco's arms so she could hold his hand tight. She didn't think he was `emotionally unstable'…he was terribly angsty maybe, and he had a nasty temper, and he seemed awfully depressed and insecure…but that didn't mean he was crazy! She had seen him with his children, he was a wonderful dad! Draco was comforted by how Ginny felt on the matter, and squeezed her hand tight. Hermione didn't jump in to add her assurances that Draco was not crazy and Ginny turned to glare.

“You really do think he's crazy,” Ginny barked.

“No, Gin…”

“Don't tell lies, Granger,” Draco warned.

“Draco, I know what you went through-”

“Do you now?” he snapped.

“I was tortured too,” she said, finally getting a little heated.

“Oh, right, you got to suffer the Cruciatus for, what, twenty minutes, once in your life? Poor you. Try suffering it for longer, try several times a day, for weeks…months! You were just made to talk; I was being punished, punished for things that were never my fault! I was tortured until I went temporarily blind from the stress, I was tortured until my muscles cramped up in the worst charley horse imaginable and I could not walk!” he shouted, well, not really shouted since Ginny had heard shouting before (her mother could shout), but the closest to shouting she had heard Draco get yet. She had known Draco was tortured during the war, but she had had no idea how much or when, or why. She knew you could go mad from it after a while, the mind only able to take so much. Is that what happened? Had Draco been tortured to…insanity? Or just to the brink of it?

“Draco…”

“Fuck you, Granger,” Draco growled, the glasses on the coffee table at their knees all popping in small explosions of glass and water. Ron jumped in.

“None of us faired too well in the department of mental stability after the war…hey, look at me, I have been in therapy for years,” Ron said, placing his hands on his chest for a moment as emphasis, “but it doesn't matter, one way or another,” he said, talking fast as though to move over that point quickly. “The problem before us is, Mum and Dad are gonna kill you,” he said, trying to move the conversation past that little hitch they just had, feeling responsible for how badly this had all turned. He may have hated Malfoy, but he kind of felt bad for bringing such a thing up when Ginny had clearly not known. That was a blow lower than he -despite how mad he was- would have gone intentionally.

“I'll talk to them,” Ginny sighed.

“I should go with you,” Draco said and everyone stared at him.

“No, no,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “I wouldn't put you in that situation, not the first time I talked to them on it,” she said squeezing his hand.

“You were here when I told my mother,” he argued, implying that no one could be as scary as his mother.

“True, but your mother does not yell, there is only one of her, and she is not allowed to use magic,” she reasoned and he nodded, seeing her point. As scary as his mother was, there was only one of her, she didn't scream, and she hadn't turned anyone into a ferret and bounced them around the room. Draco shuddered at the thought, well, memory.

Hermione and Ron left, and Ginny kissed Draco goodbye. Everyone was preparing for an all out explosion of furry of Molly-proportion. Ginny would have a talk with her mother, Ron and Hermione hiding a safe distance away, to only come in once the initial borage of shouts and hexes had subsided.

With Hermione and Ron gone first Draco kissed Ginny deeply and at length before she left, somehow fearful that this would be their last opportunity to be together. Surely no one was going to die, and only tears (not blood) would be shed over this, but still, Draco knew, with all he was about to do with Sebastian, and Ginny's fallout with her family, combined with Reamann…they might not have an opportunity to be with each other for a while. His kissed her passionately and when she pulled away they held hands, their touch lingering for as long as possible as she backed up slowly before she Disapparated away once their fingertips parted.

Draco pressed his lips together, feeling a little incomplete now, and heaved a heavy sigh. He should get dressed and wrapped up and see Reamann, talk to him like he had offered, but he feared coming face to face with him again. His face couldn't take another encounter that night.

What made him think Reamann would listen to him? Nothing, but he didn't want Reamann yelling at Ginny, or fingering him in the case before he could go to the Ministry in the morning and deal with all that.

Draco was standing there, feeling conflicted, and the phone rang.

He blinked.

He limped over to it and picked it up slowly, uncertain of what to expect.

“Malfoy,” he said.

“Go eat something, right now,” Ginny scolded over the phone and Draco smiled, feeling light again. With all the distraction of Hermione and then Ron showing up, Ginny had forgotten that she had set out to make sure Draco ate something. Apparently, home now, she remembered, and her concern was forceful and though she sounded grumpy, it made him smile to know she cared that much.

“Yes dear,” he laughed, actually flopping down on the couch to talk with Ginny for a bit, just glad to hear her voice, assuring her that he would get something to eat the moment he got off the phone with her.

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

“Draco, this is not what you want,” Snape argued.

“How do YOU know what I want?” Draco snapped, knowing he could block his feelings from being read, even by Snape.

They were standing in that dark alley, just after Snape had pulled Draco out of the Muggle pub where he had been dropped off by that kind Muggle man. It was late evening, full dark, and it was only hours since Draco had received the Dark Mark, and only a night after the events of the Astronomy tower. It seemed like weeks, months, had passed since he was last sitting in class at Hogwarts…not days.

“Draco, you were boastful at the start of the year, like you had something to prove. I saw that waver in you, I watched you become more and more desperate as time went by with each of your failed attempts at killing…Dumbledore,” he said as Draco shook his head. “The Dark Lord had such a lack of faith in you as time pressed on that he went from offering this task to you like a reward and a chance to redeem your family name and prove your loyalties, to having to threaten your family to see to it that you got it done. In the end you did not deliver.”

“He is going to kill my mother, he is…”

“Draco, no.”

“He is! I took the Dark Mark to save her, but what good will that do? The Dark Lord doesn't trust me! He thinks I'm weak, he thinks…” he sobbed, feeling helpless, hopeless, weak. It was true; he had been boastful at first. Recovering from the initial shock and despair of learning of his condition, he had turned to proving himself a true and faithful follower of the Dark Lord to compensate. He had been more than willing to brag, and boast, and imply that he had already been allowed into the Dark Lord's followers, even though he had not -for security reasons- gotten the Mark. His task would have been foiled before its start if someone had discovered such a thing on him.

He had compensated for his feeling of nausea every time he realized he was a werewolf, not a Human, not anymore, by being more smug and confident than ever. No one saw through that, no one could tell what had happened…except Dumbledore. Even Harry Potter snooping around in his business all year hadn't uncovered his plans. Sure, Dumbledore had known he was sick from the moment he had entered the school, but that had served useful. He disregarded all of Potter's suspicions and accusations all year, thinking Harry would only discover him, Draco, trying to hide his illness rather than the Dark Lord's plot. The old fool had been unwilling to give Potter an honest listen and ended up helping keep the Dark Lord's plot secret and uninterrupted, and made it possible for Draco to kill him…except he hadn't killed him…

Draco had every intention of doing just as the Dark Lord asked of him, every intention of pleasing the Dark Lord and bringing him glory…until he realized just what the stakes were, and just what it was he was being asked of.

It had all fallen apart long before that confrontation on the Astronomy tower. What Snape said was true; the Dark Lord had resorted to threatening his family to see to it that his task was done. Voldemort couldn't offer him to Greyback, but he had used the werewolf as intimidation as well, that being why seeing him that night with the Death Eaters had startled him so.

Now the Dark Lord had him Marked, but he still didn't trust him.

He had trapped himself, with no way out but to do the Dark Lord's bidding to the best of his ability, hiding his true feelings of ambivalence.

Snape could sense Draco's uncertainty though, despite Draco's attempts to hide it as they stood there together, alone, and he proceeded to confide something quite revealing.

“You are NOT a spy for the Order,” Draco barked, unwilling to allow the man another word on the matter.

“Draco,” Snape attempted to explain.

“No, you killed Dumbledore, I…I watched you!”

“Dumbledore knew what he was doing. He knew he was dying that night, by someone's hand or that potion he drank,” he explained his actions from the night before.

“What potion,” Draco demanded. Dumbledore had looked ill, but he had had no idea it was because of a potion.

“Draco-”

“No! This is some kind of trick, a test devised by the Dark Lord to see where my loyalties lie. I will NOT be fooled into crossing him! I will not do anything that could bring harm to my mother.”

“Draco-”

“No!” he shouted, turning to walk away, towards the Muggle street from which he had been dragged. He couldn't listen to this. He had just been Marked, he was a Death Eater now, whether he regretted it or not, and if this was a test he couldn't show weakness. But if what Snape was saying was somehow true, he was seriously screwed, but it was too late. Draco knew he had no options, he just had to do what he must from here on out to protect his mother and father and Butler Paul: those whom he loved.

“Dumbledore asked me to look out for you,” Snape called after him.

“He did no such thing,” Draco shouted over his shoulder as he walked.

“Dumbledore was a skilled Legilimens, like I, like you are becoming. In that moment before I did…what I had to do…he confided in me memories, thoughts, feelings, and orders. I HAD to kill him, on his orders, to maintain appearances,” he said, holding a pleading hand out to the boy.

“This is just a clever lie!”

“He told me of the offer he made you; he sees GOOD in you Draco.”

“He saw WEAKNESS that he could exploit!” Draco snapped bitterly, remembering the Dark Lord's words to him after being Marked, remembering how serious the man was about not wanting to be disappointed again.

“Don't let the Dark Lord's opinions of you dictate how you see yourself, Draco,” Snape warned, knowing Draco had always drawn his self-worth from other's opinions of him, and the praise he received. The boy lacked confidence when alone, and that was why he had always kept “friends” around to boost his poise, that was why he had failed while on that rooftop, that rooftop where he had been alone. He knew this, and it hurt something in him to see Draco now, so broken up because he had no one to boast him up, because everyone was looking down on him for having failed at his task.

“Dumbledore cares not for me.”

“Dumbledore saw something honorable in you. He asked me to take care of you, believing you vital to the Dark Lord's downfall.”

“Vital to his downfall?” Draco repeated bitterly. “I just pledged myself to that man!” he argued in desperate frustration, turning back on Snape and limping towards him quickly to be up in his face, his left ankle still hurting. “I guess your senile old professor was wrong about me,” he scathed and Snape glared.

“Don't you dare talk about Albus Dumbledore with such complete disrespect,” he shouted and Draco recoiled a little. “And do not stand here, telling me you joined the Dark Lord's ranks out of any sort of free will or desire to serve.”

“The Mark cannot be given to the unwilling,” Draco tried to argue though it was weak and hardly convincing with his quivering voice and fretful hands.

“It can not be forced upon someone, but agreeing to it, and wanting it, are two very different things.”

“You do not know how I feel!”

“You feel lost.”

“Stay out of my mind!” Draco shouted, stepping back and no longer looking Snape in the eyes so Snape could not look into him any deeper.

“I did not have to force my way into your thoughts to know how you feel, Draco, it's apparent on your face, and in your eyes. It's why the Dark Lord doesn't trust you. As closed off as you are, as skilled an Occlumens you are, your eyes give you away completely. You look uncertain.”

“I am not uncertain! I know EXACTLY what I want to do!” he shouted from feet away.

“And what is that?” Snape asked, sounding a little patronizing.

“Protect my mother and father,” he answered.

“I can help you, the Order can help you,” Snape offered.

“No one can help me, no one.”

“Draco, you have to trust me.”

“Trust you? You? I don't even know whose bloody side you're on! Are you with the Order of the Phoenix? I don't know! Are you with the Death Eaters? I had thought so! Are you my friend and mentor, or are you a pawn of the Dark Lord sent to test me? I have no idea! I can't trust you, I can't trust ANYBODY!”

“Draco, the whole world isn't against you-”

“They are NOW! The Ministry will see me dead, the Order thinks I assisted in the murder of their beloved leader, I have pitted myself against Harry Potter since we were boys, I am sick, and now I am a Marked Death Eater! Who the hell would trust me, even if I did surrender to the Order and express some sort of repentance and desire to assist?” he demanded, voice cracking a little as he refused to cry, revealing like nothing in his eyes ever could, just how helpless he truly felt right then, and just how young he truly was.

“Draco, you can't give in and just accept things as hopeless. It is only hopeless if you are unwilling to expend hope. The second you hope for something better the situation is not hopeless, just difficult.”

“Difficult? Difficult? This is NOT difficult, Severus, this is impossible and unbearable! I am trapped.”

“The Dark Lord has made it so! He backed you into a corner and made it so you would have no options but to serve him. You fell right into his plans, doing exactly what he was expecting of you,” Snape said, explaining why the Dark Lord had smiled and seemed so pleased when Draco had pledged himself to him and taken the Dark Mark. Draco had done just as he had predicted, just what he had wanted…no wonder he had been pleased and so amused. Little brought the Dark Lord so much pleasure than manipulating others and causing them to crumble. Oh how much amusement he had undoubtedly found in Draco.

Draco just looked away, his cut cheek and bloody clothing robbing him of his once so prideful appearance and dignity. In that dirty Muggle alley Draco looked piteous.

“I swore to your mother that I would protect you,” Snape went on to say then.

“Well, you're swearing all sorts of things to everybody now aren't you?” Draco snapped but recoiled as Snape raised his hand as though to backhand him but didn't, just held his hand up as though in warning.

“I have always admired your sassiness, but there is a time and place for it,” he barked and Draco backed down some. “Your mother had me perform an Unbreakable Vow over the summer of last. She had me promise to protect you to the best of my ability,”

“Bang-up job you have been doing too! I am just peachy with YOU looking after me!” he said sarcastically but his head snapped to the side with the slap from Snape.

“I will not warn you to watch you sass again,” he said smoothly, knowing Draco was frustrated but knowing also that Draco could not let slip such brazenness with the Dark Lord, or any Death Eater for that matter, and expect to live long. He felt bad for striking the boy, but he had promised Narcissa he would protect Draco, and this was a harsh means of protecting him, from himself.

“I was to guide and look after you-”

“That why you were nosing in on me all year?” Draco interrupted, left hand cupping his pink cheek, eyes angry but tone under control now.

“And to complete your task for you should you fail,” Snape finished. Draco blinked.

“I thought you said Dumbledore told you to…”

“He did, but I was also bound by your mother's wish. If I did anything less I would have died, if I did anything but look after you now, I will still die.”

“Assuming what you tell me now is true, about you and my mother, then you are here to save your OWN arse, not because you care about me.”

“Draco, no, you know that is not true. You are like family to me, you know this,” Snape said, urging Draco to sense the truth in his words.

“How can I trust you?” Draco said, once again. “You are serving the Dark Lord, you are serving the Order, you are bound by my mother, you are doing as Dumbledore asked, you care about me, you don't want to die…” he shouted, frustrated, not sure what to believe.

“I know I seem rather ambiguous, but, Draco-”

“Ambiguous? Ambiguous doesn't even BEGIN to cover it!”

“Draco, listen to me-”

“No, this is a trick, and one I will not fall for!”

Snape sighed. Draco was clearly too upset to reason with at the moment, and he had to admit, his involvement with all sides and current and recent events was difficult to keep straight.

“I have orders from the Dark Lord,” he said sadly and Draco looked up at him with frightened eyes. “I was sent to look for you, and if you will not accept my offer and aid, then I will simply pass on his message and be on my way,” he said calmly.

“Wait, you were telling the truth?” Draco questioned, lost and scared.

“Your first assignment from the Dark Lord is recruiting.”

“Recruiting?”

“You will be gathering followers.”

“But, how, I…?”

“You don't have to do this…” Snape pressed one last time.

“I can't turn on him now, not now, not after I have tied myself to him. He would know, he would kill me, he would kill my family.”

“Then you will be burning down the homes and threatening the lives of women and children to pressure others to join the Dark Lord and his ranks. You have fun with that,” Snape said harshly.

“What do you WANT from me?” Draco demanded, this not being the first or last time he would mutter these words to someone before the war is over.

“For you to make a choice between what is easy, and what is right, to realize your life is in your OWN hands, not the hands of everyone else. You can control your own destiny and not be a pawn for the rest of your time here on earth,” Snape said softly.

“I…I can't,” Draco said, backing up. “I can't,” he whispered, shaking his head, turning, and then fleeing from his onetime mentor and sort of father figure. He couldn't take his life into his own hands, he had never been in such control before, and too much was riding on it. This wasn't just growing up and gaining a little responsibility, his mother's life, his father's life, Butler Paul's life, they all hinged on him and the decisions he makes and his choices. What choices? Draco was not sure, but all he knew was he didn't have time to find himself, or learn what it is he wanted so badly, other than to hide.

Draco woke to find himself curled up on his couch. He had fallen asleep after getting off the phone with Ginny. They had talked for what seemed like hours, and she had yawned one last time, told him she loved him one last time, and finally gone to bed. Draco had been ready to get up, make himself something to eat like he had promised he would, and go to bed himself, but he got as far as tipping over on the couch so as to reach the phone base on the floor and hang up before sleep gripped him.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the memories he had woken to, he stood with a stiff groan. He leaned on his cane and started walking towards the kitchen, but it was so far. His bedroom was closer.

Draco whined to himself and looked between his two options. Ginny wanted him to eat; his body wanted him to sleep. True, probably, it wouldn't mind if he had a spot of nosh, and he really would have been more than willing to oblige, if moving didn't hurt so damn bad and if his head weren't pounding something nauseatingly fierce.

Draco took a deep breath and went to his bedroom. Clarissa was in her own bed, his mother in Michelangelo's, so he was able to just crouch down, tip onto his mattress, and fall asleep fully-dressed still. He was feeling too nauseous from his headache to keep anything down anyways, that's what he told himself. He would eat in the morning, that's what he promised himself.

The autumn months between the death of Dumbledore, and the final battle in December, Harry Potter spent traveling around and collecting and destroying Horcruxes while Draco spent them serving the Dark Lord who was growing more and more furious with the destruction of each of his soul's vessels. He was trying to stop Potter, of course, but he was taking that anger out on his followers, despite their faithful services. Draco was a recruiter, with several others, and he had done well, but the Dark Lord still punished him often, for things that could not in any way be perceived as his fault.

Draco, through great mental fortitude, remained pitiless and calm through all the trials he had endured and all the tasks he had performed, but he could sense this precipice forming in his mind, a fracture that grew each time he was abused or saw something terrible. He feared what he would find if he were to look over that edge in his mind, and clung to whatever sanity he had left. He felt like he was losing his mind, and it was scary.

How many people had he hurt in the name of the Dark Lord to protect his family? He just simply did not think about it.

That night, in late October, Draco sat atop his white horse, black cloak draped over him and the backend of his steed, ghostly pale mask in place as well as hood to conceal his identity as he called out to the occupants of the house before him.

“Come out, in the name of the Dark Lord,” he shouted firmly as his horse stepped fretfully to the right some on the manicured front lawn. Death Eaters stood around him, mostly those recently recruited, holding torches. It turned out there were plenty willing the serve the Dark Lord…the second a wand was pointed at their child's head and a torch was held to their belongings. The Ministry had fallen months ago, internally overrun by Death Eaters, supporters of blood purity, and those possessed to do the Dark Lord's bidding. The Dark Lord now ruled by controlling all those in power, promising relief, and to those caught in such precarious situations at the hands of the Death Eaters, his offers seemed fair enough.

Now they gathered outside the home of yet another family, calling them out to join them or face certain death, just like others had done to them at some point. It was desperate times, and though they felt dirty, they lacked any faith in the Order to protect their families. They had to do it themselves, and they had to do what they must.

Draco sat atop his horse, above the caped and masked men and women around him, feeling much the same way when it came to protecting his family, but no one would have known that by how he held and conducted himself. He had moved up in the ranks since summer and his initiation into the Dark Lord's followers and he was the picture of faithfulness and fortitude. He was in command that night, and those in the house feared him despite their firm stand.

“We will not be intimidated by that foul Lord of yours!” a man declared, his voice drifting from inside the house. An unnatural fog billowed around the knees of those out on the street. Muggles and all those not intimately part of the scene were unaware of what was happening. The Dark Lord's ability to cast such powerful Influence Charms was fastly becoming legend.

“Join us, or die,” Draco called smoothly, almost taunting.

“We support the Order of the Phoenix, Muggleborns, and Harry Potter!” the family within the home shouted out to them.

Draco looked very intently at the parted curtains where the family was shouting from. He stared unmoving at them with his pitiless grey eyes through his mask as he drew his wand from his inner-robe pocket and the man and woman gasped, pulling their son of no more than eight or nine back to protect him, them both knowing what was to come.

Draco pointed his wand into the sky and called out “Morsmordre” as a violent orb of green light erupted from the tip of his wand and shot up into the sky above the house, it exploding like a firecracker, the dust and smoke and sparkles forming the dreaded Dark Mark.

“Bring them out,” Draco ordered the Death Eaters that surrounded him. The masked witches and wizards rushed past Draco, their torches held aloft, when suddenly, whistling objects cut through the air, into them, around them, causing the Death Eaters to all duck and look around and take cover. The family apparently had magical defenses around their home that were likely triggered by the dark spell.

Draco's horse reared back in a neigh of fright as arrows landed all around them, sticking in the ground with dull thuds, and the tree beside him with harsh whacks, and that sudden rearing jerk caused Draco to catch one in his left shoulder. He was thrown from his horse to land on the grass, his eyes wide at the pain he could not quite register yet. He looked down at the arrow that was protruding from his upper chest where it met his left shoulder, and just stared for a moment. Reaching up with a shaking right hand, Draco gripped it firmly at the base and pulled it out, causing pain to erupt from the wound more than before but him remaining silent in his shock still that he was hurt. He scrambled backwards up onto his feet, throwing the arrow down as though it burned him, still staring at it, his shoulder bleeding freely, his mask on the ground amongst the orange leaves where it had dropped when he fell.

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” a still masked Death Eater asked, looking concerned as Draco attempted to recover his composure.

“Drag them out here,” Draco ordered, voice not as firm as he would have liked it as he hoisted himself up onto his horse. He sat there, having left bloody handprints on his steed's white neck.

The family was removed from their home, the Dark Mark looming in the night sky above the burning shell of a home. The family, clearly in support of the Order, was led off to be “dealt with” by others that were higher than Draco and more practiced in getting information out of the disinclined and reluctant. Draco was thankful such a task did not fall onto him because he did not want to deal with them himself, no matter how wounded his body, and pride, were. He just did not have a stomach for torture and had been forced to perform that curse too many times, just too many times.

“A true Death Eater would have killed that family on the spot for having wounded them,” Snape said coolly as he leaned against the tree, Draco's horse turning in surprise so that Draco had to swivel his head around to look at the man as he spoke.

“I am a true Death Eater,” he said, angry at the implied accusation as his horse came around in full turn.

“Oh, you have been behaving, truly, like your father's son, and we have all been impressed, but I am not as easily fooled as everyone else, and neither is the Dark Lord. You have yet to kill anyone,” he said, still leaning so calmly.

“You both know how utterly useless I am when it comes to such a thing,” Draco retorted, though not proud of the admission like most people would be.

“That hasn't changed at all in these long, violent months?” Snape mocked and Draco's eyes fell away.

Snape looked at Draco's lost face as Draco tried to look anywhere but at him and felt such pity. He could see Draco closing things off, hushing up what feelings that were eating away at him so as to deal, or more accurately not deal, with all that was happening.

“A part of you on the inside is crying out for something meaningful, Draco. If you continue to repress it, it will consume and destroy you,” he warned, his prediction ominous.

“You don't know-”

“I have seen it before,” he said, cutting the boy off firmly but not elaborating on that either. “Don't lock parts of yourself away so that you cannot fully appreciate the horrors of your actions. It may make it easier to deal with them at the present, but they will devour you and tear apart your soul in time. You will be no better than Lord Voldemort in the end, his soul in taters, you left as something less than human.”

“I am less than human,” Draco replied flatly, bitter, trying to hide the shudder that had swept through his body with the utterance of the Dark Lord's name.

“You are buying into Greyback's teachings now, Draco. You are suppressing your conscience, your sense of right and wrong, because thinking like a beast doesn't leave you with guilt or questions. You have no sense of responsibility if you just follow orders of another, but this will all catch up with you in the end,” he said cryptically.

“I do not intend of living long enough for that to become an issue,” Draco confessed but hollowly, almost as though accepting and unbothered by it. Snape's eyes widened just a touch and Draco nodded and turned away. The leaves were falling, and even in the darkness of night, their beautiful color burned alive for a moment while caught in the streetlamp's light. It contrasted the conversation set among them dramatically.

“Draco, listen to me…”

“Can't you just leave me alone?” Draco snapped.

“Sorry, I really can't. Remember, should I fail in protecting you to the best of my ability, I will die.”

“I'm sorry I'm such a burden,” Draco said bitterly.

“I care for you more than this, more than the mandate of the Unbreakable Vow that I made with-”

“Save it. What do you want from me?” Draco demanded, cutting Snape off, his horse turning again, slowly this time as Draco continued to bleed.

“The Dark Lord would like a word with you,” he said.

“A word, with me? Why?”

