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Chapter One

I have a good friend in the east, a good singer and a


good folk singer...who comes and listens to my shows
and says you always sing about the past, you can't
live in the past. And I say to him, I can go outside and
pick up a rock, that's older than the oldest song you
know and bring it back in here and drop it on your
foot. The past didn't go anywhere. It's right here, right
now.
- Utah Phillips

September, 2010

Draco Malfoy stood in the middle of the supermarket


aisle and glared at the shelf in front of him. "Bloody
superior British attitude, think they rule the world, but
can they sell a decent jar of bloody peanut butter? Of
course not."

It was late afternoon on a warm September day, the


setting sun filtering through the windows at the front of
the store and casting long beams of dusty light into
the crowded aisles. The store wasn't that busy, since
it was too early for the London commuters to be
stopping in on the way home from work, a fact for
which Draco was grateful. He was in no mood to deal
with a mob of people; at about 10 that morning, he'd
developed an intense craving for a peanut butter
sandwich, thus initiating a quest that had led to him
spending the better part of his day trolling the grocers
of London, looking for Squirrel peanut butter. He
hadn't had a peanut butter sandwich since he'd
moved back to England, 6 months ago, but the
craving for one had taken hold this morning, and
Draco couldn't shake it. And British peanut butter
wouldn't do...it had to be Squirrel. And squishy white
bread, and loads of butter and...dammit! He thought
longingly of the supermarkets of Calgary, stocked full
of the stuff; however, it was looking like the only place
to buy Squirrel peanut butter was in Canada. Draco
cursed under his breath, running a hand through his
pale hair and wishing he'd never had to come back
here. He glowered at the shelves as though he could
make what he wanted appear by sheer force of will.

It didn't work.

Draco rocked back on his heels and surveyed the


selection before him. "Bloody Brits," he muttered
again. "They can rule an empire, sun never setting
and all that tripe, but can I make a decent sandwich in
this country? Nooooo. Bloody imperialistic bastards."
His tirade was interrupted by something tugging on
his leg. Draco glanced down and froze.

He was looking into Harry Potter's eyes.

Eyes he'd last seen staring at him in befuddled shock,


on a battlefield that had once been a Quidditch pitch
somewhere in Scotland, near a castle that he hadn't
seen in almost 13 years. Eyes that had always
seemed to pierce through him, even when he was
eleven years old and had had nothing to hide, eyes
that brought back memories he'd hoped to leave
buried in his past forever, eyes that had haunted his
dreams and nightmares for years.

Eyes he'd hoped never to see again.

Eyes that were currently in the head of a very small


boy with very red hair, who was clutching a battered
teddy bear in one grubby hand and the leg of Draco's
khakis in the other.

"Um," said Draco, rather wildly.

"I think I've misplaced my mother. Will you help me


find her?"

Draco gaped. "I'm sorry?"

The child gave him a look of exasperation, which


made Draco blink, somewhat disoriented. He'd
encountered that look before, but never at knee level,
or on the spectacle-less face of a 6-year-old with
freckles. "I've lost my mum. I don't know where she's
gone."

"Oh. Um, well..." Draco surveyed the aisle, which was


deserted but for him and the child who had a death
grip on his trouser leg. "I - I can help you look for her,
I suppose."
"Okay." The child let go of Draco's pant leg and raised
one arm - the one without the teddy bear -
expectantly. Gingerly, Draco reached down and took
the boy's small hand in his own. The thought that he
was losing his mind briefly occurred to him; this was
Harry's son, there was no doubt. Despite the violent
orange hair, he looked like Harry must have at six;
unruly locks, compact, slender body, hell, he had
Harry's nose. What the hell was Draco going to do if
he ran into Harry, who was probably the last person in
the world he wanted to see? Because the only way a
miniature Harry look-alike could be running around
was if the Boy Who Lived had become the Boy Who
Bred. And Draco was helping his child. Harry's child.
Harry, who Draco decidedly did not want to talk to,
now or ever again. Harry, who Draco disliked with an
intensity that hadn't noticeably abated in 18 years. He
glanced down at the boy, who was gazing up at him in
anticipation. He sighed mentally. I really have gone
soft, he thought. "So, where exactly did you last see
your mum, then?"