“I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

“Did he sound displeased?” Draco himself sounding panicked as he asked.

“Does he ever sound pleased?”

“Oh god,” Draco breathed, holding his shoulder, fearing the Dark Lord more than his wound at the moment. Was it mortal? Would he die? The blood was rushing so quickly with every beat of his frantic heart.

“Need me to look at that?” Snape offered.

“Stay back,” Draco nearly shouted, pulling his horse backwards in the fog. His blood was a curse; he wouldn't let anyone touch him, not even Snape whom he did not fully trust.

“Draco-”

“He is angry with me, isn't he,” Draco fretted, nervous, scared. Anyone would be scared in his position.

“I don't know.”

“What do you THINK?” Draco demanded.

“I think he will not like having to wait for you as you sit here and ask me impossible questions,” Snape retorted. Draco looked at him with wide eyes but nodded, agreeing. “You shouldn't present yourself to the Dark Lord wounded, it will not impress him,” Snape warned, throwing Draco something before Disapparating from the spot. Draco caught the object reflexively from years of playing Quidditch. He looked down at his hand to see what he held and saw a small vial. A potion…to heal him no doubt…if Draco could trust Snape not to poison him that is.

Everything in him told Draco not to take it, he couldn't trust that man, yet he threw it back with his eyes crushed closed. If he died, what would it matter?

He needed to get to the Dark Lord as soon as possible, and he knew where to find the man. Draco turned his horse and left it with a remaining Death Eater to be minded to while Draco gathered up his fallen mask and Disapparated away from that Muggle street, far, far away, to a hollow where a tall, dark castle stood and the Dark Lord resided through all these months of fighting and Horcrux searching.

The war was not really a war, not yet. There were no battles and little fighting. The Death Eaters were gathering followers and their hostilities had been little more than brief bursts of chaotic mayhem, meant to intimidate and cause maximum destruction while keeping the wizarding world on edge and the Order of the Phoenix preoccupied while the Ministry fell. It was working, and the Order was left guessing as to what to expect next, but even without much fighting and dueling, Draco was already warn out and tired. He had grown numb to the violence, but it was a humming numbness, a feeling that gave him the impression that it was merely containing something else, a much larger and crippling emotion. Draco feared what the Dark Lord would see within him should he present himself to him in this state of…uncertainty, as Snape so eloquently put it.

Apparating on the spot, Draco rushed down the narrow stone corridors, not quite running but his quickened pace causing his robes to billow out behind him as he moved. He did not have to knock, he was expected, so Draco just heaved the door open with a firm push that made his still healing shoulder ache. He hurried into the room, not taking in anything around him, just reaching the center of the stone throne room quickly and falling to his knees submissively, head bowed.

“Ah, littlest of Malfoys,” Lord Voldemort's voice hissed at him in a taunting way.

“My Lord,” Draco groveled, hiding away all fear, all nervousness.

“You come quickly,” he praised and Draco almost wanted to look up at the man, knowing no praise came without heavy mocking. “You have served me well these last few months.”

“I only wish to please you,” Draco assured.

“Yet you lie and lie…I grow tired of it, boy,” he sighed and Draco dared a very brief glance up.

“My Lord?”

“You have so many things you would like to do above pleasing me, so do not lie to me. Though I sense no dishonesty in you, I can see it in those beautiful little eyes of yours, so save your breath,” he warned, not sounding angry and Draco knowing that in of itself was warning enough of the Dark Lord's temper.

“Have I not pleased you, my Lord? Have I not done what you have asked of me?”

“Oh, no, you have done all that I have asked, followed my orders without question,” he said. Draco knew not to ask “then what's wrong?” and so he waited, hoping the Dark Lord would explain himself, though knowing he rarely did. Draco feared he would be beaten and tortured without knowing the true reason why. It had happened so many times in the past, he almost expected it now, but that did not mean he did not fear and dread it. The Dark Lord's punishments were terrible, and his mind could not take much more.

“You took the Dark Mark out of fear, with the desire to protect that lovely mother of yours,” he went on to say and Draco dared not deny or interrupt the Dark Lord. “You have since proven yourself steadfast and loyal, and your mother has become scarce to find,” he said.

“I wish to please you and protect my mother-”

“I think you wish to protect you mother by pleasing me.”

“This troubles you, my Lord?”

“You serve me out of fear, not loyalty.”

“As do all who we have recruited for you, my Lord,” Draco pointed out and the Dark Lord froze for a second. He looked down at Draco and Draco remained tense, waiting for the torturing curse to strike him for having let slip such a retort. After a moment and it didn't, he looked up. He saw the Dark Lord throw his pale, bald head back and laugh, laugh loud and abruptly and Draco was confused.

“Stand, stand my boy,” he laughed, waving his hand at Draco in a welcoming way. “Come here. You dare speak back to me, and yet, you are right! You fear me, as do all my servants,” he laughed. Draco was standing slowly, not sure he wanted to take the Dark Lord's offer to come closer, given his past experiences in being is such proximity of the man.

“Come here, come here, I will not bite,” he laughed in his hissing way, holding his hand out to Draco. Draco stepped over to him, carefully, and for the first time looked around the room and took in all else who were in there with him. There were several other masked Death Eaters in the room, the Dark Lord preferring that all his servants be masked while in his presence unless being addressed specifically, like Draco was now. He seemed to enjoy the ambiance, or something, like a court befitting the castle they were in now. Draco could see Thestrals tethered in the corner, from the once “empty” black iron chains. Draco knew they had never been empty, only that he had been far too innocent once to see what was truly there. Not anymore.

“I am not angry with you because you have in any way served me poorly,” he assured, though now sounding considerably less amused.

“But you are angry with me,” Draco said, not making it a question.

“Oh yes,” the Dark Lord answered solemnly, nodding slowly as he snaked a thin arm around Draco to hold him to his left side tight, in a gesture that would have been fatherly, if his hand did not rub up and down Draco's upper arm slowly, making Draco nearly cringe and shiver a little. The Dark Lord was not accustomed to friendly gestures, and his attempts always came across too mechanical, and too eager. Draco didn't want the man touching him but dared not pull away and insult the man's efforts.

“You see,” he went on to explain, a little, “It's not that you have served me poorly, but too well. I can sense no deception or lies in you, but you advanced so quickly in your Occlumency that even I don't feel that I can extend complete trust to you,” he said.

“My Lord, I assure you, my loyalties are with you! I have proven this time and time again. You know where I am of every minute of every day, I have brought you countless servants and followers, I have helped the Ministry to fall, I have guarded your secrets and your body, I have never questioned your orders, I-”

“I know, I know, you have been wonderful, a perfect servant,” he smiled. Draco looked up at him, still hugged so the much taller man's side, Voldemort's hand still stroking his arm. Draco had endured a lot to prove his loyalties to the Dark Lord, things that made him fight not to puke while standing in the Dark Lord's embrace, and yet the Dark Lord was angry? Draco would have been angry himself over this if he could manage to not be so terrified. “But, see, I do not believe in perfection, certainly not from the likes of you…and you did not come to me, join my ranks, so willingly, eager to serve so sincerely.”

“My Lord,” Draco tried to cut in but Voldemort just gripped his arm bruising tight and Draco said not another word.

“I can't help but feel that, with your Occlumency protecting you, that you are serving me only as a means to buy time, to find a way out of my ranks,” he said, sounding wounded and sad. Draco knew this display of emotion not to be true. The Dark Lord was only teasing, leading up to the moment when he would start torturing him, all the while mocking that it all hurt him more to have to do it. Draco's heart was pounding in his chest as he silently and urgently shook his head no, futilely trying to assure the Dark Lord otherwise.

“I know my followers serve me, my servants follow me, out of fear…just like you said, and I like that, I like that you so clearly fear me boy,” he said and Draco swallowed hard. “But I can't trust you, and since I do not understand your motives…I do not understand this love you have for your mother…I cannot trust your intentions of following me so completely.”

“My Lord, please,” Draco begged. He looked from the Dark Lord that held him so close, to the Death Eaters that moved and caught his eye. He watched them as they parted and revealed a man, a man who was elderly but not old, kneeling on the floor, bleeding and bruises, gagged and bound. Draco recognized him and immediately tried to run to him, but the Dark Lord held him tight, now standing behind Draco and holding both his upper arms before yanking him back against his chest.

“Paul!” Draco called out to the man, Butler Paul unable to make a sound.

“Your mother, like I said, is scarce at the moment, but you love more than just her. I do not understand this love to which you adhere, I have used it time and time again to exploit and manipulate so many, you are no acceptation. It is a powerful thing, I'll give you that, but such a clear and defined weakness, I just…I don't know why anyone would succumb to it.”

“What are you going to do? I have served you, it is what you WANTED!” Draco said in near hysterics as he struggled against the Dark Lord's grip from behind him. He was pulled against the Dark Lord's chest and held tight, one of the man's cold hands holding Draco's chin firmly so that Draco would be unable to look away.

“I want you to serve me, and not just because you fear what I will do to you, or that dear, sweet, mummy of yours. I want you to serve me knowing that you have so much more in your life to lose than just her, and I want you to know that there is no way you could protect it all, protect them all, if you should try and run.”

“I don't want to run, please, don't do this,” Draco begged, knowing he did not want to see whatever it was the Dark Lord had is store for him, or for Butler Paul. He had denied Snape time and time again. He thought it had been a test, he thought the Dark Lord was seeing if he would try to escape if given the chance. He hadn't tried, not once! He had told Snape off and refused him! He thought the Dark Lord wanted that! Maybe, just maybe, what Snape had said is the truth. The Dark Lord didn't trust him, but it all hadn't been a test? Snape had been telling the truth and he, Draco, had passed up his only opportunity to get away from the Dark Lord and protect his family!

Draco felt sick.

His pride had done this, and Butler Paul was now the one paying for it.

“I'm sorry, Master Draco, I'm sorry…” Butler Paul started to sob upon having his gagged removed, the corners of his mouth bloody from the rope burn. He was still bounded and on his knees.

“Please, please,” Draco begged, knowing it was no good, knowing he was actually probably fuelling the Dark Lord's desire to do this as he proved how much the older man meant to him, but Draco could not help it, could not restrain himself as his heart pounded in his throat and the Dark Lord held him there.

Draco was forced to watch, and listen, and endure, as Butler Paul was blinded before him, eyes ruined and seared shut, all the while the Dark Lord reminded Draco that he could not fight him. Draco felt his mind as well as heart and spirit breaking. This was too much.. His mind bent like a sapling but then go beyond its point of resistance and it snapped rather uncleanly.

Draco stared with wide, shocked, tear-filled eyes as he felt all his emotion drain out of him rapidly like the split in him was literal, like a crack in the bottom of a basin of water. Draco was left standing there, damaged, for the first time feeling like he couldn't just push this all aside and not deal with it.

Draco woke with a gasping start, instantly sitting up from his bed, causing his vision to swim in and out and his sore body to ache from the overly fast and sudden movement. He was panting, and sweating, and crying, as he flung his arms out as though to fight off the hold the Dark Lord had had on him and to rush towards Paul. It took Draco a few terrifying and confused moments to realize that he was just sitting alone in his bed, not in the hands of the Dark Lord, not in the presence of his screaming and blinded mentor, not at that point in his life where he would never again be the same or whole.

Draco felt the need to puke, or more accurately, he felt like he was going to puke and there was not a thing he could do to stop it. Draco curled his knees up to his chest where he buried his face in them, arms hugging his head there, and cried. He cried big heavy warm tears that made his face instantly sopping, the sweat contributing some. Draco rocked and cried, and moaned with his tears, that memory being one that he never wanted to visit again. It was because of Ron that he remembered it. Ron calling him mental had been what brought about that specific memory, the time when Draco -if he were in fact crazy- would have surely gone over the brink. He knew something in him had broken that night, and he had never been the same after that, but he wasn't crazy…he wasn't!

It was four-thirty in the morning, and he had only gotten about two hours of sleep, and though he was exhausted still, sleep had been chased far from him.

“Fuck,” he gasped, putting to words so eloquently how he felt.

He needed to get up anyways, for work, so Draco suppressed as a means of moving past his rough arousal. He whipped his lower face forcefully, as though angry with his tears for having surfaced, and sniffed back all his distress to be as calm as ever if not a touch moody, angry with himself, and Ron, and Granger, and himself…definitely himself.

Draco's head ached something fierce. He felt like he had smacked it hard, but in reality, he had only been punched twice…really hard. Reamann's had been harsh, Ron's had been devastating. Hermione, as a means of possibly making herself feel better, had offered to heal him, but Draco had refused. She had attempted to heal his right eye some, so that it was not still busted and red, and swollen nearly shut, but after getting one or two very dog-like -and thusly embarrassing- yips of pain to escape him in her efforts, he told her, quite simply, to fuck off. She had removed the swelling and some of the horror of his right eye, but he was still bruised, and incredibly sore.

Black sunglasses would distract from the purple skin, but the bruises far exceeded the reach of the lenses, so Draco left his hair down and hood up, hoping that no stray photographers would be waiting to pounce and snap a picture of him looking roughed up. It would only go too perfectly with their on-going coverage and commentary of his personal life.

He didn't eat either; he was just not feeling up to it.

He stopped by Clarissa's room, to scoop her up into a hug as she slept and gave her a kiss on the forehead. He needed her closeness and assurance her warmth gave him. It was going to be a long day.

The Muggle street entrance for visitors was vacant, as was typical, and he rode down on the lift alone. Upon entering the Atrium at nearly five AM sharp, it was nearly empty, like always. Draco felt relieved by that. He could limp down to the Hall of Records unbothered, but unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to linger down there all day like he would have preferred. He needed to talk to Reamann, about Ginny, about the case, about getting him to not turn him in on his suspicion…and that meant he would have to go up to see Reamann, at his office, where other people would see him. Draco doubted his Legilimency would be able to shield him from their wondering eyes today. Surely people would be thinking about him, and not just in passing. His mushy and bruised brain did not help either.

Sebastian and he had an agreement, but that did not mean Sebastian would go out of his way to undo the damage he had already caused for Draco. It was basically left up to Draco to do damage control and keep the case from busting wide-open over him and have the Ministry do a full-on investigation. He would have to get to Reamann, the only one at the moment who knew about the files, and talk to him…that is, unless Reamann had run his mouth to anyone in his anger, then Draco was thoroughly screwed.

Draco wanted to believe that Reamann, no matter how angry or hurt, wouldn't use the case as a means of getting him back for what he had done. Draco wanted to believe Reamann better than that, but he was still nervous and unconvinced. He hadn't had a whole lot of positive experience in regards to people's `goodness' in the past to now rely on and draw strength from.

It was walking on eggshells until he secured the unable to be duplicated file from Reamann, by coercion of the friendly or non-friendly means.

“Draco, dear-me, you look a fright,” Coderdale exclaimed upon seeing Draco limp heavily on his cane into the hall. The elderly man, as always (no matter how early Draco arrived) was already there.

“Morning,” Draco replied blandly, disregarding the man's concerns at first but knowing damn well that the man would pursue this.

“What happened to you?” he asked, Draco sitting, sunglasses still in place despite how dark it was even without them. He was mentally cursing up a storm because he couldn't read without his glasses, but could not put his glasses on (let alone see much) with his sunglasses on, but he did not want to take them off, even though Coderdale could already see -and was taking notice of- the bruises. He was a little annoyed with himself for having not allowed Granger to heal him all the way at that point.

It was his pride then that had refused her, and his pride now that kept him from removing the dark lenses.

Pride cometh before a fall. He knew this, but he seemed to only recognize the problems his wounded pride brought upon him in hindsight. One would think he would have learned after Butler Paul…Draco shook his head, but regretted the movement when his head throbbed. He was not going to think about that, even with the memory still so fresh in his mind.

Draco pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them on his desk before him with a sigh.

“It was a long night,” he muttered, knowing Coderdale was gaping and Draco really hating it when people stared at him.

“God, you look awful. Reamann gave you the one shiner, but who…?”

“Ron Weasley,” Draco answered him dully.

“Oh,” Coderdale breathed, understanding Ron Weasley's desire to hit Draco, but still sympathetic. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I don't know, how do I look?” he asked, sounding a touch bitter.

“Things that bad? Have you talked to Ginny?”

“Yes.”

“Before Reamann did?”

“Yes, they still haven't spoken, well, as of two in the morning they hadn't, and I got the impression that she was going to avoid him and allow him to collect himself.”

“That was rather harsh what he said yesterday.”

“It was entirely called for,” Draco sighed.

“Well, he had every right to be angry with you, but threatening to turn Ginny against you? Pin the case on you? Go back on your deal? That was very much unlike him, well, of what I have seen of him at least.”

“He's full of piss and wind, but he's got me nervous. I think he just needed to rant and rave and punch, and I hope he'll be willing to listen today.”

“You are not going to try and talk to him, are you? Draco-”

“I have to.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Don't call me crazy, Coderdale…ever,” Draco snapped with a glare, Coderdale looking instantly apologetic. “Everyone that has ever claimed to know me has called me crazy since the moment I got out of Azkaban,” he said, still glaring with his bruised eyes shadowed by his hood. His pale eyes almost looked luminous with all the darkness around them as contrast.

“Draco, I'm sorry, but I think it would be unwise to try and talk to Reamann so soon.”

“Prudent avoidance is not an option for me at the moment. I have to deal with him, and what he accused me of yesterday, before he turns me in and causes me more problems.”

Coderdale frowned at Draco and did something he usually tried to avoid, as a means of maintaining a level of professionalism. He rounded Draco's desk and leaned over him from behind to give Draco a hug as Draco remained sitting. He felt his boy seriously needed a hug.

Draco slinked up from the Hall of Records at around nine, missing the seven and eight o'clock rush but still early enough to undoubtedly catch Reamann in his office and a lot of looks on his way.

The lifts were not as bad as he had anticipated; all he got were stares and whispers. He had actually thought there would be people that would confront him or at the very least ask him about Ginny and the article. They didn't, but Draco could hear their thoughts whispering in the back of his mind, them all talking about him, thinking about him. It was enough to make anyone a little insecure. Draco just hid under his hood and behind his sunglasses and hair, praying that the lift reached his floor quickly, before he snapped at the next person that was staring and thinking nasty things about him. He would undoubtedly only add fuel to yet another story, reporting on his temper because he un-provokingly caned a complete stranger in a Ministry lift.

Draco pushed his way off the lifts, no one willing to move for him, so he only just got off him time before the gates closed and the lift abandoned him there. Draco limped, head down and hunched shouldered towards Reamann's office. He could feel the eyes on him, the whispers that followed in his wake, and he felt his chest tighten in annoyance and anger. Reading people's thoughts in passing was habitual, but he needed to stop if he wanted to make it though his day without flipping out on someone.

Reamann was just stepping out of his office when Draco rounded the corner so they nearly collided, coming face to face and remaining inches apart. Reamann's natural reaction was to apologize for nearly running into someone in the crowded hallway, but upon realizing who it was his face darkened and he moved to step around him. Draco shifted to remain in front of him and Reamann stepped the other way to only find Draco still in his way and silent as the moment he had appeared.

“Move out of the way, Malfoy. This is not your floor and these are not your offices. You do not belong up here. Don't make me call security and have you removed,” he barked, not caring if the name “Malfoy” carried. He was having a bad day himself. While Draco could hide with only Coderdale to bother him since the article broke, Reamann was in a large gossipy office, and he was already tired of the stares and whispers.

“We need to talk…”

“No, I need to work. Go away,” Reamann said, attempting to step around him but Draco right there in front of him again. “I will not ask you again,” he growled, shoving Draco backwards, Draco hitting a metal filing cabinet that stood against the wall and only congested the hallway further. The cabinet rocked a little and Draco hissed softly at the pain in his side, but he otherwise did not react. He did not speak, or defend himself. Reamann passed him without a backward glance. It did not seem to bother him, or he didn't let it show at least, that he had just firmly shoved a crippled man with a cane.

He was apparently still angry.

Draco straightened and watched Reamann walk away. He looked angry as he pulled his sunglasses off, but then a smirk broke across his face showing he was rather satisfied as he held his hand up and twirled a set of keys around his long, thin finger before he grasped them in his palm with a flick. Of privileged birth or not, he was still a first-class pickpocket. He could have picked the lock to Reamann's office, but not without everyone noticing him do it. He could pick a lock in a minute flat, which is impressive, but a minute is a relatively long time to be crouched down and fiddling with a lock while an entire office floor is staring.

He slipped the key into the door and unlocked it, letting himself in and locking the door again behind him. The doors were resistant the locking and unlocking charms. That was sort of a standard in the wizarding world since every first year worth their wand could “Alohomora” it open otherwise. Locks were pointless if everyone had the key.

Draco looked around Reamann's small, cluttered office with darting silver eyes. Reamann had had no files with him and Draco knew from their brief contact that Reamann had not yet taken the file to anyone, so it had to be in his office.

Draco moved over to the desk, leaned his cane up against it, and started riffling through the paperwork and files there. He moved this and that and eventually settled in the chair to save his back the strain. He moved a few folders and came face to face with his own face. Witch Weekly was open there, and Draco saw that now infamous article on him and Ginny. The pages looked crumpled, almost like Reamann had been holding it open with both hands and they had clenched. Draco felt a familiar odd sensation of guilt at seeing that which was only intensified when he righted a photo frame to see a moving picture of Reamann and Ginny together, smiling and laughing and snuggling.

Draco looked at it and sighed.

He looked away from the photo, not wanting to see it but the image permanently burned into his memory, and his eyes fell on a filing cabinet. Draco set the photo frame back on the desk, face down like he had found it, and shook the keys out, making a guess that the key needed was the smallest one of the set on the ring.

Pulling the top drawer open Draco filed through the papers and dividers there with his fingers quickly, his glasses perched a little lower on his nose than usual to avoid the bruises. It was the third of four drawers he checked that had the file he needed. He pulled it triumphantly and smiled. Now all he needed to do was get out of the office and off the floor without being stopped or questioned.

Easier said than done.

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

Reamann was walking with one of the head field Aurors, on his way to meet with Sebastian and others to go over, once again, the case and discuss their recent breakthroughs. Reamann had been tempted to bring his file on Draco, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it, no matter how mad he was at the guy. Some part of him saw it as obvious now that Draco had been leading him on, and yet, still, another part of him didn't want to believe it. He needed to know for sure before he dragged Draco's name into the case with Draco's cousin, Tonks, heading the investigation.

While talking to the two men, Reamann had reached into his front breast pocket of his open robes to grab a pen and realized something, something that caused him to stop.

“Reamann?” the Auror asked.

“That son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered, looking over his shoulder, back the direction he had come.

“What?” he asked, but Reamann was already turned and running back towards his office where Malfoy was. Draco had taken his keys. He was after the file for sure. That double-crosser was going to destroy the only file!

How could he have been so stupid as to trust him, how could he have given Draco the benefit of the doubt? The man was obviously guilty.

Reamann reached his door and it was locked, like he had left it, but he was now without his keys. He backed up and kicked, getting more attention from those around him that he had with his running alone. Reamann kicked the door three times, finally breaking it open and pushing it out of his way to rush in and look around, fuming.

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

Draco hurried down the stairs, file under the front of his sweatshirt. He was nearly to the hall when he stopped at one of the torches on the wall and pulled the thick file out. He tilted it into the flames and watched as the fire spread from the corner to the other, and burn. He held it up for as long as he could, allowing it to burn until there was nothing he could safely hold on to. He dropped it onto the stone and let it burn to curling ash. He stomped it out and kicked it around with his boots, destroying it further and erasing any evidence of what he had done by splashing some water from a nearby puddle over the stone so as to wash away the smeared ash.

“Draco? Where did you go? You talk to Reamann?” Coderdale asked, looking at Draco stroll into the hall looking rather contented while still leaning heavily on his cane.

“He didn't want to chat,” Draco replied nonchalantly.

“I told you he wouldn't, but you seem so unbothered by it. I thought it was important to you that you get him to listen, that you wanted him to not go to the Ministry…?”

“It's taken care of,” Draco said simply, falling into his seat, relying on Sebastian to do his part now.

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Author's Note:

I like Snape's words to Draco in this chapter.

I wrote this BEFORE DH, I swear, and it was only wishful thinking on my part that Granger would get tortured. Imagine my delight to read that that actually DID happen in the book. One of the few highlights of that otherwise ghastly book.

I referenced Robin Hood Prince of Thieves again in this chapter, in the second flashback. I was just going to have Draco standing there, and I had another scene where he is on horseback in the hollow where the woods border and he is shot with an arrow by a centaur, but I just combined the scenes because I'm running out of chapters to have flashbacks in, and thus why there are two flashbacks in one chapter. When I write the flashbacks into their own fic I will set the scenes right as I imagined them.

You have questions, I have answers.

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28. Chapter 28

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-eight

Draco could hear them coming, but it was more than just footsteps, the hostility was almost an audible thing. The hall’s door swung open as a result of that aggression and fury and banged against the wall loudly. Draco remained in his seat at the desk -though he did reach for his cane should he need to stand- as he watched Réamann stalk in with Sebastian close behind.

“You son-of-a-bitch,” Réamann shouted but Sebastian grabbed his shoulder to stop Réamann from pulling back his balled fist any further. It looked like he was going to hit Draco, and though Sebastian didn’t care about Draco’s wellbeing, he needed Draco able to talk. Draco managed not to flinch, too badly.

“I’ll handle this,” Sebastian said smoothly, looking annoyed himself but the look he gave Draco was of pure amusement once Réamann was at his back.

“My-my, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Draco asked calmly as Coderdale drifted into view from the shelves like the white fluff of a dandelion seed he resembled.

“Everything alright?” he asked, looking tentative.

“It’s fine, Coderdale, just go back to work,” Draco assured with a kind smile over his shoulder at the old man before Réamann ripped his attention back.

“It’s bloody hell not fine, Malfoy,” he barked, Coderdale able to deduce from that that this was something to do with the Ginny situation and did return to his shelving.

“I can think of any number of things that you could be mad at me for at the moment, Rossiter, so I will now ignore you and look to Aurum here for explanation,” Draco drawled, looking at Sebastian coolly.

“Nice shiners,” Sebastian said firstly.

“Well, I have this thing for symmetry,” Draco shrugged, waiting for Sebastian to explain the situation while Réamann practically foamed at the mouth in anger from over the man’s shoulder.

“Réamann here came to me, claiming you broke into his office and stole a file.”

“Is that so,” Draco said lightly, looking over Sebastian’s shoulder to smirk at Réamann.

“Don’t try to deny it, you little shit. You took my keys, and the file that I had on you. It was in my office and it’s now missing.”

“It sounds to me like you are just disorganized and forgetful, losing shit, and now you are looking to blame it on me,” he drawled.

“You showed up outside my office and my keys mysteriously disappeared sometime between then and me reaching into my pocket at the lifts. You bumped into me-”

“I recall you shoving me, actually,” Draco corrected mockingly.

“And between the time I left my locked office and got back, you were gone, as was a file about you.”

“That’s motive and opportunity, isn’t it,” Draco drawled.

“And the witch across the hall says she saw you leave my office.”

“Well, that certainly narrows it down,” Draco said with an understanding shrug though still utterly unconcerned. Réamann looked ready to clobber Draco and Sebastian shifted a little to be more directly between them.

“Enough of this,” Sebastian cut in, pulling out a little bottle barely as long or thick as his pinky. Draco looked at it, and Réamann moved around the man some to see what he had in his hands. There was now a desk between Draco and Réamann, and that was probably for the best.

“Drink this, Malfoy,” Sebastian ordered.

“I have a low tolerance, really,” he said eyeing the bottle with unease, not wanting to ingest whatever it was it contained. “I’m a total light-weight, I couldn’t,” he said, holding up his long thin hand.

“Enough with the wisecracks already, Malfoy, this is Veritaserum. It will tell us if you are guilty, or not.”

“You mean innocent or not?”

“Just take it,” Réamann barked, Draco glared at him, snatching the little bottle from Sebastian’s outstretched hand. Draco looked at the man and Sebastian gave him a smirk and Draco knew this was a ruse. It wasn’t really Veritaserum, Sebastian was top of his department but even he didn’t have the kind of clearance to just tote around a vile of highly restricted and controlled potion in his front breast pocket, but Réamann didn’t know that, and so he took a little sip, a drop really all that would be needed if the potion were true.

Draco handed the bottle back to Sebastian who corked it and pocketed it as Réamann breathed deeply as though to calm himself, seemingly pleased to finally get some real and straightforward answers from Draco.

“What is your name?” Sebastian asked, starting it off with the standard questions to make sure the concoction was working and effective and they had the right person to interrogate.

“Draconis Angelus Malfoy,” he sighed. Sebastian smiled.

“Nice,” he said and Draco pursed his lips at him. He didn’t like people making fun of his name.

“Whose idea was it to start the affair?” Réamann demanded and Sebastian sighed loudly in an aggravated way, Réamann apparently taking advantage of Draco’s supposed vulnerable state.

“Ginny’s,” Draco answered truthfully, though not because of the potion. He felt bad that he kept apparently blaming Ginny for it, but it was all very complicated, and Réamann’s question had been rather straightforward…so he figured, since Ginny proposed the act, it would be her “idea.” He would apologize to her later, any way he could.

“It’s not working, he’s still lying,” Réamann accused and Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, not about to start shouting at Réamann…just yet.

“Oh, he is not. Your girlfriend cheated on you…just come to grips with that, but some other time,” Sebastian said harshly, turning to Draco then.

“Did you break into Réamann Rossiter’s office?”

“No,” he answered blandly.

“He didn’t have to break in, he had keys,” Réamann snapped. “Ask a more specific question,” he demanded with a frustrated roll of his hand and Sebastian glared at him, not liking being ordered around but complying with Réamann’s stipulations.

“Did you filch a file from Réamann Rossiter’s office?” he asked.

“No.”

“Well then,” Sebastian said lightly as though that were that.

“He’s lying,” Réamann accused.

“Under Veritaserum?” Draco drawled.

“You took my keys-”

“I did not. More likely your dumbarse lost them,” Draco deflected. He had made sure to discard the keys on his way back, Réamann sure to find them as though he himself had simply dropped them. Surely he would feel like an arse in a few hours when his keys turned up just offices away from his in the hall, near a snarling potted plant if Draco remembered correctly.

Réamann looked between Draco and Sebastian a few times.

“You said Draco was covering things up,” he said to Sebastian.

“There is a great lacking of evidence…well, even before you lost the file,” he replied with a shrug.

“You said he could be the one behind the attacks!”

“He has airtight alibis for most of them,” he said simply, Draco looking smug.

Réamann looked over at Draco.

“What are you up to?” he demanded, knowing that just the day before Draco was a wreck over all this and Sebastian was positive of Draco’s involvement. Things were drastically different now and both men seemed far too self-satisfied.

Draco just gave him a smile that was not very friendly but extremely conceited. “Up to? My dear Rossiter, I am up to nothing,” he said lightly.

“Except your girlfriend maybe,” Sebastian interjected and Draco fought not to smile at Réamann’s obvious hurt. He gave Sebastian a look of ‘that was not necessary’ which Réamann –of course- missed.

Réamann looked between the two and backed up.

“You two, you are both in on this…trying to pin it on each other at first, but now…now working together,” he said, not making it a question. Draco wanted to gape at him, Réamann never before have showed he could be this perceptive, but keeping a very cool mask in place that made denying Réamann’s accusation easy. Sebastian covered his surprise with what looked like amusement.

“I would never work with Malfoy,” he scoffed, making Draco’s name sound like a dirty thing.

“Likewise, when it comes to my feelings of working with Aurum,” Draco drawled.

Réamann looked at them, knowing now he could not trust either of them. Sebastian had told him one thing, Draco another, and now they were seemingly teamed up. Something within him nagged at him, asking him if he had somehow caused this. Had he pushed Draco away so now he was sided with Sebastian? Réamann felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t know who to trust, or what to believe, and he still had no idea what was going on with the case.

“Rossiter, I think we need to talk,” Draco sighed, standing with much support from his cane, his chair pushed back as he rose slowly.

“No way, fuck you, Malfoy,” Réamann growled.

“Should I leave you two to squabble then? I do have a job to do, and this case is rather pressing…oh, and being in your presence is revolting,” Sebastian said, already making his way towards the door.

“Get out, you dingbat,” Draco growled, playing along but not joking when he threw the insult towards the man. They might have been conspiring together, but they still hated each other’s guts, a little gold and blackmail between them would not change that.

Sebastian made a rude hand gesture at Draco as he turned around and walked backwards for a few steps. He disappeared out the door to leave Draco and Réamann alone, facing each other from different sides of the desks, neither looking all that pleasant of mood.

“Fuck you, Malfoy. I am not going to talk with you-”

“Then why don’t you try listening…for once?” Draco snapped, looking right at the other man.

Réamann seemed to growl a little. “How could you do this to me?”

“You are making this all out to be like some kind of personal attack on you, but believe me when I say…”

“No,” Réamann snapped.

“Why not?” Draco demanded, annoyed.

“I can’t trust a word that comes out of you.”

“Not even with a truth serum in me?”

Réamann glared.

“Listen, I didn’t intend on hurting you, and that was the last thing Ginny wanted,” he said, having to continue to play it off like he was under the influence of Veritaserum. He would have to be completely honest, if not blunt, and though he would have been honest with the man in their discussion about Ginny without the little show Sebastian and him had just put on, but Draco would now have to answer any direct question Réamann posed him, no matter how personal, to maintain the ruse. Draco hated Sebastian for that. The bastard was enjoying this predicament he had just put him in.

“How could you two do this and think it wouldn’t hurt?” Réamann shouted.

“We knew it would hurt, that’s why we had -just before that picture was taken- decided to end things…so she could work things through with you and end it amicably so you two could still be chummy. We planned on dating properly, in a few months-”

“You told me as much already.”

“And you didn’t believe me,” he grumbled.

“I don’t understand you, Malfoy.”

“Few do,” he said quietly.

“Your honor code, your sense of loyalty, it’s so confusing-”

“But it makes sense to me, which is all that truly matters.”

“Explain it to me,” Réamann demanded. Draco pressed his lips together, not wanting to answer, but compelled to by the web of lies he was trying to maintain. How ironic. His lies were forcing him to be utterly honest.

“I don’t like lying, and cheating,” he said, sitting back down with a flop and a sigh. He didn’t want to say this, but Réamann deserved to know after what he had done to him he supposed, and it was for Ginny.

“Then how could you do this?”

“I keep asking myself that, and others that knew about it kept asking me that, and I just didn’t have an answer,” he admitted. “I hated it, it made me feel terrible, but I couldn’t bring myself to end it, or turn down the idea in the first place, because I really do like Ginny.”

“You care about Ginny?” Réamann asked.

“Yes,” Draco confessed.

“She cares about you?” he asked, knowing Draco, a mind reader, would be able to answer that question honestly, knowing Draco would have looked into Ginny’s feelings and thoughts to discover her true feelings towards him. What person wouldn’t with that ability?

“Yes,” Draco said after a long pause, feeling terrible to be the one to tell Réamann that.

Réamann took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair to smooth it, turned in place, let his breath out, and repeated. Draco let Réamann work all that knowledge through, wrapping his mind around it, giving him time to settle. Réamann eventually did settle, settled on Draco’s desk to sit there.

“You were right,” he sighed, Draco blinking, waiting to give Réamann the chance to explain himself rather than just invading his thoughts. Réamann was emotionally upset and Draco knew better than to tap such a mind. The feelings of confusion and distress always bled over, to some degree or another.

“What do you mean?” he asked softly.

“Yesterday, you said I knew Ginny was cheating. You were right, I did,” he confessed, his arms falling so that his elbows were resting on his knees, arms dangling between his legs in a hunched and defeated posture. “I knew she was not happy, and I wasn’t happy either. I don’t want to blame her family, because they were not the cause of it, they just compounded the problem already forming and made me…us, feel so…”

“Trapped?” Draco offered and Réamann looked up at him.

“Ginny talk to you about this?” he asked. Draco nodded.

“She explained to me how she felt trapped by her family and their pressures to wed you, talking in length about how she had felt the same in regards to Potter, and how miserably that had ended.”

Réamann nodded. “She told me about all that happened between her and Harry. There is no, or very little, bad blood between them, but this is years later. It was quite messy in the beginning and ugly for years. You would think, knowing about all that, that I wouldn’t have been caught up in the same mess, that I would have seen it happening and prevented it,” Réamann sighed.

“Love makes fools of us all.”

“I just, I knew we were not working, but I couldn’t just end it because she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had been perfect. I couldn’t dump my girlfriend of three years, the woman I was living with, just because everything was too perfect and her family actually liked me,” he sighed, running his frustrated hands though his hair again.

“Dear God,” Draco muttered, tipping his head backwards to look up at the dark ceiling.

“What?”

“That is exactly what Ginny said to me about you. She said she couldn’t dump you because you ‘did nothing wrong’ and she couldn’t be upset that her family actually liked you. She was just intimidated by everything being too perfect.”

“She said that?”

“Honestly, you two were on the same damn page but totally oblivious to it? You lived with this woman and didn’t realize she was miserable?”

“Miserable? I think that is rather harsh, Malfoy. She was not miserable, just not happy-”

“Oh, she was miserable, Rossiter, and you were too, so cut the horseshit. I told Ginny that she needed to just talk to you about this, about how she felt, how I knew you felt, and things wouldn’t have been the mess they are now,” he said.

“You blaming this all on her? Malfoy, you were the one that agreed to-”

“I know, I know. I’m blaming all three of us. I’m not exempt from blame, I’m willing to own up to what I did, but you have to agree you let this happen,” he said and Réamann blinked at him before letting his face fall into his hands again.

“Oh-God,” he sighed. Draco, for some strange reason, wanted to be sympathetic. “I did let it happen, didn’t I? Everything is such a mess and refused to notice, I refused to accept that Ginny and I were not meant to be...why?” he asked.

Draco knew a rhetorical question when he heard one, but he had an answer for this one, because it was a question he had asked himself time and time again. Something in his chest ached while saying it, but he knew his hard-earned wisdom would be of some comfort to Réamann now when it was no comfort at all to himself.

“Because you were hoping you were wrong. And every time something happened that told you it was all past its best, you ignored it. And every time something fell through and surprised you in a good way, you were won over, and you lost that argument with yourself that she's not for you,” he said, looking down.

Réamann looked surprised and Draco could feel his eyes on him as he stared.

“I know how you feel,” Draco said with a voice so hushed it was only the echo off the high ceiling and far walls that amplified it enough to be heard by Réamann. He was about to be all honest and kind to a man that was accusing him of a great deal many terrible things, the least of which was being a part of an affair. “My wife, before she died, cheated on me…a lot,” he confessed, not looking at Réamann as he said this. “I was stuck in Azkaban, and she was off, seeing chaps, hooking up with random men, leaving our children with my mother so as to go off and do her own thing, sometimes being gone for a week at a time,” he said.

“Re-really?” he asked, looking at Draco with a frowned brow.

“Veritaserum,” Draco said irritably. Réamann nodded, withdrawing slightly.

“There were even doubts during Clarissa’s pregnancy that the baby was mine,” he confessed and Réamann stared, it obvious now that Draco was the father, but stunned that there had been a possibility that she could have been someone else’s. “Thing is,” he continued with a deep breath to sooth himself, “I knew she was doing it…just like you knew Ginny was being unfaithful…but I had more than just a feeling. My mother would tell me, I saw the signs that she had been with men on her body, and I know now, so many, many years later, that I knew all along because of my developing Legilimency but I refused to acknowledge it at the time, when it really mattered,” he said, waiting for Réamann’s reaction now that Réamann could see that they had both done much the same thing at one point. He had been twenty-two, Réamann was twenty-four. Maybe it had something to do with the age and first-time serious relationships. “She never really tried to hide it, like she wanted me to just throw her out and relieve her of her responsibility.”

“Jesus,” he breathed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “And you still went along with this, after what your wife had done?”

Draco looked away. Now it wasn’t just a generalized “icky” feeling he was feeling, it was guilt, and it was nasty.

“I don’t understand that,” Réamann said, sounding a little angry again.

“How much do you love Ginny?” Draco asked, still looking across the room.

“A lot,” Réamann answered without question.

“No, you care for her, worry about her, wish for her the best, but how much do you love her?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Réamann admitted then, not liking his own answer.

“I love Ginny,” Draco said.

“How can you say that? You two have been fooling around since Christmas!” he fumed. “That’s, like, less than two weeks!”

Draco just shrugged, unable to put to words how he felt. He just did.

“How does Ginny make you feel?” Réamann asked, still expecting Draco to only be able to answer truthfully.

Draco didn’t consider his words then, he just spoke them.

“Safe,” he said simply, then added on more. “Warm, accepted, special, loved,” he said, realizing then he loved feeling loved, and that left him open to love right back. Ginny made him feel normal, included, he felt welcomed, accepted, and that was a very big deal to him.

Réamann didn’t seem to know what to say to Draco’s admission. He stood from the desk and paced for a moment.

“You love her?” he asked one more time. Draco just nodded. “You can have her,” Réamann said, sounding bitter again.

“Réamann, don’t get angry, come on, talk, but don’t…”

“Shut it,” he snapped. “I don’t understand you, and you were right…again, I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you because I can’t understand you. You say one thing and do another, you act one way but then apparently think differently. You say you hate things yet you do them? That doesn’t make sense to me, and only leaves me to doubt all you have ever told me. You say you hated the Dark Lord, yet you served him. You say you have changed, but you lie all the time! How am I to believe you are still not holding to those ideals, how do I know you are not attacking the Muggles?”

“Because I couldn’t have,” Draco fumed.

“Then you are covering for someone.”

“Réamann, honestly, if you are not going to believe me innocent, why act so surprised that I seem so underhanded? You practically bribed me to help you in the first place. Don’t act so wounded if I bloody-well live up to your expectations,” Draco growled, frustrated that Réamann was acting like he never trusted him and yet was still upset that Draco seemingly ended up as devious as he suspected him to be.

“No,” he snapped. “You can have the tart,” he said, meaning Ginny, “You can hold on to your little secrets. Like you said to me, as difficult as it is to uncover a secret, it’s even harder to keep. You are an accomplished liar, I know that, I can see that, but you will make a mistake, and I will be there, to make sure that mistake brings you down,” he growled, turning to walk out of the hall.

“Réamann,” Draco called after him, Réamann not stopping. “Don’t yell at Ginny about this, don’t talk to her angry. You will only hurt her, and you will feel bad about that later,” he warned.

“You just don’t want me to tell her about how you figure into this case,” Réamann accused now that he was at the door where he looked back.

“I would prefer if you didn’t,” Draco admitted.

“At least that is an honest answer, not something I have come to expect from you. But then again, I guess it’s hard to be so manipulative when you can’t lie,” Réamann said harshly, leaving Draco to stand there. Draco fumed, furious that, one time in his life he was totally honest at great personal cost and he came across as more of a liar than ever, only because Réamann believed the potion was all that had enticed the truth out of him.

Draco held his breath, hands clenched into fists so tight his nails bit into his right palm and his cane bruised the palm of his left. His eyes narrowed involuntarily for a second and the lamp on his desk exploded, sending him into dimness.

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

Shelving texts was usually something Draco could do to relax and almost enjoyed. It was tranquil, and forced him to focus on alphabetizing and numerical order, distracting him from whatever might be bothering him on any given day, but today, no matter how many times he read the spine of the volume in his hands, not a word, number, or serial stuck. Draco cursed and threw the text on the shelf anywhere, not caring at the moment, angry and frustrated and his shoulder hurting too much for him to remain perched halfway up the ladder for much longer.

Draco crept down slowly, fearing he would fall even though he knew there were charms in place to prevent that. He was just feeling so sore and weak it was difficult not to slip or have a knee give out awkwardly and unexpectedly.

Feet firmly on the ground again, leaning on his cane generously, Draco turned when he thought he heard something move. He looked around through his glasses, but saw nothing in the torchlight. He was about to sniff the air (since no one was looking) but another sound from his back caused him to turn again and look around with fast-moving eyes.

Was he hallucinating? Sure, he hadn’t eaten in a while, but he was sure that couldn’t be the cause of this, he had –stupidly- gone longer without eating before without an episode like this. Maybe the beatings compounded everything. Maybe he was going crazy…because he was most certainly not crazy already.

There was that sound again, like a scraping, coiling sound. It was coming from the shelves, this he knew now, looking right at the spot where it was originating. Limping slowly, Draco made his way over to the shelf and reached up with a tentative hand. It was not that he was scared, but he was most certainly cautious. There were some books that moved, talked, screamed. But there were also books that bludgeoned and bit, and if he had just stumbled across one, he wasn’t sure pulling it would be such a great idea.

The gold lettering that once identified the book had long since worn away from its spine. All that was left to categorize it was a white sticker with a number on it for shelving purposes. Draco grabbed the heavy text and pulled it slowly, sliding it on the wooden shelf as he eyed it wearily, waiting for it to attack. It was almost clear of the shelf with not so much as a scream, so Draco relaxed, but that only left him open to gasp as a snake fell from the shelf after he lifted the book away.

“Jesus,” he hissed, dropping the book with a loud slapping thud and taking a step back. After the initial surprise passed Draco took a deep breath through his nose and looked up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed as he held his breath for a moment.

“Just come out, Harry,” he called, the black, red, and gold snake coiling on the floor still but feet from Draco.

“Was it that obvious?” he asked, stepping around the shelves some twenty feet down where he had been hidden.

“Well, you are the only Parselmouth in London, and the red and gold coloring is quite the giveaway,” he said, looking right at Harry Potter as he neared. “Are you here to hit me too?”

“By the looks of it, I would be near to the last,” he said, looking at Draco bruised face.

“Yeah, well, could you make it quick?” he said, inclining his head as though offering it to Harry but doing so in an entirely mocking way. “I have work to do, unlike you it seems. What exactly do you do at the Ministry again? You just seem to drift about from department to department throughout the day. Do you even have an office, or did you misplace it and are now searching for it?” Draco drawled.

“You know, Draco, if you want me to hit you, you are certainly giving me enough reason,” Harry replied calmly, folding his arms across his chest and standing comfortably relaxed as Draco glared at him from over his glasses.

“You implying there wasn’t reason enough to begin with?” Draco asked, the snake slowly nearing, on its way to rejoin its master.

“Well, I figured there are more than enough Weasleys to take care of that.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I want to talk,” he said.

“But not listen?”

“Why are you always so defensive?” Harry snapped, glaring too now finally.

“When have you given me a reason not to be?” Draco replied just as shortly.

“I have tried to make things right and all you have done is punish me-”

“Oh,” Draco said turning away with a mock look of amusement on his face as he pulled his glasses away before glaring at Harry again. “Once again this is all about you. You, you, you. I’m miserable, so clearly I must be doing it to get back at you.”

“I didn’t say that, stop twisting everything I say to-”

“You are here about the Ginny situation, just say what you came here to say about the matter and get out,” Draco barked, lifting his cane up to stomp it down hard against the floor, striking the little snake in the head and killing it. Its body coiled around as though unaware that it was dead yet, and Harry looked down at it with a frowning brow before glaring at Draco.

Draco looked unapologetic.

“I knew there was something going on between you and Ginny.”

“I’m sure you did,” Draco said sardonically.

“I saw you two, that night-”

“Potter, I’m already aware that you spied a little sight of Ginny and I thirteen years ago. I’m not sure how seeing two people kiss over a decade ago constitutes a continuing relationship at the present, but I’ll have you know that I did not have sex with Ginny that night, and you punishing her for that for years afterwards is what drove her away.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have sex with her, Draco, I know what I saw!” Harry snapped, not liking that Draco seemed to know some rather personal details about his and Ginny’s relationship. It was not his fault Ginny and he had broken up, how dare Draco imply such a thing!

“And what you saw was me kissing Ginny!”

“That was more than kissing.”

“A little more than just kissing, yes, but far less than sex, Potter. Are you upset that I grabbed her young breast through her jumper, or that you never had the balls to take it that far yourself first?”

“You son-of-a-”

“Well, now that we have that cleared up: I didn’t have sex with Ginny, and you’re an arsehole, are we through here?”

“You are sleeping with her now!” Harry shouted.

“At this very moment?” Draco drawled, quite clearly not having sex with anyone whilst standing there in front of Harry.

“No, I mean, you and her have been having sex-”

“Ginny and I have been dating. What that constitutes as far as a sexual relationship is concerned is none of your bloody business.”

“You have been dating?” Harry repeated and Draco just narrowed his eyes. “Ginny has been dating Réamann.”

“Awright, so she was dating both of us for a while, but she is not dating him anymore, and she is still with me-”

“You honestly think she would date someone like you?”

“Oh, please do elucidate that a little more. ‘Someone like me’ implying what? That I’m a lowly Death Eater, someone that can’t be trusted, a werewolf, a Prisoner out of Azkaban? Tell me, Harry darling, what exactly is it that you think of me? Am I innocent, or not? You say you have been trying to pardon me, and clear my name, but then you say things like ‘someone like you’ with ‘you’ spoken in such a derogatory way that I can’t help but feel that you still don’t trust me and you are full of complete horseshit.”

“Draco-”

“Answer the question, Potter.”

“I just don’t see what she sees in you,” he attempted.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not trying to date you then, huh?”

“Draco, you realize you are ruining Ginny’s life?”