"Dunno. Over that way, I think," the child said,


pointing his teddy bear toward the frozen foods.

"Then that way we shall seek. What's your name, my


young friend?"

"My name is James, but everybody calls me Jamie.


What's yours?"
"Draco."

"That's a funny name." Jamie said this with great


gravity, as though he was deeply concerned for
Draco, having to live with such a moniker.

"It means dragon in Latin. My father thought it a rather


strong name."

"Oh." Jamie processed this information as they


passed the preserves section. "My Uncle Charlie
works with dragons."

"Does he? That sounds dangerous."

"Yeah, he gets all burnt all the time."

"I see. So what's your mum's name?"

Jamie gave him a slightly disgusted look. "Mum is


mum."

"Of course. And what does your mum do? Does she
work with dragons too?"

" No. She stays home, mostly. Sometimes she writes


stuff. My dad coaches Quidditch."

"Does he?"
"Uh-huh. For the Cannons."

Draco nodded. He'd heard from Neville that Harry was


coaching in Chudley, although a Muggle grocery in
London was a strange place for his wife and child to
be going to market. Neville hadn't offered up more
information, and Draco had never asked, since the
doings of Harry Potter weren't anything he wanted to
concern himself with. Draco shrugged mentally.
Maybe they didn't have supermarkets in Chudley.
"And does your dad have a name, or is he just dad?"

"Dad is dad, of course."

"Of course. You're a huge help, I must say." They had


reached the frozen foods, which ran along the long,
open aisle at the back of the store, and Draco did a
quick survey. He didn't see anyone who looked like
they might have produced the owner of the hand
holding tight to his, but judging from the colour of
Jamie's hair, he had a good idea of who he was
looking for. Unless one of the endless Weasley
brothers had discovered a way for men to bear
children, young Jamie was the son of Harry Potter
and Ron's little sister. Draco wracked his brain for a
moment. What had her name been? Gerri? Jeanie?
No...Ginny. Granted, it had been 12 years or more
since he'd last laid eyes on her, but the Weasley hair
wasn't exactly easy to hide. Draco was fairly sure he'd
recognize her when he saw her.
He didn't, however, see her anywhere in the long aisle
that ran the back of the store. "Well," he said to his
young charge. "Left or right?"

Jamie looked both ways. "Left," he said firmly.

"Left it is." They turned to the left and walked toward


the produce section, Draco feeling like he was
crawling as he slowed his strides to match Jamie's.
"So what else does your mum do, when she's not
losing you in supermarkets?"

"She looks after my little sister and little brother."

"Ah..." Draco smirked a bit. The poor woman was


probably a mini-version of her mother, if she had 3
kids already. He vaguely remembered Mrs. Weasley
from brief glimpses at King's Cross as a dumpy, short
woman who shouted a lot. The poor girl. "And how old
are your brother and sister?"

"Sarah is 4, and Willie is only 2. I'm the oldest, I'm 6. I


can count to six!" Jamie said this as though it was a
grand achievement. Which for all Draco knew it was,
for a six-year-old.

"Congratulations," Draco said solemnly.

"Can you count to six?"

"I do believe I could if I tried very hard."


Jamie frowned. "Are you laughing at me?"

At Jamie's stern look, Draco almost did. With a great


effort, he managed to keep a straight face. "Of course
not. My mum always told me that I had no head for
numbers, and mums are always right."

Green eyes screwed up suspiciously, and Draco had


another disorienting sense of déjà vu. It really was
quite odd to see Harry Potter glaring at him out of the
freckled face of a redheaded kid. "Well...ok. How old
are you?"