“Oh, her family is a little stropped at the moment. They will get over it; this is hardly the end of civilization as we know it-”

“No, Draco. Whether you like it or not, people have a negative opinion of you, and Ginny being with you is dragging her down.”

“Ginny doesn’t read the papers, she doesn’t care…”

“She cares, that’s why she doesn’t read the papers! It’s easier to ignore and pretend it’s not happening if you don’t read it!”

“Still, it’s a bit of bad press. It will pass-”

“She could lose her job!” Harry cut off and Draco blinked at him.

“What are you-”

“You are a plague, Draco. You spoil everything around you. Ginny is strong, able to take care of herself, but the Ministry doesn’t cast a kind light on you, and they won’t like Ginny hooking up with you.”

“Since when did they become the pleasure police? How is it any of their business who dates who?”

“Ginny is a darling of the Ministry, and you are a wart on their backside as far as they’re concerned. They will do anything to keep you down, this I know, and if it means taking Ginny down too, they will do it,” he said and Draco swallowed.

“What is it they have against me?” he shouted. “I am not the only Death Eater out of Azkaban, yet I am, by far, treated the worst!”

“I know,” Harry sighed.

“What is their deal?”

“You already know.”

Draco’s hand clenched around his cane, knowing exactly what Harry meant.

“They can’t prove a thing!”

“They know your intentions.”

“Thanks to you!”

“I said nothing!”

“Then who else could have told them!”

“Draco, you trying to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place might have been…momentary insanity on your part-”

“Don’t pretend to stand here and act as though you don’t still believe me insane, Potter,” Draco warned but Harry talked on.

“But the Ministry knows of your intentions, even if they were simply fleeting, and they refuse to trust you.”

“Then why let me out of Azkaban at all?” he demanded.

“Because I made it so.”

“So I’m to thank you for that?”

“If you must.”

“Fuck you, Potter.”

“None of this will end well. Ginny deserves a better future than the one you could provide.”

“I am more than capable-”

“You will never be free of the Ministry, and you will never be all that you wanted to be those years ago. You have to accept that, and you have to accept that you can’t have what you want, not even Ginny.”

“This is not some grandiose endeavor, Potter, I’m not out to make a name for myself, or rule the world…I’m only looking for a little stability in my life, a little happiness!”

“I don’t see those things in your future,” Harry said, though sounding rather apologetic and sad.

“And what of my children?”

“You don’t have any children,” Harry said patiently.

"Someday I might," Draco mumbled, looking to the side. It seemed silly, since they were about to make a grand debut soon enough, to not tell Harry right then that he actually did have children and use them to point out that none of this is fair to them, and what kind of message would he be conveying to them if he folded his hand and accept misery and refuse to even attempt a pursuit of happiness. But he hated the idea of Harry knowing so much about him. Harry was there to tell him how to live his life, he was not about to welcome in and let him see what his life really was. Never again. “I hear you are about to be a pa-pa, congrats…now you have someone else’s life to ruin, maybe you will ease back on me,” Draco scathed and Harry narrowed his eyes at him but did not rise to the bait. He had a point to drive home.

“Draco, I’ll admit, you are in an unfair situation,” he said and Draco humphed. “But why drag Ginny into it with you? If you must suffer, why share that suffering with someone you claim to care about?” he asked and Draco looked at him, unable to glare because of the guilt he was feeling suddenly.

“What would you have me do?” he asked softly, his anger still readable, but his eyes giving away his uncertainty.

“Do the right thing…don’t ruin Ginny’s life,” Harry said, his own eyebrows frowning, him feeling more guilt than Draco would even realize.

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

“After a long day of shit at the Ministry, it’s nice to come out here and take out my frustrations on these lowly and pathetic people,” Sebastian said, smiling gleefully as he looked around at the Muggles that surrounded and passed them, oblivious that they were in the presence of a serial killer and a manic werewolf.

“I do understand the draw of picking on those smaller than you,” Draco replied dryly, having been a bully while in school, and having had a bad day himself, “though I do tend to refrain nowadays, since those smaller than me are generally but children, and their mothers swat me with their purses when I bully their tots,” Draco said sardonically, arms crossed as he leaned against a light pole. They were in Manchester, and it was late afternoon. Draco would have liked to be home right now, but he was with Sebastian. A wonderful way to finish an otherwise horrid day.

“You know, you are kinda funny,” Sebastian said with a smile, still surveying the people as they passed.

“I have my moments.”

“Well, I suppose you would like to know what’s going on?” he offered, not skilled in Legilimency like Draco but able to pick up quite easily how irritated Draco was, regardless. Draco said nothing, just leaned, and Sebastian explained, filling Draco in without prompting.

“Goblins are notorious for hording gold and other valuables,” he said.

“Thus the reason behind why they have gone to war so many times amongst themselves and why they run Gringott. Tell me something I don’t know,” Draco drawled.

“There was a thirteenth century Goblin Lord with a sizable fortune who was so paranoid that his treasure would be pilfered that he hid it away, successfully concealing it so well that even he forgot where it was.”

“And I assume that is the gold you are looking for?” Draco said smoothly, Sebastian looking over at him.

“Right.”

“If the Goblin Lord that hid it forgot where it was, how do you intend on finding it, so many centuries later? If his objective was to keep others from finding it, I’m sure he didn’t leave much along the lines of documentation of his intentions,” Draco asked, voice bland and indifferent.

“Nifflers.”

“You’re kidding me,” Draco said sounding unimpressed.

“I’m quite serious. I have, over the past few years, narrowed down the area where the treasure must be located.”

“Where do you think it is?”

“Wiltshire.”

Draco looked surprised. “Wiltshire?” he repeated.

“Yes. And with the help of Nifflers I have been searching.”

“But Nifflers are attracted to anything shiny. You are as likely to find buried bottle caps in an old forgotten waste dump as likely to find a buried mountain of gold,” Draco said, recovering nicely. “How do you know it is even buried loose? It could be in big dull trunks, or a cave where the Nifflers can’t dig and thus get to if,” Draco said.

“Don’t you think I have thought of as much?” Sebastian snapped, the conversation about Goblin Gold and Nifflers seemingly out of place on the Muggle sidewalk. “I am using more than just the Nifflers. Though they are highly trained by Goblins to find treasure, they are still just dumb little beasts. I have been using spells, and locating charms.”

“This is why it is taking you longer than you anticipated,” Draco said, coming to that conclusion with a mean smile and narrowed eyes.

“You have a better idea? I would have a listen. As it is I have no idea what use you will be, you can’t do magic, and by the look of you, you won’t be much use in digging,” Sebastian snapped.

“Well, it just so happens that I do know a lot about the Wiltshire region and I could quite possibly narrow down your search area by a considerable amount if you were to share with me your details, and ask really nicely,” he teased. “Nifflers and your charms could help from there,” he said with a satisfied smile. And no one at Hogwarts felt History of Magic was a class that had any practical uses. He loved History, and it was likely about to make him a very rich man.

“And you are some kind of authority on the area?” Sebastian fumed.

“Well, it just so happens that I am,” Draco said smugly, his silver eyes glinting while surrounded by such dark bruising. “My family home was, well is, in Wiltshire, and the area is a prevalently magically place.”

Sebastian looked at him for a long moment before turning away. Draco knew he was thinking it through, weighing the possibilities, taking their timeframe into account, wondering how much gold he would have to give to Draco for his efforts.

Draco just stood there, body bruised and throbbing, but more than that, he was shaking and he couldn’t stop. He was thinking, maybe he should have had a little something to eat that morning as his legs gave out under him and he ended up sitting on the ground. Sebastian, oblivious, or at the very lest unsympathetic, towards Draco’s stiffness and quivering thus far, turned upon seeing Draco in his peripheral vision go down.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you?” he demanded, looking down at Draco as he sat there, looking a little embarrassed.

“I’m not feeling well,” he said simply.

“So you decided to plop yourself down in the middle of the sidewalk?”

“I had no deciding choice in the matter,” he said bashfully, shaking, though that was partially due to the cold.

“You just going to sit there, in the middle of the sidewalk then?”

“I’m not sure I could get up, even if I wanted to,” Draco confessed. Now sitting, he was positive his legs wouldn’t support his weight, as minor as it had recently become. He knew this was all because he hadn’t eaten, and he was feeling like a real arse about it.

“Should I, well, do something?” Sebastian asked, not sure what to do but sure Draco couldn’t just sit there on the sidewalk like that, Muggles that were passing by were staring.

“Call…for someone?” Draco offered as he kind of tipped a little, feeling dizzy as his eyes drifted shut. He knew he probably should, maybe, go to the hospital.

Sebastian cursed as he reached down and caught Draco’s unconscious shoulders before he could slump over completely onto the sidewalk. He had noticed Draco looking fretfully ill and abused, but he had had no idea it would come to this.

“Damn it,” he growled, not wanting to baby-sit the scrawny werewolf.

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

Ginny was sitting in Draco’s apartment looking fretful and anxious, sitting by his phone, ready to answer it the instant it should ring, staring at the door as if willing Draco to walk through it any second. She had gotten a phone call from Sebastian Aurum, of all people, telling her that Draco had collapsed. Ginny had been at home, calling off of work yet again for a “personal sick day” because she just wasn’t ready to face her department yet. Before the call she had been going around hers and Réamann’s apartment, sobbing here and there at the realization that things were over between them and what that meant. They couldn’t live together anymore, so who would move out?

She figured she would move out since she was the one that had…cheated.

But where would she go?

Could she move in with Draco? His apartment was so tiny.

She could get her own apartment, something closer to Draco?

He lived in a foul part of London.

What if she invited him to live with her, in a bigger apartment, somewhere nicer?

They had been dating for two weeks, how could she ask him leave his home and co-inhabit with her?

Because they needed each other’s shelter from the fallout of their lives around them.

Still, that could quite possibly add fuel to the fire if they were to move in together. What would the headlines say?

She didn’t care what the headlines said, but she was concerned about Michelangelo. That boy, that young man, how would he take to going off to school and coming home to not have his home anymore but be somewhere else, sharing a home with his father’s girlfriend that he didn’t seem to approve of in the first place?

It seemed it would be unfair to even consider uprooting the little family until Michelangelo was home for the summer so he could be a part of it, so he would possibly resent it less.

She doubted, however, that Michelangelo would do anything but resent and hate the idea. Did he know about the Witch Weekly article? If Hogwarts now was anything like it was when she attended, every girl third year and above read Witch Weekly. Surely Michelangelo would have heard the gossip, even if the students there didn’t know to connect him to the Malfoy family.

Would Michelangelo be upset? He seemed awfully protective of his father.

Ginny was at a loss at what to do over so many things.

She hadn’t spoken to her parents yet…she was still putting that off. She had planned on going to see them tonight, but with that phone call about Draco…

Ginny gripped the roots of her hair so that her palms were on her forehead and sobbed. She sobbed a few times before she broke into loud tears. She had a box of tissues on her right, a pile of spent ones on her left. She had gone into fits of tears all afternoon, since hearing about Draco but learning nothing more in all that time since and thus giving her plenty of time to come up with worst case sonorous in her mind.

She cried over her situation, she cried over hurting Réamann, she cried over being at a loss over what to do about Michelangelo, or where she would live, or her parents and family, or how she would face going to work again, and she cried about Draco.

Ginny ripped a tissue out of the box and blew her nose. She threw the tissue down beside her and pulled another to blot under her eyes. The sound of a key being inserted into the door ripped her attention away from her task and she stared. Draco limped in with his head down, but Ginny gasping upon his entry caused him to look up in surprise. He hadn’t expected anyone to be home.

“Draco!” she nearly bawled but only managed a gasp with all her breath trapped in her lungs. Draco looked at her as he closed the door behind him, still a little surprised, not saying a word as he shut out the cold.

Ginny flung herself up off the couch and rushed over to him. She made to throw her arms around him but he flinched and held his free hand up as he backed up a step, nearly bumping into the door.

“Please, no hugs,” he managed, his face pained, showing it was not that he did not want hugs from her, but that it would hurt too much.

“You look awful, what happened? Come here, sit down,” she fussed, grabbing Draco by his delicate wrist and pulling him along with her to then push him down on the couch. Draco sat with a sigh, like sitting was exactly what he wanted at the moment but it hurt, and Ginny flopped down beside him, waiting eagerly for him to explain to her what had happened.

Draco said nothing, he just set down his heavy plastic bag on the floor beside him…more like dropped it to the floor beside him…with a thump and unbuttoned his coat. He closed his bruised eyes for a moment after that and tipped his head back to rest on the back of the couch, Ginny then able to see a new bruise on his face clearly.

“Draco, what happened?” Ginny finally asked again.

Draco opened his eyes and pointed at his bruised jaw. “Charley,” he said, then pointing to his chest over his heart, “Fred,” he said, then pointing to his ribs on his right side. “George.” He pointed to his left side. “Bill.” He indicated some area on his back, over his shoulder, “Percy.” He then gestured to his backside some. “Arthur,” he said, sighing at last and sinking down into the couch cushions.

“Oh my God!” Ginny gasped, looking at Draco who looked so thoroughly abused. “They jumped you?”

“No, no, not all at once,” he assured, his blackened eyes still closed. “But, it has been a long day,” he said. It had been a lovely day…up until Ginny’s male relations decided to pummel him in attempts of defending their little sister’s tarnished honor. Charley’s little love-tap to the jaw had been terrible and Draco had thought it couldn’t get worse than Ron’s clobber from the night before, but somehow, each brother managed to up the last, or maybe his pain tolerance dropped dramatically with each new bruise and cracked rib. Even her father had gotten a nice boot on his butt, and though Draco knew he deserved it, he had thought Author, at least, would have refrained from hitting him and simply yelled. That, more than anything, show just how angry her family was at the moment.

There wasn’t a part of him left that didn’t hurt, and the hospital had given him some lovely pain pills already. This was him on Codeine, he feared the very thought of what he would feel like without the drugs.

“This is why Sebastian took you to the hospital? He said you collapsed.”

“He called you?” Draco asked, surprised but now understanding why Ginny was there, waiting for him puffy-eyed.

“I was a little surprised, but when he said you had fainted and collapsed I stopped caring about why he, of all people, would be the one to take you to the hospital.”

“He just happened to be the one with me when it…happened. Just harassing me, as always,” Draco lied casually, not telling Ginny the real reason he and Sebastian had been together on that Muggle sidewalk in Manchester. “I’m awright,” he assured.

“How can you say that? My family could have killed you!” she exclaimed.

“Their little love-taps were not what sent me to the hospital, though, I’m sure it helped and it did raise some difficult to dodge questions amongst the Muggle nurses there as to how I had gotten in this state,” he sighed.

“You went to a Muggle hospital?” she asked. Draco nodded. “Why?”

“St. Mungo’s doesn’t like me much, and I didn’t want to deal with whatever wizarding press that would surely swarm when news of my hospitalization broke. Sebastian didn’t want to be seen with me either,” he said.

“What about you being a werewolf, surely the Muggles wouldn’t know to take precautions while handling your blood or…”

“The Muggles think I have AIDS…it explains why I’m sick and forces them to take extra safety measures when handling my blood and such,” he explained, the disease being the official cover for any werewolf that should ever find themselves under Muggle care.

“Why were you hospitalized if it wasn’t from this?” Ginny asked, indicating the three bruises she could see on Draco’s face, fearing what lie below his baggy sweatshirt and open coat.

Draco said nothing.

“Draco.”

“How much is a stone?” he asked.

“What?”

“They said I weighed a certain amount of stones. How much is a stone?” he asked.

“About fourteen pounds,” she said. Draco took a deep breath.

“Shit,” he said.

“Why?” Ginny asked, looking at him intently.

“They said I weigh about eight stones,” he said.

“Draco-”

“They determined I was underweight.”

“No shit,” she gaped at him. “You are roughly 112 pounds? Sure, yeah, you are not that tall, but that is way too skinny! Way, way, way too skinny!” she fussed, understandably.

“They said I should weigh no less than ten or ten and a half stones, so that would be about…140 or 147 pounds?” he asked timidly, Ginny reacting much like he had expected she would.

“I weighed eights stones when I was a fourth year, Draco, and I was skinny,” she gaped. “This is why you collapsed then?”

“They told me I should try eating more, because my ‘levels’ were all far too low, things like potassium, and blood sugar, and iron, and all this other shit that I wasn’t really paying attention to…and they said my heart rate and blood pressure was so low, that I was ‘this close’ to heart failure,” he mumbled, using air quotes again, unable to understand yet how he had let things get as far as that without realizing something was seriously wrong.

“Draco,” Ginny said, ready to cry now.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, holding out his right arm despite the pain to welcome her into a leaning hug. “I didn’t eat when you told me to, I’m sorry. I will eat more, I just forget.”

“I can’t imagine how someone can forget to eat.”

“I told you that I don’t get hungry…”

“But still…I told you to eat!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I am still dealing with the whole wanting to eat people thing, and it is difficult, but the hospital gave me some drinks,” he said, as though offering that in hopes of appeasing her.

“Drinks?”

Draco indicated the bag that was on the floor by kicking it with his foot.

“Some sort of chocolate drink-shake-thing…they said I should drink them and I will put on some weight…that and eating, they were seriously pushing the idea,” he said, smiling a little, trying to show some humor so as to get Ginny to stop looking so upset.

“Jesus, Draco,” she sighed.

“I’m sorry that I worried you, I am sorry that I let myself get so sick, and that I have been hurting myself, meaning to or not…but could we possibly keep this quiet from my mother and Clarissa? They worry so much as it is.”

“I think they are justified their worrying,” Ginny argued.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said again. “It’s a real shame too.” He yawned. “Because I really do love food,” he said, leaning into her a bit more so that she was now supporting his weight as he snuggled into her. “Roast duck with a delicate mince sauce…” he trailed off, kind of muttering some foods he liked, smiling, eyes closed.

“Would you like me to make you something to eat right now?” she asked, reaching around to stroke his hair.

“I would say no, but you would make me something to eat anyways,” he yawned.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

Draco kind of fell asleep while Ginny whipped him up something to eat. She was tempted to let him sleep, but she knew that, as much as he needed some sleep, he needed some food more.

Draco ate the toasted cheese sandwich Ginny offered him without complaint, though it did take him a while to polish off the two halves, and Ginny gave him a tall glass of milk to wash it down with, which seemed to take him even longer to finish. In the end he didn’t look as much satisfied as uncomfortable and tired, but Ginny knew he would get used to eating again.

She snuggled with him, touching him, holding him, trying to make this all feel real after fearing she could lose him, but Draco seemed distant, detached. He was sitting right there with her and yet his mind was a million miles away as he stroked her hair.

“Draco, what is it?” she asked softly.

“Hmm?” he responded through his lips, blinking and looking down at her as though he had missed what she asked.

“What are you thinking about that has your eyes so distant and sad? I hate it when your eyes get like that,” she said.

“I didn’t realize…I’m just…just thinking about the future, your future, my future, our future…” he said, looking away again, no longer stroking her hair.

“You can’t be thinking too many happy thoughts if your face looks so solemn,” she said with big brown eyes looking up at Draco under her delicately frowned brow and waves of soft red hair tossed across her forehead.

“I just, I can’t help but feel that you would be…better off…if we didn’t-”

“Draco, don’t you dare start talking that way,” Ginny cut him off, knowing exactly what he was thinking and what he was about to say and unwilling to hear it.

“Ginny, I have made a complete mess of things and look at me, I can’t even take care of myself…how do you expect me to take care of you?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of, Draco. I’m not helpless,” Ginny said firmly, not angry, not yet, but upset that Draco was having this conversation with her.

“I know, I know you do not need me to be some great protector, and I love that about you. Your independence and self-assurance, and your skill and intelligence, you are just so wonderful…in all honestly, I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk like that. It irritates me when you say shit like that, that you are not good enough, that you don’t deserve this or that, that you are mangy or whatever. It’s ridiculous and I have told you as much before!”

“I can’t help how I feel, and honestly, I wouldn’t expect you to understand, you don’t know what I have been through,” Draco snapped, angry but because he was embarrassed and he was on the defensive.

“I would if you’d just tell me!”

“I…I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you seem to have a high opinion of me despite what you already know of me and of what you see, and I don’t want to spoil that.”

“The truth would spoil that?” she asked, skeptical. Draco just looked at her sadly. “Draco, what is going on? What brought this about? You were, just last night, all for this…willing to stick this out, saying everyone finding out was not the end of the world, offering to meet with my parents, volunteering to speak with Réamann. Why are you pushing me away now?”

“I’m not; I’m not pushing you away.”

“Yes you are. You are sabotaging this.”

“What?”

“Like you said to me that time we had lunch, you said you do it all the time, that you purposefully ruin the good things that happen to you because it scares you that something is going right because you don’t trust people to not be leading you on or wanting something. You admitted that you fear it ending badly on its own should it truly be something good, so you preempt that by causing it to end prematurely, because you can’t bare the disappointment and letdown,” she said and Draco looked down at his lap sadly. “I am not manipulating you to get something from you, Draco, and I am not leading you on just to make a fool of you,” she assured. “And, sure things are not going great now, but why end it on this low-note? We can stick it out and make this work and it can be right.”

“Ginny, no, it’s not like that,” Draco sighed, shaking his head, unable to tell her the truth, that he loved her so much, too much. This wasn’t him just being mistrustful, or insecure…for once. This was something else, something more.

“Then what is it like?”

“I…It has nothing to do with Réamann, or your family, or anyone saying anything…I love you, you know this, and that’s why I can’t do this to you, I can’t inflict myself on you.”

“Inflict? Draco, why do you do this to yourself? You are not a disease, you are not a punishment. I like having you around, even at your low points. Honestly though, I don’t know where this intolerable hatred of yourself comes from,” she said, sounding sad, looking at Draco’s comfortless and bruised face as he looked down at his lap.

“You wouldn’t understand…” he whispered.

“Try me,” she said, almost like a challenge but so soft and earnestly, that it was more like a plea.

“I lost everything in the war,” he said softly, Ginny looking at his profile as he spoke, unwilling to look at her. “I lost my father, my aunt, my mentor Snape, my fatherly figure Paul, my closest friends, my home, my gold, my dignity, my humanity…my identity.,” he said, Ginny watching with slightly parted lips as a tear slid down Draco’s cheek. “I was a rich, aristocratic Pureblood before the war, after the war, I wasn’t even human anymore…I didn’t know who I was then…I had drawn all my self-worth from what others’ opinions were of me, my blood status, and my economic standing. With all that gone, so went my confidence and all I knew myself as. I was lost…I…I didn’t have anywhere to turn and no one to blame but myself. My father died because of me, Butler Paul was killed to punish me, Snape died trying to protect me…I couldn’t save my aunt, or my friends, I…” he said, sobbing just a little.

“I lost everything, and yet, on that rooftop, at that moment, I realized that I could still do the right thing, even though I would gain nothing from it but pride for having made the right choice once in my life rather than the easy one. I thought I would, if I lived, gain respectability from those that thought so little of me. I thought I would earn some reverence, for the first time in my life rather than trying to draw it from something I was born into or given and provided with. I thought I could prove to everyone that I was not what I was raised to be, but who I was born to be. I sacrificed everything and I was punished for it. Potter abandoned me, I was thrown into Azkaban where I was beaten and staved and raped…” he swallowed hard. “I couldn’t see or communicate with my mother, I didn’t know for almost a year after the war if she was even alive!” he cried. “I remember just sitting in my tiny dark cell for days, weeks, months, with no one to hate but myself. I hated Potter, I hated Granger, I hated McGonagall, I hated the Ministry, but the hatred I felt for them, even to this day, could not compare to that which I felt for myself,” he confessed, another tear sliding down his cheek. “As much as they had let me down, I was my own greatest disappointment,” he said and Ginny made to try and grab his hand, but stopped mid motion, Draco continuing.

“I found solace in the arms of my wife when I first landed there, but physical love left me feeling empty and used. It was a needy kind of love from my end and it drove her away…”

“Draco…”

“I tried to kill myself,” he then admitted, not letting Ginny interrupt him as he confessed to all, right now, rather bluntly, rather abruptly. Was he trying to scare her away? Maybe. Was he testing her to see if she could love him, all of him? Maybe. Maybe all he needed was to tell someone, someone that would honestly care, someone who would listen and not run off to a paper and print the story, someone who wouldn’t use this as a means of mocking him later, someone he loved. “When I turned on the Dark Lord to join the Order, an Unbreakable Vow my father had made with the Dark Lord over my head at birth was broken. I wasn’t a faithful servant like my father had promised I would be, and he died as a result. I killed my own father,” he confessed and Ginny stared, now understanding, now seeing why Draco never spoke of his father to her before. “I killed him, and learning of the Vow, and seeing the pain I had caused my mother, I tried to kill myself,” he said, pulling his coat off and his sweatshirt sleeve up so Ginny could see the scar on his arm. She had seen it before, she had roamed his entire naked body before, but she had never asked. He had a lot of scars.

“I failed….obviously…” he said, sounding suddenly hollow. “But I felt like I had failed prior to that…the reason I joined the Order in the first place was to protect the ones I cared about. I joined because the Dark Lord had blinded my friend Butler Paul, simply because he didn’t trust my willingness to serve him. I had served faithfully for months up until that point and still he punished me. I had endured so much, but after Paul, I couldn’t keep doing it…it was all for nothing what I was sacrificing since those I cared about were still getting hurt! Paul was like a father to me, he had raised me since I was four. He was my first friend and he cared deeply for me. He served me even when I was a brat; he took care of me even when I was ungrateful. He was apologizing to me as he was blinded by Death Eaters as I was forced to watch. The Dark Lord questioned my sincerity in serving him and wanted to give me more of a reason to want to please him, but he actually drove me away at that point, his plan backfiring because Paul hadn't deserved that, I hadn't deserved that. I saw no hope for me or those I cared about while sticking with the Dark Lord, so I risked all I had left to be with the Order, hoping they would reward my loyalties. I served the Order, I did, even though no one truly trusted me…until I lost too much,” he said and Ginny blinked.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore. If I served the Dark Lord I would be killed, if I didn’t serve him I would be killed, and either way those I loved were getting hurt! I was damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. When Butler Paul was eventually executed, I turned my back on everyone then, on the Order, on the Dark Lord…I was playing both sides, but for my own gain, for my own ambitions. I had every intention of letting Harry take down the Dark Lord and then best Harry while he was weak so as to take the Dark Lord’s place,” he said with a quivering breath and Ginny stared. “I was so tired, so tired of being pushed down, kicked and beaten and told my worth was only what energy they saved by not killing me. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I made a rash decision. I know now I was wrong, I know now that I was delirious and it never would have worked…but there isn’t a day that goes by, a moment that passes, that I don’t wish -even if just fleetingly- that I had succeeded. Every time I sit with an unpaid bill wondering what I can do this month to scrape by, every time I’m cursed and spat at on the street, every time my children complain that their clothing doesn’t fit anymore or that they are cold, I wish I had been strong enough, strong enough to have succeeded.”

“Draco,” Ginny said, staring at him still, a tear threatening to spill from her own eye then. “You were strong. You made it through, through SO much, and in the end you did the hardest thing of all, you did the right thing. That took courage, and self-sacrifice, that took strength,” she said, crying herself too then as Draco looked over at her meekly. “I understand your desire to want to fight back, to push back against those that put you down, to stomp on those that had oppressed you for years…I don’t fault or think less of you for your ambition since that is a big part of who you are,” she said but Draco could feel her horror at his words. She had not known all he had done and intended and he shocked her. Draco felt disgust with himself at that point, and Ginny could see it in his eyes. “But you did the right thing in the end, and you were unfairly punished for it, but that’s no reason to hurt yourself, or hate yourself,” she said softly, tears in her eyes, wishing for him to sense her sincerity.

“I have hated myself for a long time, Potter for longer, my father probably the longest,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“You ever consider not hating people?” Ginny asked delicately, knowing how much it cost Draco to be so open with her. This was a big step for them, despite how depressing and terrible this felt. He telling her this was momentous. She knew he loved his father, she could tell, but she also knew there was something greatly unresolved between the two of them.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I didn’t hate so much.”

“Love?” she offered, looking deep into his damp eyes.

“That sounds scary. I like hate, it’s warm, and safe, and familiar,” he said, looking down again.

“So is love, if you find it with the right person,” she said, leaning in to kiss away the tear that had slid halfway down his cheek to cling there. It was cool by then and salty against her lips.

“Ginny, I love you so very much,” he said, turning so her lips were caught by his. He held her face in his cold hands and kept his eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against hers. “But I can’t take you down with me.”

“Why are you pushing me away?” she said again, leaning back but face still held by him, brow frowning and bottom lip trembling as she was about to start crying again.

“I can’t do this to you.”

“What? What can’t you do? What are you doing?”

“Ginny, I can’t tell you.”

“You are doing something bad again, aren’t you?”

“I can’t say.”

“What are you doing, Draco, tell me,” she demanded.

“Gin…

“You are trying to hide it from me.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you.”

“Draco.”

“Please, you have to understand, I do not wish to hurt you, not ever, but I have to hurt you a little now, so as to stop from hurting you more later…”

“Draco, you are acting like Harry, pushing me away to protect me. I don’t need your protection,” she said forcefully.

“I know, I know. But…I can’t make you a part of this, not if it were to go badly. I wouldn’t drag you down with me, ruin what you still have,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, softly that time, and Draco just shook his head, releasing her face to turn away. “This all has to do with the Ministry case…Réamann said you were covering up for someone, that you were a part of it,” she said and Draco looked at her.

“He has talked to you?”

“He did, briefly, but I wouldn’t give him a fair listen, however, because he was clearly very angry.”

“I have not attacked any Muggles,” he assured.

“But you are a part of all of it?” she demanded.

“I do not expect you to understand, but know that I have to do this.”

“Do what? Draco, tell me what is going on!”

“If this all works out we can be together, but if things go badly, which they have a very strong possibility of doing so, I would not drag your name through the mud any more than I already have.”

“Draco, you haven’t…”

“I have.”

“Don’t do this Draco, whatever you will get out of it; it’s not worth the risk!”

“I have nothing to lose,” he said.

“What about your life out of Azkaban, your mother, your children? What about me?” she demanded.

“No one will let me have you, Gin. I love you, all of you,” he said, meaning his mother and children too, “and I am doing this for you, and them, and me…but I can’t do it with you, because I love you and I couldn’t bare the thought of seeing disappointment in your beautiful eyes.”

“Draco,”

“We agreed that taking a break to deal with Réamann and our families would be best, before all this mess. We should stick to that plan.”

“No, Draco…”

“It really is what would be best. This isn’t the end, just a pause, just a pause, Gin. We can be together again, and after all this we can run off and be together, hiding from the world if we must, but free,”

“Free? Draco, you are in serious trouble, aren’t you…”

“Please,” he begged, leaning in to kiss her, holding the sides of her face again. He wanted to hold her close, kiss her fiercely, make love to her one last time, but his weak and pathetic body just would not allow that. “Please. Just trust me, you being the only person that does,” he said, able to twist that around and make Ginny almost moan with guilt. She could not refuse him now or it would look like she didn’t trust him and she could not crush him like that, not after all he had just confessed to her. “Take care of Clarissa for me, and be here for my mother and Michelangelo,” he said.

“Draco…”

“I am entrusting them, my whole world, to you. Take care of them for me,” he said, kissing her then, not allowing her to answer, to possibly say no.

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

Author’s Note:

Draco surprised me with this chapter. Nice that he finally opened up to Ginny completely, but it was a touch depressing. I’m proud of him though, and this is without all the therapy I put him through in the sequel. :D

Yeah, Draco is 110lbs.

I quoted from the movie The Holiday. Between the original chapter, and this rewrite, I saw said movie, and I liked it. The quote I used worked so well with my existing plot about cheating. I was floored, however, by Jude Law’s character Gram: a British widower with two small children, starting to date again for the first time since his wife’s death. DAMN IT!!!! Well, at least that’s where the similarities between him and Draco end, if that weren’t enough, right? >_<;

29. Chapter 29

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-nine

Draco lay curled up in his bed and stirred slowly, woken by his internal clock that was set so early. He seemed confused at first whom he was holding in his arms, someone much too large and spooned too tightly to be his small daughter who often climbed into bed with him during the night. He smiled at the reorganization after only a moment, as the scent of strawberries wafted from the wild red hair that spread across his pillow and tickled his face.

Ginny had spent the night, for the first time!

Draco had never gone to sleep simply holding a woman so tenderly in his arms and woken to find her still there with him but for Ginny. They had held each other close that cold night thirteen years ago, and he held her again, now, only this time it wasn't because their body heat was all that kept them alive. He held her now because he lover her, and she loved him. It was a very important thing to him to have been able to share, at least once in his life, such a simple thing that so many took for granted like sleeping in a bed beside the one he loved. He was relieved to have experienced it at least once in his life.

Ginny was in his night shirt, and he was in the slacks, and they spooned so perfectly, it was enough to make Draco want to roll over and go back to sleep.

That is when his alarm clock went off.

Draco sighed and rolled over -his right arm trapped under Ginny- to reach and swat the annoying thing into silence, the stretch causing his ribs to scream in their ache. Ginny stirred at the sound, and Draco's movement, and took a deep breath through her nose, stretching her legs straight and spreading her toes so that they peeked out from under the bottom edge of the blanket, little red nails like candies decorating them.

“What time is it?” she mumbled, groggy and barely awake.

“Four,” he said softly, leaning down to say it in her ear, his breath seeping into her hair near her neck, causing her to shiver and snuggle her shoulders and back closer to him.

“What are you about, setting the alarm so early?” she complained, ready to go right back to sleep.

“I have to go to work.”

“You can't be serious, you collapsed yesterday, and everything is a mess there,” she said, a little more awake now, but barely.

“Mess or not, faint or not, I have to earn my paycheck or I won't be able to afford groceries this week,” he said, Ginny already aware of how bare his cupboards were.

“Like you eat that much anyways,” she mumbled, drifting asleep.

“Well, with you deciding to fatten me up I will have to, meaning I need the money more than ever,” he said, kissing her neck and pulling his arm free.

He left Ginny to sleep as he showered, dressed, and even ate. Just some jam on toast with a spot of coffee to make sure he was good and tweaked, but it was something. He gave Clarissa a kiss good-bye, as usual, and stopped by to climb on top of Ginny, hands and knees on either side of her, and give her a kiss on the nose, before heading out.

It was going to be a long day.

Indeed, it was a long day. Draco got to work, was clocked in, and was set to task for the first time before Mr. Coderdale was even there. Draco just wanted to work, get through the day, and get home, but that was not a possibility. Even if he got through all he had to do in a timely manner, he would still have to go out with Sebastian after work and do dastardly, bastardly, things. Clarissa was under Ginny's care, and he and Ginny were taking a “break”. That alone was enough to make his day shit, but having a few dozen Ministry Aurors burst into the hall and hold him at wand point certainly topped even that and the day off nicely.

“Draco Malfoy, you are under arrest,” the man before him, the only one not holding a wand to him, announced diplomatically. Draco had stood from his desk upon their entering, leaning on his cane, and was now glaring at Réamann who walked in behind everyone, looking a little bashful but angry at the same time.

“I demand to know what he is being charged with, Summerset,” Tonks fumed, walking into the hall then too, her pace quick, her pointed face hardened in her anger. She stormed in to stand in front of the man, putting herself between him and Draco but up in the man's face, Draco still back by his desk.

“He is being taken in for questioning, pertaining to the murders of…” Summerset started to say but Draco interrupted him, speaking for the first time since he was burst in on.

“Taken in? You can't mean…not Azkaban,” he said, looking panicky towards his cousin that turned slowly to give him a comforting look before rounding on the other Auror again.

“You have no right to arrest or even detain him,” she fumed.

“We have his hair at a crime scene, and testimony from Rossiter here-”

“That is all hearsay and circumstantial,” Tonks snapped, raising her voice. She was such a light and bubbly person normally, with her short spiking hair of cotton candy blue and pink, that it seemed out of place for her to be so domineering and authoritative. She was the head Auror on the case, however, and she didn't get that position by being a pushover.

“His past is hard to ignore, and with no one else to even investigate in this case, we have to bring him in, for the public's own peace of mind,” he said. Tonks look furious and Draco looked pale.

“NO, you can't send me to Azkaban, not just so as to look like you are making some sort of progress with the case!” Draco shouted, backing up some and Aurors on all sides of him stepping forward a little, closing in, wands still raised.

“Mr. Malfoy, your reputation is quite reprehensible, and your history does not play into your favor. We have no choice,” Summerset said, Draco looking wild-eyed and panicked. Summerset was a silver haired but otherwise youthful looking man, with a surprisingly black mustache. He was still the only one in the room that didn't have a wand pointed at Draco, other than Tonks who was defending him, and Réamann who was refusing to look at him.

“I can't believe you would turn me over to them when you have no evidence, after all I did to help you!” Draco barked, his wounded harshness causing Réamann to flinch.

“Draco,” Tonks said, turning to him, able to see the panic in her cousin's pale and bruised eyes before speaking to the whole room. “Everyone, lower your wands and follow goddamn procedure,” she ordered, angry that her people would hold Draco at wand point when such a thing is not allowed, not when dealing with someone that didn't have a wand themselves. Everyone, one by one, slowly lowered their wands but not going as far at to put them away, not taking their eyes off of the werewolf. Tonks walked right up to Draco and talked to him softly.

“Dre, I'm sorry for this, they are trying to remove me off the case, saying that you being the primary suspect is too much of a conflict of interest, and that my personal relationship would interfere with me remaining unbiased in this,” she said, practically whispering, moving a little to the right and left to stay in front of Draco's shifting eyes. “I have told them before, with the hair and everything, that you had nothing to do with this, but I can't stop them now, not with the statements Réamann has made,” she said.

“I didn't do anything,” he attempted, his voice quivering.

“I know,” she said sadly.

“Mrs. Lupin, your presence down here is not appropriate,” Summerset said, stepping forward a little.

“I am still heading this investigation. You have not forced me off yet, and as such, I will be overseeing this,” she said, glaring over at the man. They were butting heads over the investigation, the problem being too many high-ranking Aurors working on one case.

“I can't go back there, no, I won't,” Draco said, drawing Tonks' attention back to him.

“Draco, please, don't fight me on this. I will make sure you get the best lawyer out there, and the best representation. I will be with you through all of this, you won't be alone.”

“No, no,” he started repeating, his heart beating so fast that is actually became a little painful and uneven.

“Draco, don't resist, please, it will only make you seem guilty. Come with me, and I will make sure you are shown to be innocent, you could be out of there in a week,” she said, grabbing his wrist, looking so apologetic, knowing just how scared Draco was of that place.

Draco pulled his arm away and backed up. “No, I won't go back there, I didn't do anything. This is just Réamann trying to get even with me because I stole his bint,” he said, shaking, struggling to breathe now too.

“Draco, don't do this,” Tonks warned a little more forcefully now, being firm as a means of protecting her baby cousin. She knew he was innocent, she had no doubt of it, but she had to be rigid so that he would not do something stupid and convey this idea of guilt in his rashness.

Draco just shook his head. He saw Sebastian in the room, and locked eyes with him for a meaningful moment. Réamann was looking awkward but firm in his commitment to this. He had made up his mind to talk to the Aurors on the case; he was not second-guessing that now, not even with that look Draco was giving him.

“Draco, no!” Tonks yelled at him as he backed up more, looking ready to run. The three Aurors to his back went to grab him but Draco spun and swung his cane, knocking them all down with the superior strength he could tap.

Draco, using such strength he would not have possessed as a man, instigated the rest of the witches and wizards in the room to draw their wands again, Draco clearly using some kind of werewolf ability, something strictly prohibited by the Ministry.

“Put your wands down, that's an order! Draco, calm down…” Tonks shouted, Draco turning on her, his cane up in his hands, his eyes lost to that of the beast that dwelled within him.

Draco was not about to go back to Azkaban. Even with all Tonks had promised him, he just could not go back there, not for this, now for a week, a day, a minute!

Draco blinked his inhuman eyes and ducked down low to rush across the room faster than what seemed human. His limp was gone, his ache suppressed when his beast was not. Draco cut across the room, knocking into several of the Aurors, making sure to take Réamann down with a harsh swing on his cane that cut him across the neck where his shoulder met. It was painful, probably breaking Réamann's collarbone, and Draco meant it to be.

Draco was near the door when spells were cast in his direction. Tonks was screaming at the other superior Auror, Summerset, and Coderdale (who had been blocked from the scene by a few Aurors) was shouting for Draco, all the while Sebastian fell back, letting Draco go, knowing where Draco was heading.

Running down the earthy hall, Draco didn't stop, or slow, not even when his clothing tore away, or his boots flopped around and were kicked off because his feet were no longer human shaped. He raced up the stairs faster than anyone bipedal could hope to, and hopped onto one of the lone, rickety lifts.

Paws and claws did not offer the best traction once on the smooth hardwood floors of the Atrium. Witches and wizards screamed and dove out of the way upon seeing the large white wolf slide into view on its long thin legs and race down the hall, claws clicking on the hard floor, fur ruffling, tail swishing. No one dared raise a wand to stop him, no one knowing who it was but knowing not to mess with a werewolf, regardless. Never mind that this was not the full moon and therefore it being a Greater wolf before them. Lesser or Greater, it was all the same when it came to a simple scratch welcoming you into their ranks.

Draco was well ahead of the Aurors that were following after him, but he was now trapped with only two options, Floo, or the Muggle street. Floo required him being able to speak, something he struggled with while a beast, and the Muggle street was full of, well, Muggles. As a large white wolf, he would stick out quite dramatically. For endangering Muggles Draco would only be in more trouble, and this time actually guilty. He paced for a moment, up the length of the Atrium and back, beastly-mind struggling to not panic and use reason.

There was a loud commotion by the lifts, not caused by those in the Atrium panicking, and Draco made a fast decision. He stopped, sliding still, yanked a man out of a fireplace that was about to Floo away, and took the trip instead; unsure of where he would come out, but knowing that anyplace was better than Azkaban or in that Atrium at the moment.

Aurors burst into the Atrium, wands drawn, knowing Draco had come this way by the looks of panic on everyone's faces. Without a word when asked, the Desk Witch pointed at the now empty fireplace where emerald flames were dying down in a twirl. The wizard that was sitting on the floor, looking frozen in terror, was scooped up and shaken, asked where he had intended on going before Draco had commandeered his Floo. The man, unable to do more than stammer, was released to fall on the ground and be tended to by lesser Aurors while Summerset rounded on Tonks.

“This is all YOUR fault,” he accused while bellowing.

“My fault? Who was it that thought it was a good idea to approach him like this, Summerset?” she snapped back, her hair now as red in her rage, eyes piercing and harsh rather that large, warm, and welcoming as she typically kept them.

Draco emerged from a fire place, dingy and grey from soot. He stood on his four spindly legs; the hind ones bent slightly due to their length, and shook himself out like any dog, soot becoming a thick dust in the air as he freed it from his full white coat. He huffed a little sneeze at the dust that tickled his damp black nose and blinked. Sitting at a kitchen table, frozen with a spoon halfway to his mouth, eyes wide, a little boy in a highchair stared. His oatmeal dropped off his spoon and he did not seem to realize as he stayed frozen in that position. Draco looked around and realized he was in a home, a Wizarding home no doubt, entering through the kitchen.

“Steven, is that you? Did you pick up the milk on the way home like I owled…?” a woman asked as she walked into the room but then too froze upon seeing the werewolf standing there.

The woman screamed, high-pitched and long, and Draco flattened his ears, tail tucking between his legs as he backed up some to nearly be back in the fireplace again. The woman grabbed her son, a boy probably two years old, and pulled him out of his highchair and knocking it over to crash into the table and then the floor in the process. The boy made no sound but just stared, turning his head regardless of whatever direction his mother turned, so as to be looking at the white beast.

“Go away! Go away! Leave my son alone you beast!” she screamed. Draco's ears drooped a little bit more but then lowered his head and trotted out of the room quickly to leave the woman curled up in the corner protectively of her son as she screamed wordlessly the whole time. Draco ran into the living room, looked around, and ran out the front door, cautious of what he would find. He found himself in a sort of rural-suburban area, probably Muggle. Looking around, Draco retreated back into the house and up the stairs that were to his back. The woman, in the kitchen, could hear Draco's long claws click on the wood floors as he moved above her and she whimpered and sobbed now, her son in her arms, still silent.

Draco pushed a door open by wiggling his snout into the gap like any dog, and stepped in. He was in the master bedroom and there he sat to try and calm himself down and collect his thoughts. He lied down and placed his head on his paws, closing his eyes to try and focus himself, to breathe slowly, to let his muscles become less tense. He imagined himself like a flower closing rather than blooming, becoming smaller and enclosed for the night. It was a mental practice he did that allowed him to manage a shift back.

Shaking and nude, exhausted and disoriented, Draco came to form curled up on the floor with only a few claw marks in the wood to show for it. He pushed himself up on his hands and knees and panted there for a moment, sweat dripping to the floor from the tip of his nose, his hair stringing and tangled, body shaking to the point where his arms gave out under him and he tipped over to close his eyes and wait for the room to stop spinning.

He knew he could not linger, regardless of how weak he had just made himself.

Already having wasted enough time, Draco stood with much assistance from the bed, walked along the wall so as to lean on it for support, and opened the wardrobe across the room. He gathered up the man's clothing that was far too large for him and pulled it on quickly. The pants were much too large so suspenders held them up, and the shirt looked like a woman's nightdress on him, but he tucked it in and pulled a coat on over it. No shoes he found would fit, the husband's clodhoppers too large for even his long-toed feet, and the wife's running-shoes too small to even humor an attempt. He would go barefoot, not something he hadn't grown accustomed to in Azkaban, but something he did not enjoy either given that this was January.

Draco moved down the stairs quickly, still with no ache. He was not fully shifted back, so his ache had not returned. His eyes were still that of a blue-eyed wolf, his hands claw-like and curled, his ears tapered into elegant points, teeth sharp. He would stand out in a human world, but not as much as he would have as a wolf, and he could not manage a full transformation and then a change-back so quickly anyways. It depleted resources he just did not have

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

“Is Draco here?” Sebastian asked, standing on the front porch of a Muggle man's home in Bloomsbury.

The man looked at Sebastian with weary eyes, not knowing him and not trusting him.

“I know Draco, I work with him, and he asked me to meet him here,” Sebastian explained, not going as far to claim that he was friends with Draco. Sebastian, in that moment of eye contact Draco had made with him in the Hall of Records, was told where to find Draco. Draco had trusted him, and Sebastian had been tempted to tip off the Ministry as to where Draco was headed to serve him right, but he needed Draco, so he showed up there, alone.

The man looked at Sebastian for another long moment before nodding and stepping backwards to silently invite Sebastian in out of the cold. He closed the door quickly and turned.

“It's alright, Angle, you can come out,” he called, Draco peering around the edge of a half-wall that divided the living room and the dining room, to look at Sebastian warily with only one eye, like he was shy, or hiding.

“There you are. Created quite a scene at the Ministry,” he said with a laugh that was none-too-friendly.

“Angel, who is this man?”

“I work with him,” Draco whispered, his voice so raw it was hoarse.

“Angel?” Sebastian asked, his voice amused.

“Shut-up,” Draco sighed, clearly not wanting to talk much but doing so anyways. “Don't worry, Derrick, I really did ask Sebastian to meet me here.”

“How did you two come to know each other?” Sebastian asked, looking at the Muggle man and the werewolf in the oversized clothing and not seeing how they could have crossed paths.

“I helped Angel out years and years ago when he was young,” Derrick said simply, curtly, seemingly not trusting Sebastian. Draco liked Derrick because he had a good wit about him and a strong sense of character. He didn't trust Sebastian, and that was a good thing, because Sebastian was a bad man and someone no one could or should trust.

“Well, I think your little plan is screwed now, Draco,” Sebastian said, a little anger now seeping into his voice as he crossed his arms. “You are going to go to Azkaban for sure, and I am not about to let you drag me down with you.”

“It would serve you right,” Draco barked, his raw voice sounding, literally, like a bark.

“Angel, what's going on? What trouble have you found yourself in now?” Derrick asked, looking at Draco, his eyes soft when his tone was not. He was a father of a son close to Draco's age, and he talked to Draco as though he was a son of his own.

“Nothing,” Draco muttered.

“What is this about Azkaban then? I thought you were out of there, and on the straight and narrow. What are you up to? Who is this man?”

“Mind your own damn business, old man,” Sebastian drawled.

“This is my house, and my Angel. Get out if you are going to stand here and…”

“It's awright, Derrick, Sebastian is just an arsehole to everyone.” Draco interrupted. “Sebastian, mind yourself or I will drag you down with me, out of spite, and for the satisfaction,” he warned, looking at the other man with his darkened and sore eyes.

“Well, what are we going to do? No one will believe you innocent now, so you would be my perfect scapegoat again, but you won't allow me to use you. What will you have me do instead?”

“Réamann,” Draco rasped.

“Excuse me?”

“Réamann,” Draco repeated.

“No, I heard you, but you are not making any sense. What about Réamann? I'm not about to do him, that's disgusting,” he said. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes.

“We will use him as the scapegoat,” he explained, still hiding behind the wall partially.

“Réamann Rossiter? Are you ment-” he started to say but Draco looked murderous and he cut himself short. “I mean, I don't see how you can figure him.”