"I'm 30," said Draco.

"Oh. That's very old. Can you count to 30?"

You will not laugh, Draco thought at himself. You will


not laugh. "Again, I believe I could if I tried."

"I always get stuck at 11," Jamie said seriously. "I can
never remember what's next."

"It will come in time," Draco replied. "You're young


yet."

Despite their snail's pace, they had managed to pass


one aisle (empty of people) and were rounding the
corner of the second. Draco looked down the expanse
of linoleum and spotted a flash of red hair. "Is that
your mum there?"

Jamie looked too. "I think so."

"Shall we, then?" Draco asked his charge, gesturing


in the direction of the woman. At Jamie's nod, they
started down the aisle, still moving rather slowly.
Ginny didn't seem to be going anywhere, however,
being too busy trying to keep the toddler in the child
seat from launching himself headfirst toward the
ground from the shopping cart. Draco was fleetingly
grateful, since it meant he didn't have to do anything
embarrassing like yell or run after her. And it gave him
time to acknowledge the fact that Ginny Weasley had
grown up a bit.

Actually, judging by the full swell of her hips, and the


graceful sweep of her waist, Ginny Weasley had
grown up more than a bit. She bore absolutely no
resemblance at all to her mother, despite the three
children in evidence, being neither short nor dumpy.
Not at all. In fact, quite the contrary, Draco mused,
admiring her long legs as she secured the child and
stretched up to reach something on a higher shelf.
Ginny was wearing a light blue tee-shirt and well-worn
Muggle blue jeans that clung to her curves in a
positively indecent fashion. She wasn't thin by any
means, but her roundness was situated in all the right
places; she had curves like a Botticelli Venus. Draco's
eyes narrowed as his eyes swept the line of her body
again. Definitely all the right places.
He could feel a spiky warmth spread through his
stomach and tighten in his thighs. Honestly, man,
you're just looking at her. Knock it off. Draco closed
his eyes and took a deep breath as he and Jamie
finally reached her. Don't be an idiot. Just drop the kid
off and get out of here.

Ginny hadn't yet realized that the two of them were


standing behind her. Draco cleared his throat.
"Excuse me, madam, but I think you've misplaced
something," he said quietly to the back of her head.

Ginny turned with a start and stared at Draco


openmouthed for a moment, then glanced down as he
gestured with the hand that was still being held
captive by Jamie. "Oh, God, Jamie!"

"Hullo, mum," Jamie said calmly, and let go of Draco's


hand so that his mother could bend down and
envelop him in a hug.

"Where did you go? Off on your own again? How


many times have I told you not to wander off in the
shop? Honestly, Jamie, you should know better than
that by now. Did you say thank you to the man?"
Ginny stood up suddenly and placed her hands on the
top of Jamie's head, drawing him back against her
legs. "Thank you so much, sir, I appreciate it. He's
always off wandering about; it's like trying to keep
track of a gnat."
"Any time," Draco said softly, a slight smile on his
face. She was even more beautiful from the front, with
full lips and deep brown eyes the colour of mahogany,
framed by auburn lashes and brows. The porcelain of
her skin was set off by the dusting of freckles across
her nose, and Draco had a sudden, powerful urge to
take her face in his hands so he could count them,
could touch the translucent skin of her cheeks, trace
the smooth line of her jaw and neck, cup her breasts
in his palms, run his hands along those luscious
hips... Stop it, dammit! She's a Weasley! He thrust his
hands in his pockets, fiercely stifling the urge to thrust
them through that riot of red curls instead. You cannot
possibly be lusting after her, she's a Weasley. Stop. It.

The Weasley in question didn't recognize him at all,


that much was obvious. She was gazing at him and
smiling quizzically. Draco glanced down at her hands
before he could stop himself and noticed that she
wore no rings. Interesting. He crouched down and
patted Jamie on the shoulder, partly so that he could
tear his eyes away from Ginny. "You should listen to
your mother. Not really safe to be wandering about on
your own."