“As guilty as I look now, my reluctance towards going back to Azkaban is understandable, so Réamann actually managed to make himself look as guilty as I in this situation by fingering me in the first place,” he whispered, Sebastian looking at him but unable to understand completely.

“I don't follow,” he admitted as Derrick looked on and listened intently.

“Réamann accused me two days after it went public that his girlfriend and I were fooling around. It wouldn't take much to spin this all around as just Réamann trying to get back at me for wronging him and covering his own arse since I already destroyed any evidence he could have used against me. The Ministry knows, or will find out, that I had been helping to solve the case, and I can attest to that fact under Veritaserum. Creating false memories in Réamann wouldn't be hard, and I am pretty sure we can work him into the timeframe of each of the attacks. Really, the lout is perfect,” Draco concluded, swallowing hard.

Sebastian looked at Draco for a long moment and then laughed. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, that's beautiful. I love it! We get our scapegoat, you get to serve it to Réamann, and we both make out richer than kings and scot-free!” he exclaimed.

“I have been looking into your Goblin Lord,” Draco announced, disappearing behind the wall to gather the texts he had sent his owl for. Frank had shown up at Derrick's house before even he had. Draco didn't understand how owls had that unrivaled ability to know when they were needed, but he appreciated it all the same.

Derrick appeared beside Draco and spoke to him in harsh whispers.

“Angel, what are you up to? Who is this man, what attacks are you talking about, and who is this Réamann chap you are pinning them on?” he demanded. Draco looked over at him, already having not explained to his friend how he had wound up so battered looking, not acknowledging the man's questions about Draco's recent weight loss, or why he had shown up out of breath, panicked, and beastie looking. “Who is this woman you are fooling around with? You have not mentioned her to me and I honestly would have thought better of you,” he said disappointedly and Draco sighed.

“Please, don't reprimand me. I'm not a child, and I'm not your child,” he said slowly.

“What are you up to? Tell me.”

“Sebastian is a man, a wizard, that is attacking and killing people…Muggles…in Manchester,” he explained softly. Derrick gaped at him.

“He is the one behind those awful attacks and murders?” he gasped, having heard about them on the news for weeks.

“I have had nothing to do with any harm that has befallen those Muggles, but Sebastian tried to pin it all on me. I blackmailed him in response to save myself, but the man I had been working with -at the Ministry of Magic- Réamann Rossiter, has gone to the Aurors -the wizards in charge of this investigation- and tried to pin it all on me based on the lies Sebastian had already told him previously, Réamann just angry that his girlfriend left him to be with me,” Draco explained, the whole situation even more complex than that but his voice unable to withstand a longer explanation. Shifting was hard on him all around, and for some reason, exceptionally hard on his vocal cords.

“Angle, you can't do this, you can't get caught up in a mess like this again,” Derrick said, his concern so heavy it made his voice an almost touchable thing.

“I have no choice. Réamann fingered me in the case and the Ministry tried to arrest me. I fled and caused a scene, like Sebastian said, and now no one will doubt my guilt unless I am able to present someone who seems guiltier.”

“But Réamann is an innocent man,” Derrick argued.

“Technically, yes,” Draco muttered.

“Angel, after what happened to you, being sent away for ten years when innocent, how can you do that to another man?”

Draco looked down, gathering books up against his chest with his still clawed hands before answering.

“I don't have any choice,” he simply said, standing to walk around the half-wall to be in the living room again with Sebastian.

“You have certainly looked better, or should I say: more human?” Sebastian mocked.

“Fuck you,” Draco snapped, thrusting a book at Sebastian while sitting down and setting the rest in front of him on the coffee table to open one himself to a marked page.

“When did you have time to look for these books, let alone read and mark them?” Sebastian asked, looking at the five lengthy texts and all the little green sticky notes sticking out between the pages.

“There are twenty-four usable hours in every day, thank you,” he said smugly.

“Yes, but…”

“I am a master of multitasking,” Draco muttered, flipping a page and pointing at the picture with a claw. “First of all, looking for a thirteenth century Goblin Lord, I found your man -er goblin- or so I would assume. `Nagnok the Noble' so it reads, but from what I understand he is about as noble as you or I and was actually rather cruel and bloody.”

“What about the treasure,” Sebastian demanded, snapping the book Draco had offered him closed to look grumpy.

“Have you no appreciation for History?” Draco snapped, looking up from his own book to glare. He was in a bad enough mood, for the obvious reasons and because it was a struggle to see what he was reading without his glasses, without Sebastian being a pain.

“No. Tell me about what you found out about the gold,” he said, not caring that Draco seemed offended that he didn't give a hoot about the boring dribble in the books.

Draco pursed his lips together but obliged, closing his own book and reaching for another, opening to a tagged page and reading from the text with a sigh.

“The gold which amassed a `great sum' but is otherwise not explicitly named as an amount, was buried, as you know, and forgotten, thus our problem,” he explained, Derrick walking into the room to watch, Sebastian interested but irritated that Draco was not simply giving him the bottom-line. Draco's throat hurt and still he was jabbering on about History.

“And?” he prompted.

“And,” Draco sighed, “The reason why it was forgotten was because a mid-13th century castle was built atop of the spot where it was buried.”

“What?”

“Nagnok did not burry it as was expected, like in a hole excavated in the ground, but erected a giant mound of earth around it where Muggles then took interest, building a castle atop it that stood for nearly two-hundred years, allowing sufficient time to pass so that the gold was able to be forgotten,” Draco explained.

“So you know where the gold is?” Sebastian asked, looking greedy and excited.

“Theoretically. I had to go off a lot of assumption based off of all the different sources I had to work with. I'm only assuming that the castle was built on this man-made hill, but there are countless mounds of earth in Wiltshire, including the largest which is Silbury Hill, but there are also Tan Hill, Windmill Hill, Cley Hill, Milk Hill…”

“Alright, I get the point,” Sebastian snapped. “You think it is this particular hill, that is good enough for me, I trust your judgment and knowledge in this…so which hill is it?”

“In the southwestern tip of the Salisbury Plain, in the Northwestern side of Mere, you will find a hill called Castle Hill,” he sighed. He was excited over all the history; he couldn't understand why Sebastian did not care.

“Salisbury Plain?”

“You know, Stonehenge, Avebury, the round barrows…they are all there,” he snapped in return then. Honestly, how could anyone not know that?

“Forgive me for not having my nose buried in a book for the entirety of my life.”

“I have done no such thing myself, but it is part of a national history. How can you possibly live in a country as relatively small as England, and not know of its natural and world wonders?” Draco gaped.

“It's boring,” Sebastian replied, almost pouting.

“And it is about to make you a whole lot richer, so stop complaining and maybe appreciate a little,” Draco grumbled, looking back down at his texts as though assuring them that he loved them at least.

“So we are off to Castle Hill?” Sebastian asked.

“In Mere, Wiltshire England,” Draco nodded, mildly excited himself.

Sebastian was practically ready to go on the spot, but Draco pulled Derrick aside.

“Angel, I don't like this,” he hissed.

“You were a theater major when in school, correct?” Draco whispered, far from Sebastian's range of hearing.

“Yes,”

“Good, I have need of you,” Draco then went on to explain in a voice so hushed that his rawness nearly made in inaudible.

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

Ginny sat with Clarissa, in the little girl's small bedroom, spending the night to look after her, just like Draco had asked. It was early evening still, but they were dressed for bed regardless, such was the standard for any “slumber party”. Ginny was beside herself with worry over Draco, but that feeling had only intensified and now gnawed at her since the Ministry had showed up earlier that day. She was an internal mess, but she could not include the little girl in on the situation, could not worry her about her daddy. Ginny didn't even know what Draco was up to yet, but she knew it had something to do with that terrible case, and she knew it couldn't be good by the way he went about not telling her and the way the Aurors had harassed her for any and all information about his whereabouts.

With a little help from Clarissa, however, Ginny was able to finally smile that evening while sitting on Michelangelo's bed. The girl was bouncing on her bed with enough caged energy to put a wild pixie in a box to shame. Ginny kind of regretting giving the girl sugar at this point.

Clarissa bounced and sang about being a “Barbie Girl” as the song played loudly over the little stereo that Michelangelo liked so much, her pink and ruffled nightgown hiking up to her knees with every hop, her wildly curling hair flaring around her as though alive itself. Ginny was impressed with the little girl's voice. Clarissa demonstrated her talent while watching a movie earlier and Ginny was tremendously impressed. Draco was a good singer, when doing so on the couch with her softly. Now she was determined to get him to truly sing her something, convinced that Clarissa must have inherited her talent from him.

Thinking about Draco, however, bummed Ginny out all-over-again as the song changed.

“Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they're okay. If they don't give me proper credit, I just walk away. They can beg and they can plead, but they can't see the light, that's right. `Cause the boy with the cold hard cash, is always mister right! `Cause we are…Living in a material world, and I am a material girl! You know that we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl!” Clarissa sang while hopping, but even amidst all her bouncing and music she could tell something was bothering Ginny.

“What's wrong, Ginny?” she asked, slowing in her hopping a little to face Ginny and mutely bounce in place, her feet barely leaving the mattress now, the song going on without her.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” she said, smiling warmly at the little girl, wishing the girl to just continue because it really was enjoyable to watch her have so much fun.

“You're lying. Something has you upset…what is it?” she asked, once again showing that, though she was young, and small in stature and appearance, Clarissa was very intelligent and intuitive. Both she and Michelangelo had great understanding and comprehension, like they were mentally years older than their bodies. Something had aged them, something that seemed unfair that they would have had to grown up so quickly. Maybe the children just had old-souls. She wondered how old of a soul Clarissa had to have as the little girl, looking sweeter than candy, gaze at her with those silver eyes that originally belonged to her father, managing to make their otherwise cold-harshness look so warm and inviting with her concern. Draco could do the same, and seeing that in the girl made her feel that Draco was with her, somehow, and it was doubly comforting.

“Come here,” Ginny said softly, holding her hand up. Clarissa hopped down off her bed and scrambled over and onto Michelangelo's to be beside her at once, Ginny wrapping her extended arm around her so that they sat side by side in a bit of a hug.

“Thank you for spending the night. I have never had a slumber party before. Nana isn't as much fun as you, she doesn't allow me to play my music, or jump on the bed, and tells me I am quite possibly `a terror beyond my father' when he was small,” she said, able to add on a snooty tone while clearly paraphrasing her grandmother. Ginny pictured Clarissa just hopping on the bed and got a distinct mental image of Draco being a high-strung child in a home as clearly strict as the Malfoy Manor and had to laugh softly. He was so mellow and reserved now; she struggled to imagine him as a hyper-boy, but could recall clearly him running about the Manor with her and how much had had enjoyed himself. He had it in him, if he would ever allow anyone the chance to see it.

“You're welcome. Your father wanted you and I to spend some more time together, and I enjoy your company,” she said, not mentioning that Draco had asked her to “take care” of Clarissa for him, heavily alluding to the idea that something might happen to him and Ginny would have to look after Clarissa, and Michelangelo, for an indefinite amount of time. The thought made Ginny's stomach tight with worry and dread. She wanted to contact Draco, to find out he was alright. The heavy nausea that had set in her stomach that night was enough to have her pass on her favorite comfort food, ice cream, as Clarissa had a large helping earlier herself.

“You really love my father,” she said, not making it a question, surprising Ginny by how much more mature her voice was suddenly, and that it was not “daddy” it was father. Ginny looked down at Clarissa and saw the girl looking up at her, still so adorable, but realizing for the first time that she really was eleven years old, not a child really.

“He and I have only been together for two short weeks…” she tried to explain, not wanting, for some reason, to admit to the girl that she and her father were deeply but dangerously in love in such a short time. She felt the need to play it down, to convince the girl that it takes time to fall in love…that she needs to take her time, and wait, and be careful. Ginny only knew this girl for a short time, a time far shorter than she knew Draco, yet she felt this love for her that made her want to mother and protect her.

“Sometimes that's all it takes,” Clarissa said, turning in Ginny's arm to now face her, her left leg pulled up and curled in front of her as her right still hung over the edge. Ginny looked at her and Clarissa continued. “Don't you believe in love at first sight?” she asked, sounding a little bit more like her usual bubbly self, but it just being a sugary coating now.

“Well, I suppose it all depends on what you are looking at,” Ginny joked, shocked that she was having the same conversation with the girl as she had had with Draco but days before. Love at first sight…she believed in it, and apparently, so did Clarissa. Why did that worry her? Why did she want to gather Clarissa up and lock her in a high tower where no man could ever touch her? Because Clarissa was too pretty, and too innocent, to make for a good or safe combination.

“My father loves you,” she said bluntly.

“You really think so?”

“Oh, I know so. He gets this dreamy look in his eye whenever you are mentioned, even by Nana and she doesn't say nice things,” she said and Ginny slumped her shoulders a little. “He hums while he works about the house, he takes more pride in his appearance: preening himself just a little bit more, and even when he is walking with his cane, there is a bounce in his step, like he has something that would make him the envy of any who sees him,” she said and Ginny nodded slowly, listening, flattered. “And Michael wouldn't hate you so much if he didn't fear just how much our father loves you,” she said.

“That is why he hates me?” Ginny asked, surprised.

“He was angry at first…you know why, then mistrustful. He was willing to then give you a chance because our father read him the riot act and laid the guilt on thick…but when he and I got talking and he realized father was totally in love with you, he got angry again. I think he doesn't want a mother,” she said.

“I'm not…I mean, I'm not trying to be anyone's mother….I'm just…” she stammered, looking at the little girl, wondering what she felt on the matter.

“I wouldn't mind it if you were my mother,” Clarissa said softly, almost meekly, like she was afraid what Ginny's reaction to her admittance would be bad but wanting to share her feelings regardless.

“Claire,” Ginny sighed.

“I have never had a mother,” she said, then sounding melancholy. Ginny frowned her eyebrows at the little girl with no mother and felt her heart pull.

“Claire, sweetie…I'm sorry, that isn't fair for a little girl…but what about your nana? Wasn't she a mother to you?”

“She has always been `Nana'…she raised us, but always made it clear she is not our mother. Michael and I asked about our mother once we got old enough to wonder, once we saw other children raised by mothers, not Nanas, and wanted to know why we didn't have a mother like them, but she refused to tell us. She has never told us anything about our mother, and our father seems even more disinclined to say anything on the matter, but he gets sad rather than angry like Nana. Nana loves me, and Michael, and she raised us and treated us good, and we love her…but she is not someone I feel like I can go to, that I can confide in. She is so stern, and worrisome. I can't talk to her about dreams and fantasies and ambitions because she shoots them down as all impossibilities. I can't talk to her about Father because she says it is not my place to question him or enquire,” she said, sounding sad as she pulled her knees up to her chest to hug them.

“That's not fair,” Ginny said again, softly.

“I have always felt like I was missing something,” she admitted. “I just…I can relate to Cinderella, and Belle, and Ariel, and all the other princesses that I love so much from my `silly little girl movies' because none of them had mothers either,” she explained and Ginny blinked at the little girl. “Ever notice that? They are either orphans, or more often they are just raised by their father. I am not as immature as I come across, the baby voice and the “daddy this” and “daddy that” are things I do for his benefit because he loves and loathes it so, but I am not a little girl. I still love certain things, like my dolls, movies, and my pink ruffles, but I do like boys, I do think of things outside the realm of kittens and rainbows,” she said, almost accusatory, like Ginny had not realized any of this before. Ginny shook hear head, as though to assure Clarissa that she did not think such things of the girl, just recently that night having seen a side of the girl she never had before, more than just the jumping on the bed and singing, more than the wildly curling hair and pink nightgown. She already had seen that night that Clarissa really was more than a little girl.

“I know,” she continued on, still in the much more mature tone Ginny had never experience with her before this night, “it is a lot to ask of you, to be my mother, but could you be my friend, while my father and you decide just what you mean to each other?” she asked and Ginny blinked one more time at the girl before smiling. Clarissa was lonely. She felt her heart nearly break at hearing that. She knew Clarissa went to primary school with Muggles. Draco had told her all about Clarissa being off for the holiday and how many friends Clarissa had at the place, and the good marks she earned and the always wonderful comments Draco received on her. Draco was certainly proud of his little girl, but she could see that Clarissa, despite having a wonderful daddy, and friends at school, and a brother and grandmother, was still missing something, something very important. Clarissa really needed a mother, and though Ginny wasn't sure she could be exactly what Clarissa needed, Draco had asked her to be here. Did he know how Clarissa felt? Was that why he had asked her to be here tonight? Did he feel Clarissa needed a mother too?

Ginny felt sick again, but for a different reason this time. Was Draco turning her into Clarissa's mother, into his wife? She felt like she was falling into some sort of trap Draco had set, and yet, knowing that, she couldn't stop, she couldn't say no to the little girl in front of her.

“I could use a friend myself at the moment,” Ginny said warmly, holding her arm out again, welcoming Clarissa close.

The little girl's eyes lit up with gratitude and affection as she released her knees and tipped forward to hug her tight.

Ginny was almost angry with Draco, for sending her to the little girl knowing what would be asked of her…but somehow, she just couldn't manage. If something -heaven forbid- should happen to Draco, she would take care of Clarissa and Michelangelo. There was no doubt in her mind. She hugged the little girl and felt such love for her; it was like she really was the girl's mother. Now, if only she could get Michelangelo to not hate her because of his father's love. Ginny had given up on Narcissa being anything less than cold at this point despite some momentary bonding over Draco's health.

Clarissa turned to allow Ginny to braid her long wild hair, the conversation turning to fall on Draco, invoking within Ginny a mixture of warm and sad feelings. She couldn't stop worrying about him.

“I grew up only ever seeing him with his beard. It was so odd to have him finally come home balled and whisker free,” she divulged and Ginny chuckled softly.

“Bald?” she asked.

“He shaved his head upon his release. He said it had something to do with fleas, but I think he just wanted a fresh start…you know, free himself of the dirt and tangles as well as the memories of that place. It took me -I'm not sure about Michael- some time to get used to him without a beard, and with no -or very little- hair.”

Ginny laughed. “I actually can't imagine him with a beard, that is really funny,” she chuckled, Clarissa flinging herself away from her to fetch a picture. Ginny was unable to contain her laughter as she was shown a photograph. It was of Draco in his cell, leaning down, Michelangelo and Clarissa -clearly about six or seven years old- standing in front of the bars that separated them, smiling for the picture. Draco had a beard trimmed as short as he could likely manage with scissors, and long, slightly tangled hair, both white. His appearance, so thin and sickly while so hairy, would have been sad and piteous while also pathetic, if it weren't for the children there, making him smile, making his eyes glint and making the picture suddenly a beautiful thing. She wouldn't have otherwise been able to laugh. He looked a lot older in the picture too, the beard, the white hair, the dark circles under his eyes and the sunken in cheeks, she could understand where maybe some of his insecurities about his appearances stemmed now, when he felt he was old and haggard. For a time, he kind of was.

She then noticed his thin hands on each of his babies' shoulders, pulling them as close to him as the bars would allow…likely the most contact he could have with them, and felt her heart ache. She remembered him saying he was not allowed out of his cell for visits, or anyone in, but she hadn't really thought about what that meant until just now. Was the first time he was able to hug his two children three years ago? When they were nine? Ginny looked at that picture, seeing that desperate contact he was making, and felt a tear slide down her cheek. The children really were his whole world.

She knew she was in love with him, and Clarissa seemed just as aware, and Ginny was a little intimidated by such a strong feeling, but Clarissa's warm acceptance of it, and her elation for her father, was enough to quell her nervous nauseous feeling, even if but slightly, for the night.

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

Sebastian and Draco were in Wiltshire, passing through Salisbury Plain, on their way to Mere, almost to Castle Hill. Sebastian was driving while Draco curled up in the front seat, both attempting to be civil which basically left them in a heavy silence since neither had anything nice to say to the other so they said nothing at all. Draco had opened the car ride with one innocent little question, and Sebastian had blown up on him.

“I have been very good at not asking questions, not questioning you or your motive. I have taken all that you have given me as far as information and not asked for more…but one thing has been bothering me,” he had asked. “Why the Little Mermaid? You some kinda fruit?”

Sebastian had not responded well to the inquiry, and Draco had not gotten himself an answer. Sebastian's hostility even prevented Draco from looking into his mind at that point, the emotions too strong to wade through. He realized he would have been better of not asking because now he might not ever know.

That little thing had been nagging at him for a while, bit he knew that if he were patient he would learn the reason.

Draco had himself a doughnut, and in the entirety of the car ride, he had done little more than meticulously pick off the plenteous peanut bits that clung to it and ate them one at a time. On their way out of the Muggle man Derrick's home, Draco had suddenly stopped as though unexpectedly remembering something important, and made an abrupt request for something to eat. Sebastian had waited as Derrick had happily obliged his emaciated friend, but Draco's slow ingestion of the indulgence during the ride was gnawing away at Sebastian's nerves far faster than Draco was on the doughnut.

“Will you just eat that damn thing already? Jesus, you have been at it for the last hour and you have not even gotten to the dough yet,” he snapped.

“I will eat my treat at any pace I desire. And don't call me Jesus,” Draco drawled, his voice still soft but less raw after having not used it for nearly an hour now.

Sebastian pulled off the road then, only because they were nearly to their destination, and parked with a rather unnecessary slam of the breaks.

“And it is said that I have a temper,” Draco muttered, more to himself than anything after Sebastian took off his seatbelt with a snap, the metal clasp hitting the door loudly, and him opening it with a kick of his right leg to climb out. Draco followed suit at a much gentler and slower pace and joined Sebastian near the trunk of the car, still picking at his doughnut

“Here,” Sebastian said, thrusting something small, black, and hard at Draco. Draco caught it in his chest with an “umph” and was able to not drop his treat or the firearm.

“What…?” Draco started to ask but Sebastian not giving him a chance.

“For protection, and in case we run into any troublesome Muggles.”

“You expect me to shoot someone?” Draco asked, a little surprised, holding the gun awkwardly in his palm.

“You don't have a wand,” he said shortly. “What, you don't know how to use it?” he then jeered, meaning to put Draco down. Draco just narrowed his eyes and held the gun properly before checking the safety with his index finger and slipping it into the back waistband of his pants. He had changed while at Derrick's house, and unfortunately, the only thing Derrick had that even came close to fitting Draco was something from the man's long past wild youth. Draco was in a pair of tight black leather pants, boots, and a white dress shirt under the black coat he had nabbed earlier from the wizard home he had Flooed to. The clothing was snazzy, and he looked good in it, but it wasn't quite his style. At least with it being cold out he didn't have to worry about sweating and chaffing in the trousers, though they were still far from comfortable.

Sebastian glared into Draco's confident eyes and Draco's only response was to smirk and pick a tiny pinch of doughnut off and eat it.

“Why did you even ask for that thing if you are not going to eat it?” Sebastian griped as he moved over to the backseat of his car to unload the caged Nifflers that were humming and grunting cutely as the nudged about the cramped cages.

“I am eating it, just not at any rate you seemingly approve of. Ginny made me promise to eat more, I just don't have much of an appetite,” Draco said casually, picking at his doughnut, more than willing to let Sebastian do all the manual labor on his own.

“She already has you that whipped?” Sebastian teased.

“Hardly, but my declining health and weight loss is rather worrisome, not only to her, so I do not mind her fussing. Pleasing her is just more motivation to get healthy-er…” he muttered, doubting he could ever be so bold as to claim to be “healthy”.

“She is bossy, and stubborn, and a bitch…it's why I dumped her,” he said meanly.

“I heard from reliable sources that she dumped your arse, because you are an arse,” he said with a smirk, still picking at his pastry like a bird.

“She give you a blow-job yet? That was the only reason why I kept her around so long, the little fire-crotch gives good head,” he snapped, retaliating by making Ginny sound like a whore so as to try and upset Draco. “No wonder she is a tramp now, I shagged her pink ass so good that I stripped her of her decency and integrity,” he went on to say. Draco knew Sebastian was just compensating for his wounded ego at that point after what Draco had said, the man's emotions so easily read, so he didn't take great offense to what was said about Ginny. It was a lousy attempt on Sebastian's part. It was true, she did give good head, and if he was just trying to make her out to be a tramp it was weak since Ginny had never done anything remotely risqué with a man until they was officially dating. So she had had an affair, Draco was not about to write her off for that, so Sebastian's harsh words were like water off a hippogriff's back.

“I don't know what you are bragging about,” he said coolly, Sebastian looking over at him, “I heard it was like a pencil,” Draco mocked, sticking up his pinky finger and wiggling it playfully. Sebastian looked furious at Draco's insinuation that his manhood was a little bit of a…shortcoming. He took only one step towards Draco before stopping, however, Draco holding his gun up, drawn faster than Sebastian had thought possible. “Hey now, I'm armed,” he warned, holding the gun like her knew how to use it.

“You son-of-a…”

“Ah, ah, ah…” he tisked. “Now, no insulting the crazy guy with the gun pointed at you,” Draco said, talking as though to a simpleton, or a child. Sebastian glared and Draco just looked as self-assured and confident as he ever had in Hogwarts. “Come-come, we are losing light, fast,” Draco said, clicking the safety on his gun again before stashing it away and picking at his doughnut again in the precise way that irritated Sebastian so.

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

Réamann was sitting with Harry, both not talking at the moment, both deep in thought, both at a loss of what to say to the other man anyways. Réamann's shoulder was still aching, even after being treated by healers. Draco had gotten a harsh hit on him, breaking his shoulder and bruising his neck badly.

It had been like this since Draco had fled the Ministry. Réamann had turned to Harry for comfort in the internal conflict he was feeling, but Harry had welcomed him into his office without a word and hadn't shared a one in all that time.

“I can't believe it,” Réamann finally said. “I mean, I kinda always doubted him, because he was just so private and all I knew were the terrible things I had read about him and the fact that he had spent ten years in Azkaban, but he had me nearly convinced that he was innocent. He had me going, even feeling bad for him. Now I feel like a fool, I mean, come on, the Ministry wouldn't have been able to lock him away if he were truly innocent,” Réamann said, sounding angry, but at himself, and Harry glanced up at him guiltily.

“Draco went through a lot during the war, and ten years in Azkaban is a long time to strew, and develop resentment and build grudges,” Harry muttered, finally talking.

“You are not excusing what he has recently done are you…?” Réamann attempted to accuse and Harry shook his head.

“No, no. I am just saying…I mean…he really wasn't guilty when he was sent to Azkaban,” he admitted then, looking down at his desk with heavy eyes. Réamann was silent, for once. “I had promised him that I would see to it that the Ministry pardoned him if he worked with the Order, but he kept flip-flopping in the war, and confessed to me this desire to be rid of the Dark Lord only to take his place, and that frightened me. In the end, however, he helped me, and I knew he had done the right thing and had his heart in the right place, but I wasn't able to hold up my end of the deal. Circumstances and such. He lost everything doing the right thing and was punished for it, and I think years in Azkaban, being betrayed, having had grandiose inclinations in the past, all lead him to doing this now. I can't help but feel this is all my fault, that I pushed him to this, or at least started him down the path that lead him to this, this…atrocity.”

“So you think he is responsible?” Réamann asked, feeling a little less guilty at never trusting Draco if the same were true for Harry, but feeling more the fool for having been willing to give Draco such a chance.

“We both know Draco is one ingredient short of a store cupboard,” he said first off. “I'm not saying he doesn't have any comprehension of what he is doing and whether or not it is wrong, but I think he simply doesn't care.”

“You mean like a sociopath?” Réamann asked.

“I have met sociopaths in the past. Draco is not one, a problem of his -I think- is that he cares too much about things, and takes things to grotesque extremes as a result, with a mind so black and white he either loves or despises something, something is good or bad, no in-between with him. But he is mental, one way or another, and I wouldn't trust him as far as I could toss him,” he sighed.

“I still feel terrible about turning him over to the Ministry without any proof.”

“He destroyed the proof,” Harry pointed out.

“I found my keys on the floor not far from my office. I could have easily just dropped them when I shoved Draco,” he argued, not sure why he was trying to prove Draco's innocents at that point when both he and Harry were agreed that Draco was wicked through and through.

“That doesn't explain what happened to the file. You know he destroyed it…and I know you hate upsetting Tonks by fingering her cousin, but she has to come to grips and deal with the fact that her cousin, whether she loves him or not, is a danger to himself and everyone around him.”

“I can't believe Ginny…”

“Don't beat yourself up over that,” Harry warned.

“I know she wronged me,” he said, not mentioning to Harry what he and Draco had talked about, about knowing about the affair and that slight connection they had made over both having experienced such a crime, “But, I can't help but worry about her. He is dangerous, a wanted man, killing Muggles or helping someone else do so. She might have cheated on me, I might be angry at her for it, but I wouldn't be able to handle something bad happening to her,” he admitted. He still cared about Ginny. He wished he could hate her, because it would make the whole situation somehow easier to deal with, but he couldn't manage. Despite everything, he still wished her the very best.

“I understand that. I care about Ginny too, even with all the stupid things she has done in the past,” he said.

“Like what?” Réamann interrupted, a little heated. Other than recently get caught cheating on him with Draco Malfoy, what had Ginny done? The reason he was so shocked by Ginny's current behavior was because he otherwise held a great respect and admiration for the woman. Harry and her clearly has some mildly bad blood between them because they were divorced, but he couldn't imagine there being anything Harry could hate Ginny for.

“She and Draco have fooled around in the past,” Harry said and Réamann gaped at him.

“What?”

“During the war, when it moved to the castle Lonely Keep, Ginny and Draco started working together for the Order on missions and such. They grew close. One night, I stumbled across them having sex,” Harry said, still unrelenting in his belief that Ginny had lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy and still wounded by that thought.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” Réamann managed after opening and closing his mouth a few times, unable to find his voice.

“Things between her and I were never the same after that. She denied ever having slept with him when I finally confronted her on the matter, but I know what I saw, and I knew what I saw in Draco…something not good…and I just couldn't trust her after that. I hoped to guide you while you dated her, so you wouldn't fall under her spell like I had, so she wouldn't hurt you too, but I guess I failed. I'm sorry,” he sighed.

“It wasn't your responsibility to see my relationship through to the end,” Réamann comforted, though not sure he liked what Harry was saying.

“I just recognized you as a good chap, and knew that Ginny could hurt you without meaning to, just by being herself, and I didn't want that to happen.”

“I thank you,” Réamann said, though a little sad that Harry seemed so guilty. None of this was his fault; Harry was too good for his own good.

“Have you heard from Ginny?” Harry asked.

“Not since I spoke to her yesterday. She didn't give me a listen. I wonder if she knows what went down…?”

“The Ministry already went to his home and found her there. I'm sure she knows.”

“Does she know anything?” he asked and Harry looked at him questioningly. “I mean about what Draco was, well, is up to or where he might be?”

“I'm sure if she did the Ministry would know now too having questioned her under a truth serum.”

“I think we should go talk to her,” Réamann suddenly announced.

“Why?”

“I don't know, to get answers from her, to tell her the truth about Draco, convince her to come back to the light…I don't know. I haven't had a chance for a proper talk with her since before all this mess broke and I feel unresolved,” he ranted, already standing. Harry looked at the younger wizard for a long moment and then nodded in agreement. He would take Réamann to go see Ginny, and be there to keep the situation calm. He too wanted Ginny to see the light and come back to the side of right.

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

Ginny was in the living room, tidying up as a means of dealing with the stress of her day. Clarissa was washing up for bed, her teeth brushed, her curling hair combed (so it was full and puffing now) and tied back, and her face washed. Clarissa had not been home when the Ministry had barged in on her in Draco's apartment, and she was glad of it. She had been interrogated and harassed and forced to take a truth potion and answer impossible questions about Draco, but in the end found to be innocent of any wrongdoing when it came to Draco's illegal activities. The Aurors had left her alone, in time for Clarissa to come home from school and squeal in excitement of having a slumber party for two.

Her stomach still unsettled, her nerves still frazzled, Ginny nearly screamed when there was a CRACK and two men appeared nearly out of her peripheral vision.

“It's alright, Ginny, it's just Réamann and I,” Harry assured, holding his hands up to ease Ginny down.

“Harry? Réamann? What the bloody hell are you doing here?” she hissed, keeping her voice down in hopes that Clarissa wouldn't hear them over the rushing water and her cheerful hums that were drifting from the not-too-distant bathroom.

“We wanted to see if you were alright,” Harry said, speaking softly, though not as softly as Ginny.

“And to talk to you,” Réamann added.

“I don't want to talk to you, either of you,” she snapped. “Go away, get out, this is not your house, how dare you Apparate directly into it!”

“This isn't your house either,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh fuck you, Harry,” she seethed.

“Alright, please…Ginny, calm down. We came here to talk, please let us do so without yelling, or cursing…PUT YOUR WAND AWAY!” he gasped, eyes widening as Ginny pulled her wand and pointed it at the two men.

“I have had it with you, all of you, strutting about and attempting to control my future! I know why you are here, to try and tell me that Draco is no good, that I should get away from him while I still can, that he will bring me down with him and that he is doing terrible things,” she growled, wand pointed between Réamann and Harry each with a snap, both men flinching when the wand tip fell on them.

“Ginny…” Réamann attempted.

“No, you do not know him. I know how things look, and I know you think I'm a whore, and that Draco has me under some sort of spell, or believing some web of lies. I know the Ministry thinks I'm covering for him, and you think he is mental and a terrible person...but I know all that to be untrue!”

“Ginny,” Harry now attempted to speak. “We do not think you are a whore, and we do not think you had anything to do with what Draco is doing now or that you are covering up for him,” he said, Réamann shaking his head to show he didn't believe any of that either.

“But you believe the rest of it,” she snapped, wand pointed at Harry again.

“Ginny, he is crazy,” he said, being quite bold with his choice of words considering he had a wand pointed at his throat.

“Oh, if that's not the pot calling the cauldron black, Harry. How many hours of therapy have you been in? Three times a week you went while we were married and you were still tormented by nightmares, flashbacks, night sweats…How dare you stand here, traumatized by all you went through, and fault Draco for being in worse condition after being through the same and so much more!”

“He didn't-”

“He didn't get therapy after the war, he didn't get counseling. No, he got a jail sentence. I'm surprised he can even function after spending ten years in that place because of you.”

“It was not my fault!” Harry shouted, Réamann looking at him, Harry having basically said it was his fault while in his office not but a few minutes ago. Harry felt guilty…but was it his fault, or wasn't it?

“You left him there to rot, I did too, but where I made amends, you just ignored him.”

“Yeah, made `amends' by fucking him! Forgive me for not feeling guilty enough to do the same!” Harry snapped.

“Fuck you, Harry.”

“I tried to make things right, I tried to help him, I made sure he was probated as soon as his time came up, but he refused me in every attempt I made after that. Even at Christmas I offered him the Black Family savings and he turned it down!”

“I'm not surprised. He doesn't want your pity, or your guilt money.”

“It's not guilt money!” Harry fumed, Draco having accused him of the same thing.

“Whatever. All I know is that you think he is evil; you think he is guilty of these attacks, that's why you are here…but I know him to be innocent! I know he is a far greater man than you will ever be!” she spat, that last comment really smarting Harry. Réamann was caught standing there, unsure of what to say. This was all a mess. He thought if anyone was going to get in a shouting match with Ginny, it would be him.

“There was a time that I respected you,” Harry growled.

“I can say the same about you,” she said, throwing that right back up in Harry's face. More would have been said, but the doorbell rang right then, as though sent as some divine intervention that Réamann had been hoping for.

“I got it,” all three said at once. Ginny turned to glare at the two men, stopping them in their tracks, before tucking her wand in her armpit and pulling open the door to allow in a gust of cold.

“Hello,” Derrick Hammond said, looking cold and a little unsure.

“Hello, who are you?” Ginny asked, not recognizing the man and trying to keep her residual hostility out of her voice so she simply sounded curious.

“I am Derrick, Derrick Hammond. I am a friend of Angel's,” he said before then adding. “Well, Draco.”

“He isn't home at the moment,” she said apologetically, frowning her brow.

“I actually came to talk to you about him,” he said, seemingly knowing about Ginny and Ginny a little uncomfortable since Draco had never mentioned this man to her before as near as she could recall. “Could I come in?” he said, looking a little uncomfortable himself in having to ask.

“Oh, I'm sorry, come in, I'm being rude,” she said, taking a deep and calming breath so that all the anger that still clung in her features left over from Harry and Réamann faded away.

“I'm sorry to make such a late house call, but Draco showed up unexpectedly at my home today, looking a right mess, and I am worried about him. I think he is in the middle of something that has gotten way out of hand and he is over his head,” he confessed, talking to Ginny but taking in the other two men in the room.

“Draco came to you, today?” Harry demanded.

“Yes,” Derrick said, glad that Harry and Réamann were there, just like he had been told they would.

“What did he say to you? Is he alright?” Ginny demanded, fighting not to shake the man so as to physically dislodge the answers from him.

“What do you mean when you said you think he is in the middle of something that has him over his head? What did he say to you?” Harry inquired fiercely.

“He wouldn't tell me, I asked!” he said, suddenly defensive at the last with the look Harry gave him. “I asked him again and again what he was up to and he wouldn't tell me. Then this other chap showed up, Sebastian was the only name I overheard them use, and they started talking about goblins and gold.”

“Were they talking about Gringott? Are they going to do something to the Wizarding Bank?” Réamann asked, Harry shocked silent for a moment by the news of Sebastian being a part of this, assuming that it was the same Sebastian he knew. How many Sebastians could Draco know?

“No, no, they seemed to be talking about finding some sort of buried gold, like a hidden treasure. They were talking amongst themselves, not filling me in on any of it so I am as clueless as you, but I do know they set out to Wiltshire.”

“Wiltshire?” Ginny asked. Draco's home was out in Wiltshire…that wasn't a coincidence, was it?

“Yes, something about going to Castle Hill,” he said, Harry and Réamann already preparing to leave.

“Wait, no,” Ginny said, spinning on them to try and stop them.

“We have to stop Draco and Sebastian before they do anything more,” Réamann said, Harry still coming to grips with Sebastian's apparent guilt.

“Draco is innocent, whatever is happening, he is not a part of it. He is planning something, or, or…” she said, desperately trying to get them to see her sureness in Draco's innocents.

“Don't come with us,” Harry warned, Disapparating on that note. Réamann gave Ginny an apologetic look as Clarissa wandered into view, looking worried and scared and unsure.

“Look after her,” he said, knowing that that would keep Ginny from following more than Harry's order.

Ginny took a deep breath and sobbed, feeling her stomach gurgle in a way that she knew meant she was going to be sick.

“Uncle Derrick, what's going on, where's Daddy?” Clarissa asked meekly, as she came up to latch onto the man's hip, it obvious she knew him when Ginny was still clueless as to whom he could be.

“Your father knows what he is doing,” Derrick assured, Ginny turning her back on the little girl only so as to hide her tears.

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

“Will you stop messing with those damn things and help me?” Sebastian barked, Draco crouched down by the cages that contained the Nifflers, growling at them playfully, poking them through the bars to get them to spin around and chirp.

Draco raised his head, much like a dog would, and glared at Sebastian as he remained crouched low in the snow on hands and feet.

“I don't know what you would have me do. I lead you here, I helped you carry these cages from the car, and you yourself said I wouldn't be much help digging,” he drawled.

“Be a goddamn lookout while I let loose the Nifflers.”

“It is past dark and we are on the far side of a giant hill, out of sight of the sleepy Muggle town. Who will see us?”

“Us,” Harry announced, holding his wand up to send a hex at Draco while Réamann did the same to the unsuspecting Sebastian whose back was nearly turned.

Draco's pupils contracted to slits as the bright light of Harry's spell came at him. Draco narrowed his less than human eyes as he sprung backwards on his crouching hands and feet so the spell just missed him. Harry sent another curse at Draco that made contact but it seemed to affect Draco very little as he charged forward to grab Harry by the wrist and twist it down so that Harry gasped in pain and involuntarily dropped his wand.

“I am quite resistant to magic, Potter, didn't you know?” Draco growled into his face from inches away, sharp teeth from when he had been playing with the Nifflers bared. A gunshot sounded and Réamann froze, as did Draco and Harry, all looking over at Sebastian who was on the ground, in a leg-locking charm, gun fired off into the air but now pointed at Réamann.

“Back off,” he warned, Réamann complying without a word. Draco grabbed Harry's wand from the ground and twisted his arm harder so now it was pinned behind Harry's own back painfully. Draco marched him over to where Réamann was standing, disarmed by Sebastian already. Sebastian petrified the two men and handed Réamann's wand off to Draco too, pocketing his gun again and drawing out his own wand to free his legs and stand dignified, running his hand over his chin to smooth his goatee.

“How did you find us here?” he demanded, Draco stuffing his free hand into his coat pocket where the wands were protruding. Harry and Réamann said nothing, both glaring, either at Sebastian or Draco, each. “Talk!” he bellowed, pointing his sparking wand at Réamann's throat and pushing his chin up and back with it.

“A man came to us saying Draco had visited his home today. He feared Draco was up to something, something bad,” Harry answered so Réamann would not be hurt.

“That old fool. I told you, did I not say before we left, I should have used a memory charm on him so he couldn't go to anyone!” Sebastian shouted at Draco, knowing exactly who Harry was talking about.

“I did not think he would go to Potter, of all people,” Draco snapped in his own defense.

“Who knows you are here?” Sebastian then shouted at Harry, pointing his wand at him then as the four men stood in the crisp white snow that seemed rather dull with the moon gone from the sky.

Harry and Réamann said nothing again, but this time because they were embarrassed by the answer. They had shown up directly from Draco's apartment where they had left Ginny. They had not even thought about calling for backup or filling the Ministry in. Harry cursed his sometimes pigheadedness. Sure he had taken down the most powerful wizard in recent decades, and each of his years in Hogwarts were adventures for the ages, but he had foolishly charged into a situation not knowing the full dangers and had, resultantly, fallen into a trap.

This was not the first time Harry had fallen into such a trap because of Malfoy. This was like that rooftop during the final battle all over again and this time Draco was look damn pleased with himself.

“They didn't tell anyone they were coming. They thought they could get the drop on us,” Draco answered for Sebastian, knowing exactly why Harry and Réamann were looking so abashed and fuming.

Sebastian laughed. “What fools,” he said. “And how perfect, Réamann Rossiter here, just the man we were looking for, and Harry Potter, someone who can attest to our -mine and Draco's- innocents and have no one dare challenge it!”

“I would never do such a thing!” Harry shouted, wishing he could move, unable to even struggle as he stood there, stiff as an ice sculpture in the snow.

“Please, you are not above the effects of a memory charm. Réamann here will be believing, before we are through here tonight, that he is the one responsible for all the attacks on the Muggles-”

“I am quite good at implementing memories into others' minds, right Potter?” Draco interrupted, Harry knowing of this skill of Draco's firsthand having be subject to it nearly every time they had been within close quarters for years now. He knew Draco could evoke memories in others, and share his own, but take memories from one person -in this case Sebastian- and implant them in another -like Réamann-? That was a seriously frightening ability. The Dark Lord had been able to create such false memories in people.

“Right, well…and you, Harry will have false memories of coming here to stop your friend, insane with rage, from killing poor innocent Draco…me at your side, nobly of course,” Sebastian finished smugly.

“You bastards, both of you! You two have been planning all this from the start!” Réamann seethed, outraged, and scared.

“Please,” Sebastian drawled. “Draco, clever as he is, was no part of this mastery until the end. He is, how you say, an unwelcome appendage in this.”

“What are you doing, why are you doing this?” Harry demanded.

“Why should I tell you?” Sebastian taunted.

“What harm is to be had in doing so, they will have their memories erased shortly anyways, and we have time to waste after we release the Nifflers,” Draco commented so calmly. Sebastian looked over at him.

“Right, the Nifflers. Let them out of the cages. I want to get this over with before the sun comes.”

Draco nodded obediently and moved over to the cages where the Nifflers edged about. He opened the cage and grabbed one around the middle in both his arms, to prevent it from struggling and wiggling too greatly, and carried it clutched to his stomach over to the hill where its steep manmade, or maybe Goblinmade, sides started to rise from the earth.

“Shoo, find gold,” he muttered to it, repeating with each of the five Nifflers, letting them loose a few feet apart each, hoping they would be quick.

“You and Draco have been killing Muggles for weeks, so what are you doing here on this empty hill?” Réamann asked as Draco worked and Sebastian oversaw it.

“The murders-”

“Which I had nothing to do with,” Draco interrupted.

“Right, well, they were to serve as distraction for the Ministry, so I could have my way with this search,” Sebastian explained dryly.

“Search for what?” Harry asked.

“Goblin Gold,” Draco answered for them, letting loose the last Niffler.

“You have been attacking and killing Muggles for gold?” Harry asked, sickened by the very idea that someone's greed could be so consuming.

“Yup,” Sebastian answered simply.

“And you were helping him cover up his involvement in the murders the whole time,” Réamann accused Draco.

“Nope,” Draco answered just as simply as Sebastian had Harry's question.

“Then what is your involvement in all this? Why are you here?”

“I want some gold,” Draco said with a smirk as though that were the obvious answer.

“I offered you gold!” Harry shouted at him.

“And I told you I could get my own gold, without your help, didn't I?” Draco quipped.

“Draco wouldn't be here, getting a share of my gold, if my attempt in using him as my scapegoat hadn't-”

“Backfired miserably given that is was so poorly conceived,” Draco finished for him, looking over his shoulder then to see if any Nifflers had resurfaced.

“What?”

“Well, as I plan to do with Réamann tonight, I intended, initially, it to be Draco's fate. But, unfortunately-”

“I cannot have my mind modified as easily as the common bloke, and I figured out Sebastian's involvement in the murders, as I shared with Réamann who didn't believe me,” Draco said, finishing again for Sebastian but making a brief bitter detour to glare at Réamann because the man had refused to trust him. “I'm here because I-”

“Blackmailed me,” Sebastian answered, cutting Draco off then, glaring at the werewolf for taking all his glory in explaining his deed and constantly interrupting him.

“Wait, so you, Sebastian, were attacking and killing Muggles so that the Ministry would not realize what you were really up to, and Draco is only here because he caught you at it and is using that information to get a chunk of the gold you are after?” Harry asked, trying to make sense of all he was being told by the two men trying to tell the same story while having a mild power struggle between themselves.

“That about sums it up. And I would have gotten away with it too-”

“If it weren't for you meddling kids,” Draco muttered and Sebastian looked at him as though he hadn't quite caught that or understood its relevance. “Hey, what do you want, I'm a father, I watch cartoons…don't look at me like that,” he said, turning to see what the first Niffler to return was bearing. Harry was blinking rapidly as his brain whirled around to deal with a completely different bit of information he was just proposed with.

Draco, father, what?

“What I meant to say was: I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for Draco being so damn clever. I tried bullying him off the investigation, while he worked trying to break the case secretly with you, Réamann, as your informant, but just by doing that alone I seemed to convey some sort of guilt and he was able to decipher the little clues I left behind.”

“So you can take that and shove it up your arse, Réamann, for being such a stubborn bastard that you never trusted me, even while I was sincerely trying to help you and the Ministry,” Draco said, taking the shiny pebble the Niffler offered him and rewarding it with a pat on the bum but sending it off to find real treasure, not just pretty stones. He pocketed it, however. His son liked stones.

“I was justified in never trusting you, as it turns out, look at you! You are helping this batty frame me, and Harry!” Réamann shouted.

“Oh, not Harry, just you,” Draco smirked, coming back to join the group. “And you pushed me to this, don't fool yourself into believing that I would have set out to do this if I hadn't been backed into a corner. I tried to help, I tried to do the right thing, I tried to be honest and noble and sincere and what happened? I was punished for it…again! Fuck you, fuck all of you. I'm tired of being punished for who my father was. I'm tired of being blamed for things that were not my fault…and I'm tired of you looking at me like that, Potter, so knock it off,” Draco snapped, drawing his gun and pointing at Harry steadily, his angry eyes slits because of his rage.

“Draco, heal,” Sebastian commanded, grabbing Draco by the wrist, Draco's gun, and his wand, no longer pointing at anything but the ground. “We can't kill the Ministry's Golden Boy,” he said and Draco looked disappointed and pouty as he let Sebastian lower his arm further. “Check on the Nifflers,” he then said, hearing another scratch its way to the surface.

“This won't work,” Réamann attempted to be bold, staying firm despite the hopelessness of the situation.

“Oh, really, why is that?” Sebastian mocked, thoroughly sure of himself, with no real reason not to be at the moment given Harry and Réamann's condition.

“Because you made the mistake of giving me a gun,” Draco said, his voice soft but menacing, so close that Sebastian could feel Draco's warm breath on the back of his neck.

Sebastian spun and Draco ducked as the man took a swing at him. Draco was kneeling in the snow with his gun drawn and pointing, but Sebastian was standing there, his gun drawn and doing the same at Draco.

Harry and Réamann, unable to move, just stared in disbelief.

“Draco, you mean to kill me, wanting more gold for yourself?” Sebastian growled but Draco cut him off.

“There is no gold here,” he said and Sebastian's arms twitched slightly but he remained firm. Draco stood up, adjusting his aim while doing so, Sebastian and him now a few feet apart but at gunpoint each.

“Yes there is, the Goblin Lord-”

“Buried his treasure in Cley Hill, not Castle Hill. You should have let me go on about the history a bit more, you might have been able to poke holes in my lie if you had. Your mistake I guess.”