Jamie nodded earnestly. "Okay, Mr. Draco. Thank


you for helping me."

"Draco?" Ginny asked faintly as he stood up.


"Draco...Malfoy? You're not - " she broke off
suddenly, studying his face intently. Draco watched
with amusement as recognition dawned. "Oh. My.
God."

"Been a bit, hasn't it?"

"You - you look, um, different." She flushed slightly


and tucked a russet curl behind one ear. "I didn't
recognize you at all. I'm so sorry."

"I've changed a bit since Hogwarts, or so I've been


told," he said, smiling slightly as she nodded. And he
wasn't the only one...surely Ginny hadn't looked like
this when they were in school. He tried to conjure up
a mental image of Ginny at Hogwarts, but ended up
with only a fleeting impression of masses of red hair
above faded black robes. "You've changed a bit
yourself. It's Ginny, yes? Ron's little sister?"

"Yes, that's me. What gave it away?" She grinned and


tugged on a stray lock of hair. "As for changing...well,
3 children and a divorce will do that," she said wryly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You were married?" He


knew, of course, but pumping people for information
was second nature to him. Divorced...that would
explain the lack of rings.

"Well, I didn't produce these three out of a hat," Ginny


laughed, ruffling Jamie's hair affectionately. "Harry
and I were married the year after I graduated
Hogwarts...we split up just over a year ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He wasn't, of course, but he


figured it was the polite thing to say. Draco eyed the
youngest child, staring at him from his perch on the
child seat of the shopping cart with Ginny's liquid
brown eyes. She had faint lines around her eyes, as
though she smiled a lot and didn't care that doing so
might give her wrinkles. He knew too many women
who would be worried that those fine lines would
make them look old, who would dread the spill of
freckles across her nose that bespoke time in the sun.
It didn't make Ginny look old, though; it made her look
warm.Was Harry mad? he wondered privately. Well,
of course Harry had always been a bit odd, but what
sort of person voluntarily gave up a woman like
Ginny? Maybe he's gay. Draco had always had his
doubts.

Ginny shrugged. "I'm not," she said bluntly, and Draco


blinked. "Sorry, I mean. We were far too young, and
we got married for all the wrong reasons, and it was
far better to split while we could still remain on good
terms rather than hold out until we really hated each
other, which was exactly what would have
happened...and I have no idea why I'm telling you
this, I'm sorry." Two faint spots of pink appeared on
her cheekbones, charmingly setting off those freckles
on her nose.

"Oh, I don't mind," Draco said. "Always interesting to


catch up with old schoolmates. I actually see Neville
Longbottom quite frequently."

"Oh, Nev...he's a dear," Ginny said, her smile lighting


up her face. Draco resisted a sudden urge to go hunt
Neville down and strangle him for no good reason.
"He's babysat for me a time or two. He's great with
the kids. How did you run into him? I understand he's
quite busy."

"Ah, well, through work, actually. We've collaborated


on an assignment or two through the Ministry," said
Draco vaguely.

"You're an Auror?" Ginny blinked in surprise.

"I'm more of a consultant in that department, but


something like that."

"Well, I wouldn't have expe - Sarah!" Ginny made a


grab for her daughter, who was busily pulling all of the
boxes off the bottom shelf and arranging them into
piles on the floor. "What on earth are you doing?"

Unlike her brothers, Sarah had inherited her father's


black hair, which fell across her shoulders in tangled
skeins. She turned at her mother's voice and gazed
up at Ginny with clear emerald eyes. Except for her
eyes and hair, she was a cookie-cutter image of her
mother. Now she is going to be a heartbreaker in 12
or 13 years, Draco thought. "Nothing mummy," she
said sweetly. The eyes turned to Draco. "Why are you
talking to that man?"