“So this is about the money, you would take my share?”

“It would serve you right after all you have done to me,” Draco snapped back.

“What is your plan then? Erase my memory too? You cannot use magic without the ministry knowing, and even if you used some form of Legilimency, you can't Apparate, you had no means of even getting here without me. The Ministry would investigate and discover the truth. You need me.”

“Now, only a fool would stand here and explain every last detail of their plan and intentions to their advisory,” Draco mocked, reaching into his coat pocket again and this time withdrawing a small tape recorder. He hit a button with a click, another with a whirling sound, and then again where the last minute of their conversation played back to them. Sebastian looked murderous.

“You!”

“Surprise,” he said teasingly tilting the tape recorder back and forth in his hand playfully. “Didn't expect me to turn on you, and side with the Ministry in the end, likely sacrificing the gold and my freedom in the process, did you?”

“What? Why?”

Draco just shrugged. “I'm a glutton for punishment, but I think I have earned the respect of those two over there, at last,” Draco said, indicating Harry and Réamann that were gaping at him, “and that, really, is enough for me,” he concluded, only Ginny knowing how much he desired to have the respect of those he scarified so much for those years ago.

“I won't let you ruin this for me!” Sebastian shouted, drawing his wand then too so it was pointed at Draco, the gun in Harry and Réamann's direction. “What to do, what to do? Save yourself, or save your little friends?” Sebastian taunted.

“Haven't you learned anything tonight? Magic won't affect me-”

“A killing curse would, am I right?” Sebastian cut off and Draco paled. He gripped his gun a little firmer and Sebastian noticed.

“Ah-ah,” he taunted while shaking his head, backing Draco down. “I can think a curse faster than you can pull that trigger,” he assured, Draco believing him. “Over to them, over there NOW,” he commanded, inclining his head and giving it a little shake to direct Draco to stand by Harry and Réamann. “It was a toss up for me, Draco. I was conflicted between holding up my end of the bargain, or just killing you after your usefulness was through. I could make it all unfold to seem like I had caught you about to kill again and did what I had to do to stop you.”

“Don't you think I figured you would consider killing me?” Draco snapped impatiently, annoyed that Sebastian would think him so gullible. “I sent Derrick to my home tonight, sure that Potter and or Réamann would be there for him to tell them my cover, something I knew they would believe: that I was up to no good and that he was feeling guilty knowing the truth.”

“Why send them here? What good has that done? Look at them! Helpless!”

“They got you talking, and kept you talking. You are a walking cliché, you know that right? You blabbed you entire plan and means to those who would stop you! You are a damn fool!”

“And my confession will do you no good, you will be dead and Réamann and Harry will be without minds in but a few short min-”

“That's why I arranged for the Ministry to meet us here,” Draco said with a satisfied smile.

“What?” Sebastian, Harry, and Réamann all said at once.

Draco smiled quite satisfactually, about to do what he had just berated Sebastian for, which was divulge his plan…but the difference was, Draco's was already set in motion, there was nothing Sebastian could do to stop him. Not even killing him would do anything; it would actually, quite possibly, just make things worse. “Knowing Harry and/or Réamann would abandon Ginny in my home alone with Derrick upon learning of my most certain guilt, I told Derrick to confide in Ginny the truth once they were alone, and have her bring the Ministry here. I had made sure she would be at my home tonight previously, which worked out nicely, because even if Harry and Réamann weren't there by chance, Ginny would still have been told to gather the Ministry, sabotaging your plans one way or another,” Draco stated, drawing the greatest satisfaction from seeing the raw horror and rage on Sebastian's pale pointed face. He wished he could see Potter's too. He was sure it was priceless.

Sebastian let out a shriek of pure rage and pulled the trigger of his gun out of just being so tensed. Draco, without considering this first, dodged to the left, catching the bullet in the shoulder, a bullet that would have struck Réamann in the chest otherwise.

Draco collapsed onto his knees with a cry of pain, and with his right arm he aimed and fired his own gun, catching Sebastian in the right leg, twisting it out from under him with a burst of blood that sprayed the white snow. Sebastian fell, and Draco stood, left shoulder bleeding profusely. He kicked Sebastian's gun away, and his wand.

“Draco…” Harry muttered, not sure what he could say to the man.

“Don't ever doubt me again, Potter,” Draco warned, looking at Harry from over his shoulder and Harry eyes agreeing as Draco fell to his knees again. “Shit, being shot really fucking hurts! Leave it to Muggles to develop such a barbaric thing as a gun,” he grumbled, wanting to hold his shoulder but it hurting too much to do so. He had never been shot before, he figured it would hurt, he could assume as much just by knowing the sheer mechanics of a gun and the principle behind it, but somehow this hurt far worse than he had anticipated. Réamann seriously owed him for this.

A moment passed as Sebastian moaned and cursed in the snow, a few Nifflers surfaced to chirp and purr over the shiny bits of this-and-that they found, and Draco hissed in pain before Réamann spoke.

“Why?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did you do all this?”

“Because it was the right thing to do? Maybe?” he replied, a touch bitterly.

“Draco,” Harry attempted and Draco just looked at him, knowing what Harry was about to ask and preempting that with that little trick of Legilimency he had threatened Harry with already that night. He thrust upon Harry memories and knowledge all the things he had lost in the war, letting Harry see Butler Paul's blinding first, then his murder, both while Draco had been forced to watch as some kind of punishment for things Draco still did not understand. He made Harry see Snape's death from his perspective since Harry had been there but missed what it had meant to him to have Snape die to save him, Draco, but turn to look at Harry as his last act on this earth. He showed Harry his aunt's death at the hands of Molly Weasley during one of the many battles. He shared with Harry the circumstances of his father's death, and Harry was, by that time, crying at all the foreign memories and emotions that came with it. Draco then showed Harry that night shared between Ginny and him, and that there had been no sex, just Draco finding solace in Ginny's honest acceptance of him, and her love. It was basically what he had done with Ginny the night before, only without words, or tears on his part, just the cold, hard, harsh memories thrust into someone else. It was a cruel way of letting someone know him, see him, understand him but Draco -for some reason- wasn't all that concerned with Harry's feelings in the matter.

“I could not lose her too,” Draco said, speaking of Ginny, meaning he could not have gone through with Sebastian's plan that he had agreed to because, as little respect as Harry seemed to have for Ginny at the moment, Draco knew she would not excuse or accept what he did, and she would leave him.

Harry stood there, still frozen, tears running down his cheeks in the icy cold air.

“I expect you to take care of me this time, Harry,” Draco said softly, looking at Harry for the first time that night with soft eyes while also using his first name. Harry, unable to move, just muttered “Yes,” softly, just as the sound of a dozen wizards Apparating sounded all around them

The Ministry was finally there.

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Author's Note:

28 pages long, damn this is a long chapter, sorry.

The leather pants were a fan-service to my faithful readers. Sorry, that is one cliché I just could not deny. Slender Draco + leather pants = hawt sex.

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30. Chapter 30

Blue-Eyed Angel

Epilogue

Four days in Azkaban was like an eternity, and Draco had not managed to eat or sleep in the entirety of his stay. Needless to say, by the time Ginny came to pick him up that weekend, he was weak and sickly. Not that he had been all that healthy as of late anyways, but he had declined quite exponentially in that short time and it worried those around him, even the guards.

Harry had been his first visitor; along with the lawyer he was supplying to represent Draco.

“Draco…I,” he attempted to speak but Draco wouldn't have it.

“Don't even try and apologize to me, Potter,” Draco cut him off. Harry nodded readily, not about to argue or retaliate, feeling he really deserved a major chewing out after all this mess. He hadn't slept since that night on the hill either, not after having seen those terrible memories that Draco had inflicted on him. He couldn't even imagine having lived them. He wasn't about to enquire further into the comment Draco had made about being a father either, even though he had opportunity. He had not known Draco was a father, or when and how this could have come about, but he knew it wasn't his place to ask, let alone use his influence to find out. Curiosity ate away at him, like it always did, but guilt was even more consuming at the moment, so he managed to hold off and wait to find out who Draco Malfoy really was. He owed it to the other man to get him out of this mess first.

“I am impressed that you were able to manipulate that whole scene so well…that you managed to keep such a level head, and plan it all out ahead of time-”

“Please, I was flying by the seat of my trousers, my plan unfolding as I went along,” Draco brushed off, not about to sit there behind iron bars and listen to Harry's empty complements and praise. It was all a means for Harry to make himself feel better and less uncomfortable, the amount of guilt Draco could sense coming from the boy-hero evidence of that.

Maybe Harry really did mean what he was saying, but Draco did not care, not right then, probably not ever. Harry's words meant nothing to him. His actions were what counted; he could do without Harry ever speaking to him again.

“You mean, you weren't certain it would all work out?” Harry gaped, looking at Draco through the bars that the werewolf in front of him feared so much. It had all been a gamble? Draco was here in Azkaban, but he could have wound up here for real, for a real long time if things had not unfolded exactly as they had? Harry was shocked. Where did Draco learn to be so self-sacrificing? More importantly, why would Draco be so munificent in regards to him? Certainly Draco's sense of right doing wasn't as strong as his extreme dislike for Harry, right? He couldn't have seen past his hate to do the harder, right thing…or could he? Harry swallowed the lump that was crawling up his throat from his stomach.

“Far from certain,” Draco muttered. “My only safety net was Ginny getting the Ministry to show up when they did, regardless of whether or not I would get a taped confession out of Sebastian,” he said flatly, a little biffed that he was reading all these waves of shock off of Harry. He had been selfless and it stunned Harry. That was mildly insulting. His actions astounded Harry to the point of dragging himself all the way out to Azkaban to see him when in ten years of his original sentence Harry had done no such thing. How little did Harry really think of him before now, even after everything he had done in the war? Had kissing Ginny truly created such a blindness in Harry, blindness due to rage and hurt, that he was unable to see him for who he truly was? Or was it Harry's pride not allowing him to admit he had been wrong, that he had had the wrong impression…perception…of him, Draco, for so long?

Draco was a mind reader, and even that wasn't enough for him to understand the inner workings of Harry Potter's mind.

“Jesus,” Harry muttered.

“Will everyone stop calling me that?” Draco griped with a familiar hint of his ever-present sarcasm, his left shoulder bandaged up and arm in a sling. The bruises around his eyes from Réamann and Ron were turning green around the edges, but he wasn't allowed to be healed by magic, not until the investigation had followed through and his involvement in all matters were understood. Harry was seeing that it got done as fast as possible, but that still left Draco with a gaping wound in his shoulder and Draco felt the need to tell people that he was prone to infection. Did they not understand that filthy cells breed bacteria? Did they not realize that Lycanthropy had obliterated his immune system? It's not like he hadn't just recently spent ten years there, he couldn't imagine them forgetting the handful of times he had nearly died from the diseases that crawled around in that hellhole.

“You handled it all really well,” Harry commended and Draco just humphed, trying not to think about his blood going septic again but his mind overrun with all-around cantankerous thoughts so it wasn't like he had anything more positive to fixate on at the moment.

“It wouldn't have worked at all if you weren't so ready and willing to believe the worst of me. If there was a doubt in your mind as to my guilt you wouldn't have rushed there like I knew you would.”

“Draco…no…I'm sorry,”

“Yeah, yeah, you feel like an arsehole, blah, blah, blah, you are sorry...Harry, please, just save it. Get me out of here, make whatever statements you need to, to whatever people that will take the appropriate actions, and just let me be, awright? Honestly, your constant apologies are not making you or I feel better and you are wearing on my nerves,” he grumbled, wanting nothing more than to go home. He would even pass up the opportunity of punching Harry Potter in the face at that moment just to be able to go home…but, since that wasn't about to happen…

While Harry was right up against the bars, looking down in his humble-shame that looked like a practiced act because Harry had never been humble or shameful before in his life, Draco pulled his right arm back and clobbered him in the face through the bars, as hard as he could. With a shout and then a groan of pain as he held his broken and bleeding nose, the Chosen-One was knocked backwards onto the damp cobblestone floor where he lay crumpled on his side.

Draco's hand really hurt as he kinda hopped there, shaking it out, but he felt better despite it.

“Don't act as though you did not have that coming, fourteen years coming,” Draco warned as Harry's eyes watered, blood flowing over his mouth from his busted nose.

Draco had wanted to do that for years.

Now he was ready to go home.

Eventually, that was made a possibility.

“Are you ready to go?” Ginny asked, her voice soft and unassuming, waiting for Draco to decide and him to move when he was ready. She knew he wanted to leave that place more than anything, yet he was slow moving and lingering, and she knew that had very little to do with his hurt shoulder or weak legs. He seemed scared, and Ginny couldn't blame him, even if she did not fully understand all he was afraid of. Draco was scared of that place, but he almost seemed more afraid of the outside world, in not knowing what his reception would be, and Ginny unable to assure him one way or another could not help ease him.

“I have to do something first,” Draco muttered, his voice lost to the days spent in the prison. Ginny nodded, holding her coat and Draco's in her arms, him delaying to have to put it on with his throbbing shoulder still aching. The cold-wetness of that place had set in so his whole left shoulder and side ached at the thought of moving them, let alone applying pressure. He knew it was an infection.

Draco was led out to a courtyard where it was slick with mud and smelled of foul things. He trudged through alone -even though it was exhausting to move in the sludge even for someone as able-bodied as Ginny or the guard- Ginny following at a distance wishing Draco would allow himself to lean on her for support but not even offering it, knowing he would not accept it anyways. She watched him approach a simple grave marker and stuff his right hand deep in his pocket. He thanked the man who left him there alone. Ginny wondered off at that point, wanting to give Draco some space as it started to drizzle freezing rain.

“Hi…dad,” Draco muttered to the grave, back bowed forward in insecure posture, head down, hair stringing and wet. He hadn't seen or spoken to his father since before the war and hadn't been able to bear the thought of coming back to Azkaban once a free man to see him. He felt shame for that, but more so, he missed his daddy.

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January passed in a hail of unusually harsh snows and February dawned to bring calmness. The snow piled high, the trees bare and sagging under the weight of it all, the wizarding world was collecting itself as a sense of ease and peace swept over the people that had little to do with the gentler weather and everything to do with the end of the terrible attacks and the trial of one Sebastian Aurum.

“And, as the Minister of Magic, it is my privilege and great honor to reward you, Harry Potter, and you Réamann Rossiter, with the order of Merlin, Second-Class, for your outstanding courage and unrivaled selflessness!” the Minister announced loudly from the top of the stairs where a podium was set, so all gathered to witness this ceremony could hear and see them elevated as Harry and Réamann each stepped forward to receive the medal they were being offered with a bowing of their heads to accept them around their necks. They stood in Hogsmeade, an entirely magical town large enough (larger than little Diagon Alley by far) to offer a place of gathering for such an occasion.

People stood about, clapping and cheering in the cold and snow, the sun bright, as Harry and Réamann smiled their perfect public face and shook the Minister's hand. Puffs of thick purple smoke rose into the air as bright flashes, like lightning, went off, reporters getting their stories for the evening news and front-page reports.

It was all over, the investigation, the trial, the sentencing. Everyone's lives were back to normal…well, for the most part.

In the shadow of a building's overhang, far from the spectacle but the sound currying regardless, a man stood alone. Weight bared on one leg as the other was crossed at the ankle casually, a cigarette burning in his delicate fingertips of his fingerless gloves; Draco Malfoy watched the ceremony with narrowed silver eyes that almost looked too pale to be possible in the bright sunlight just edging the shadow he crept.

It didn't take long for the crowd to disperse, many gathering around Harry to congratulate him personally, some heading in out of the cold, all talking about what they had just seen that day. Réamann got several congratulations himself but was mostly pushed aside so that those could get a better look at Harry, and maybe the chance to shake his noble hand in theirs.

Réamann looked over the bustling crowd from the stairs he was atop of still, and saw Draco in the distance. He sighed with a slight smile and pushed his way to stand with him.

“Hey,” he said.

“I wouldn't fret, it is impossible to compete with Potter's celebrity,” Draco commented, having seen Réamann pushed aside and nearly trampled in everyone's attempts to tell Harry just how great he is.

“I don't care. I'm not looking for attention,” Réamann said with a shrug, his silver medal glinting in the sunlight with that small movement.

“Order of Merlin, Second-Class,” Draco said, putting his cigarette to his lips so he could free his hand to pick up Réamann's medal and look at it, tilting it in a few angles as though to inspect its quality and luster. “That's all my efforts are worth? A Second Class?” Draco muttered through his lips that held the cigarette, his left arm still in a sling.

“I'm rather happy with it. It's my first award, and I think `Réamann Rossiter, Order of Merlin, Second-Class,' has a nice ring to it,” he said as Draco flung the medal into Réamann's chest a little harder than was necessary just to release it.

“Just what Potter needs, another medal, and award, and title. He needs a scroll three feet long to fit all the honors he has been given, and a room in his house just for the awards,” Draco grumbled.

“We tried to see to it that you were given this same award…”

“I guess I will just have to settle for that pardon of mine,” Draco said with a dreg of his cigarette.

“I wish I could have done more,” he said.

“You have done enough.”

“No, I really wronged you…”

“And I wronged you, in a very personal way…we are even. It all worked out in the end, you won't doubt me again-”

“No, never,” Réamann assured quickly.

“And that is the best I could hope for.”

“Here,” Réamann said, making as though to take his medal off and offer it to Draco but Draco placing and holding his cigarette in his lips again to use his now free hand to prevent Réamann from getting as far as lifting the medal off his shoulders.

“No, you earned that, it is yours.”

“You earned it,” Réamann argued.

“It has your name on it, cherish it. You got that promotion I hear,” Draco said conversationally, making it so Réamann could not argue further with the topic already changed.

“Yes. It is nice. My office is really posh,” he said, still feeling guilty that Draco was down in the Hall of Records after all was said and done. His original promise was to get Draco out of there, and he hadn't managed that. Yes, Draco was now pardoned, so that was a bit more than he could have hoped for he supposed, but still…he felt like he didn't hold to his word. Draco deserved a promotion, but Draco seemed relatively content. That might have something to do with the fact that he had a small fortune again. Nothing comparable to that of the Malfoy estate (he hadn't gotten that back) but Réamann knew Draco had finally accepted the Black family estate from Harry, probably due to a lot of nagging from Ginny. Draco's little inheritance seemed larger than Harry had described it, however, and Réamann was suspicious of where the seemingly extra amassed wealth came from. Draco had hinted something about `extracurricular quarry' leaving him sore and Réamann had a feeling that that was Draco's well-bred and airy way of saying he had acquired the Goblin Gold Sebastian had been looking for. That would be poetically ironic, even if it had, in the end, turned out to not be as massive as first imagined. From where Draco had just come, it was more than enough apparently.

Draco was up in Hogsmeade now, so he claimed, to see Michelangelo and talk with him about moving upon his return home for the summer. Number twelve Grimmauld Place would be fixed up and ready for habitation by then.

“Thank you for addressing the media, and helping clear things so Ginny's reputation may be saved,” Draco said softly then, flicking his cigarette and making a pained face, his shoulder still hurting him. His infection had gotten bad, bad enough to land him in St. Mungo's for a week, but he was on the up and up now. He was still not allowed potions because of his abuse of them in the past…or so they claimed, so healing for him was Muggle slow until he could find a Healer that wouldn't “lose” his paperwork.

“I couldn't let her get brought down by the media and be ruined for this. Not for this,” he said. Réamann and gone to any and every publication he could think of, denying that Ginny had had an affair. He claimed to have been in on the ordeal from the beginning, saying that he had agreed to remain Ginny's public façade so that she and Draco could date in peace. He had saved Ginny's reputation and even managed to get her parents to speak to her again, give her a chance to explain things to them herself. Draco's first meeting with them…“the family”…was still pending, and Draco -not typically a procrastinator- was putting it off with every excuse he could amass. His current was waiting for his shoulder to heal. Ginny couldn't argue with that if every time she mentioned a family dinner Draco would act a little faint and sore. A few whimpers and some puppy-dog eyes could get her to crumple like nothing.

No one was happy that Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy were dating, but at least it was not common opinion that she was a tart. He was still a Death Eater, and dangerous werewolf as far as most were all concerned, even with his newly issued pardon, but he could live with all that, his reputation years ago having been ruined. He was thankful he had not done the same to Ginny's. He hoped to not truly be an affliction.

“Draco, just take care of her for me,” Réamann said firmly, looking right at Draco then. He looked him right in the eyes, purposefully, so Draco would know all that he was feeling and know that Réamann was confident in letting Draco know his true feelings in the matter. “Don't make me regret my decision. Take care of her, and love her…for me,” he said. Draco looked at him for a long moment before closing his eyes and nodding. He offered Réamann his hand to shake, which Réamann did, but Draco was surprised by Réamann pulling him into a one-armed-hug where he was then pounded on the back a few times in a very masculine form of affection.

“Ow,” Draco grumbled, Réamann ignoring Draco since he was a constant bellyacher.

“Take care of yourself too, Draco,” he said as Draco flicked his cigarette away.

Wondering off, Réamann left Draco alone. Had he forgiven Draco so easily? Well, he was still angry about the affair, and hurt even, but Draco had taken a bullet for him, and when a wizard saves another wizard's life, it creates a powerful and undeniable bond. Réamann knew he had treated Draco poorly, not by his tactlessness, but by his reluctance to trust him. So Draco had taken his girl…he had been looking for an excuse to end this with Ginny, and Draco was the prefect…uh…scapegoat. He loved Ginny still, she was a wonderful woman, but Réamann wasn't suited for her. A year spent living with her had opened his eyes to that. They were not a match. Were she and Draco? He hoped so, for all they had been though, and had to fight through still, they deserved a little bit of stability and happiness.

Réamann, in the end, wished not only Ginny, but Draco the best.

Draco turned upon being left alone and his eyes fell on the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She smiled warmly, biting her bottom lip to grin at him with flirtatious eyes, hair tossed carelessly across her forehead to burn in the sunlight.

“I love you,” Draco said, pulling his redhead into a hug with his right arm and her wrapping her arms around his narrow waist firmly. Réamann got the award, Draco got the girl. Draco felt he got the sweeter deal in the end.

“I love you more,” she said, making it a competition between the two of them. Who loved the other more? They were still undecided, but they would wrestle the matter out later, when they were alone.

Ginny allowed Draco to grip her hand in his as they strolled Hogsmeade together, casual and unconcerned about the continual stares and glances and whispers they got. They made their way all the way to the field on the outside of town where they could be alone and Ginny sighed.

“Something the matter?” Draco asked, gripping her hand a little tighter.

“No,” she denied, snuggling her cheek against his good shoulder.

“You can't lie to me,” he pointed out and she turned to bite his shoulder. “Ow, wretch,” he laughed, giving her hand a squeeze that was a little tighter than was reassuring.

“You don't suppose people will ever get used to the idea that you and I are together, do you?” she asked meekly, looking across the sloping snowy hills to the mountains beyond them and taking in their beauty, glad to be able to share it with Draco, trying not to dwell on the gossip they had just had to endure while in town. Tabloids were unkind to her, a woman, in general, and though they seemed to accept Réamann's cover for what happened with her affair, there was an all new, heated attention on her that she had never experienced to such an extent before. Wizarding paparazzi everywhere she went, documenting her shopping, her clothing choices, her weight and hair-styles, telling about her day as though anyone cared, but clearly people did because they ate up the publications any and every time she or Draco (or both) were pictured on the covers. She knew it was only a matter of time before Draco's family was uncovered, and they both dreaded it, but there was something Ginny dreaded more.

“In time,” Draco assured as they strolled so slowly. He feared what scrutiny he would have to endure once it is made known he became a father at eighteen, that he had a wife, who his wife was and her story, and just the overall circumstances of how things unfolded for him. It was really, quite sensational, even for a tabloid. Draco knew the next few months were going to be full of fretful nights and irritable days.

“Good,” Ginny said simply, “Because I'm pregnant,” she revealed, Draco stopping in his tracks, leaving him to fall behind as Ginny continued to walk. She paused just a few steps away to turn back and look at him as he stared at her with wide eyes.

“What?” he gaped.

~~~THE END~~~

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A final cliffy to close this fic up. I'm evil.

We all got what we wanted, right? Draco is pardoned, he has money again (though he is not ubber-rich like he once was), he got to talk to his daddy, Harry is revealed to be the world's biggest dingbat but seemingly sincerely remorseful, Réamann proves himself to be a decent guy, Sebastian gets what's coming to him, and Draco has managed to get Ginny preggers!! *pats Draco on the back proudly* Draco doesn't have the Manor back, or a wand, and his job still sucks, as does his reputation…but hey, I have two more fics to write, stuff can still happen!!

THE SEQUEL'S TITLE IS FALLEN ANGEL

http://fanfiction.portkey.org/story/7857

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