"This is Draco Malfoy, Sarah. Mummy went to school


with him," Ginny said as she lifted Sarah to her feet
and knelt to pick up the boxes. "Draco, this is my
daughter Sarah. William is the one in the cart, and
you've met Jamie already. My brood," she said with a
laugh.

Draco knelt down too, and presented a hand to


Sarah. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,
Sarah."

Sarah glared and crossed her arms, staring at Draco's


hand with distrust. "Mummy, are you sure you know
this man?"

For the third time, Draco found himself struggling to


keep a straight face. Ginny, on the other hand,
unrestrainedly whooped with laughter. "Of course I'm
sure, didn't I just say I went to school with him?
Sarah's a bit stand-offish," she told Draco
apologetically, placing the last of the boxes on the
shelf.

"I see that," Draco said, with some amusement. "Well,


Sarah, I really did know your mother at school. I knew
your dad, and your Uncle Ron, too." He deliberately
neglected to mention that he'd have happily tried to
kill her dad and her Uncle Ron while they were at
school.

"It's ok, Sarah," Jamie said earnestly, taking his


sister's hand in his. "Mr. Draco is okay. His name
means dragon, like Uncle Charlie!"

"Really?" Sarah said dubiously. She gave Draco a


long, considering look. "Dragons are okay..."

Ginny was sputtering with mirth, and the corners of


Draco's mouth were twitching with the struggle not to
laugh. "I'm rather fond of them myself," he said.

Sarah's face cleared, and she shrugged. "Well, alright


then," she said, and brushed past her mother to
chase her brother in a small circle near the front of the
cart.

Draco lowered his hand. "Have I passed some sort of


test?" he asked Ginny in amusement.

"Well, she loves Charlie to death, and she's fond of


dragons, so yes. At least she didn't try to bite you.
She's a suspicious little thing. Four going on thirty,"
Ginny said, still giggling. "It's always fun to introduce
her to new folk."

"Indeed." Draco stood up and extended his hand to


Ginny, who took it without question and let him help
her up. He firmly stomped all over the little thrill that
ran up his spine at the touch of her fingers.
They stood that way for a long moment, her hand
resting lightly in his, her face tilted up toward him.
Ginny finally bit her lip and broke eye contact
nervously, and Draco realized with a start that he'd
been staring at her intensely. Get a grip, Malfoy! He
dropped her hand quickly.

"I should let you get back to your grocery shopping,"


he said. "Since you do seem to have your hands full."

"Oh...I was almost done, actually," Ginny said as she


pushed a curl of hair behind her ear and made
another grab for Willie, who having decided he wasn't
getting enough attention, decided to make a break for
the basket of the cart.

"You live near here?"

"Just 'round the corner, actually. I have a flat, a little


walk-up. Not much to look at, but it's clean, and large
enough, and near an apparition port, so I can get
around easily."

"Don't tell me you apparate home from the


supermarket," Draco said, arching an eyebrow at the
front of the store, where a small line of people were
waiting for the cashier. "Whatever would the Ministry
say?"

Ginny laughed again. "No, I usually walk. It's not that


far, as I said."

Draco looked at Ginny, then at the cart full of


groceries, at Sarah and Jamie wandering off toward
the end of the aisle, at Will, who was making a
determined effort to get out of the child seat of the
cart at any cost, then back at Ginny again. "Want a
hand?"

She narrowed her eyes at him for a long moment, as


if judging his motives, before she finally spoke. "Sure."

They chatted about inconsequentials while she


collected the last of her groceries and had them rung
through. After a brief flurry of activity while they got
bags and children into some semblance of order - and
Draco discovered that he was really rather
superfluous as Ginny had come well prepared to deal
with 3 kids and groceries, due to having a backpack
that seemed to be quite a bit larger on the inside than
on the outside and a small red wagon equipped with a
seat (and seatbelt) for the wayward William - they
stepped from the store into the warm September air
and started toward Ginny's flat.

They walked along in a rather companionable silence,


broken frequently by observations by Jamie, who
Draco already knew was the talkative one. Sarah was
much quieter but noticed more, and was the one to
haul Jamie back from the edge of the sidewalk, out of
people's paths and up to the adults when he fell
behind. Progress was rather slow, but Draco found he
didn't really mind. There was a small coffee shop on
the corner, and Draco stopped in front of it. "Care for
one?" he asked. "My treat."

Ginny laughed. Draco noticed abstractly that he quite


liked her laugh, and made a mental note to think up
clever things to say to her. "Sure. I think I'll wait out
here though," she said, eyeing the kids. "I'd rather not
subject the poor people in there to the brood."

"What would you like, then?"

"Um...a chocolate latte. Mocha? Whatever they call


them...if it's got chocolate in it, that's what I want,"
Ginny said with a grin. Draco smiled back and
disappeared into the shop, returning a few minutes
later with 2 coffees and two ice cream cones. Jamie
and Sarah whooped with delight as he handed the
cones out. William got a cookie. "I figured it was less
likely to drip, or spill, or what-have-you," Draco
explained.

"Say thank you," Ginny told the older two. "Manners,


please!"

"Thank you!" Jamie and Sarah dutifully said in chorus,


then went back to examining the sidewalk and doing
the mysterious things that young children do as they
strolled along.
Draco handed Ginny one paper cup and she took a
cautious sip - then promptly made a face. "I think this
one's yours. How much sugar did you put in it?"

Draco grinned. "Can't drink it without loads of sugar.


And milk. I'm allergic to coffee, so I have to drink it
diluted with a huge amount of milk, and then drown it
in sugar in order to stomach it at all."

Ginny sipped carefully at the hot liquid. "Allergic to


coffee? That's awful!"

"I know. And I live on caffeine," Draco said, making a


face. "But I can't drink it, makes me throw up."

Ginny gestured at his cup. "You're drinking that."

"Only because it's an ounce of espresso diluted in 2


cups of milk."

"What's the point of having coffee in it at all, then?"


Ginny asked, amused.

"For the taste," Draco sighed. "My treat to myself. I


am thoroughly ashamed of myself about the whole
affair. Whoever heard of a cop who was allergic to
coffee?"

Ginny blinked. "A cop?"

He shuffled, somewhat abashed. "Oh, um, yes. I'm a


police officer."

"You mean, an Auror? I thought you said you


consulted."

"No, I mean a police officer. For the RCMP. Royal


Canadian Mounted Police," he clarified as Ginny
looked at him blankly. "I work for the Canadian
government as a police officer."

"A Muggle?" Ginny stopped dead, staring at Draco as


if she'd never seen him before.

He paused, looking back at her steadily. "Yes," he


said quietly.

"Oh. Oh, I'm...I would nev - "

"Never have expected it, yes, I know," Draco finished


for her. He rolled his eyes. "Everyone keeps saying
that."

They started walking again. "Well, you have to admit


it's a bit of a switch," Ginny told him. "You spent 7
years at Hogwarts going on about pure-bloods and
mudbloods and cleansing the wizarding world of its
taint, and then vanish without a trace to live as a
Muggle for 12 years?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time?" Draco said


with a small smirk.
Ginny snorted. "Right..." They walked on in silence for
a few moments, as they turned off the main street and
the shops gave way to small apartment complexes
and attached houses, Ginny keeping a weather eye
out for the children.

"Speaking of Muggles, how did you end up in a


Muggle supermarket?" Draco asked finally. Ginny
glanced sharply at him, and he smiled faintly. "I mean,
it's not exactly usual for wizarding folk to be living
shoulder to shoulder with Muggles, despite your more
...lenient upbringing."

"I suppose it's not," Ginny replied. "I moved out here
after Harry and I split up, and I discovered that if I
wanted to make ends meet as a freelance writer,
which is what I do, I had to find more jobs than were
available in the wizarding world. Writing for Witch
Weekly and the Daily Prophet were fine when I was
still with him, but on my own, I needed a steadier
source of income. So I thought I'd give writing for
Muggles a go, and to do that, I needed to know how
Muggles actually live. There's a few wizarding families
in the area, but it's mostly Muggles, obviously. And
the supermarket there is far more convenient than
going out to Diagon alley for groceries." She smiled.
"It's a bit like living in a foreign country, really. Though
I expect you'd know more about that than I do."

"Hmmm." Draco shrugged noncommittally. "And no


one minds that you effectively straddle both worlds?"

"Why would they mind? I mean, Mum doesn't


approve, but then, she didn't want me to get divorced
in the first place, and she keeps trying to get me to
change my mind and go back to Harry. I don't think
she disapproves of the Muggle bit as much as she
disapproves of the divorced single mother of three
bit." Ginny sighed and frowned.

"What happened with Harry?" Draco asked softly. "If


you don't mind me asking."

"No, I don't mind," Ginny smiled, sipping at her drink


and glancing back to make sure William was still
where he was supposed to be. "There were all sorts
of reasons. The main one was that we just grew
apart. He spent most of the first part of our marriage
playing Quidditch professionally, first for the Wasps,
then for the Catapults in Wales, so he was on the
road quite a bit. It wasn't so bad, because I was
writing for Witch Weekly, and I could take time off to
go with him sometimes, or work on the road. He took
the coaching job in Chudley after Jamie was born, so
we could be a bit more settled, but he still ended up
being away for three quarters of the year, for training,
or games, or scouting. There was always something. I
spent most of the time looking after Jamie, and then
Sarah, squeezing freelance writing in when I could,
and we hardly ever saw each other for more than
three days at a stretch. Finally, after William was
born, we sat down and talked about what was
happening, and he agreed to take a sabbatical from
work to spend more time with me and the kids. So he
stayed home for six months or so, and that was when
I realized that at some point in the previous four
years, I'd gotten used to not having him there. He was
driving me batty, and there didn't seem to be anything
either of us could do to stop it."

Draco laughed. "Lost the rose-coloured glasses, did


you?"

Ginny glanced at him sharply, then smiled. "Yes, well,


you could put it that way, I guess. I mean, he may
irritate me but I do still love him, and he's still Ron's
best friend, so it's not as though I can avoid him, or
even want to avoid him. It's just..."

"You don't want to be married to him."

"Exactly. Being a single mother isn't easy, but he


does help out, money wise, and he takes the kids
every other weekend, and the alternative was worse.
It seemed like we were fighting every single day...I
didn't want us to get to the point where I hated him for
being Harry. It's easier to remember the good things
about him when he's not constantly around to remind
me of the bad."

"His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad..."


Ginny aimed a foot at him. "Oh, hush. I hated you for
ages for that!"

Draco danced out of the way, laughing. "What, for


admiring your peerless poetry?"

"For making fun of me. Admit it, you were a horrid


little monster in school. You were so mean to us
Gryffindors!" Ginny said indignantly. "You were
constantly trying to get Harry in trouble."

"He constantly deserved it! I'm an innocent victim!"


Draco tried to look injured, though his attempt was
somewhat ruined by the smirk on his face. "I was
scarred for life, fled the country..."

Ginny laughed, then sobered, tilting her head to look


at Draco, pushing a red curl off her forehead. "Where
did you go anyway?"

Draco's smile faded. "To Canada, obviously. After the


war, I decided I'd had enough of...everything. After it
ended, I headed straight for London, got a pile of
galleons converted to pounds and went to Heathrow.
Got on the first flight I could that was leaving, ended
up in Toronto, and decided to stay. Made my way to
Alberta eventually, and have been there ever since."

"There were people looking for you for the first little
while. I think they even had a bulletin to the Ministries
in North America. I'm rather surprised they never
found you," Ginny said.

"Well, I'm not much in contact with the Ministry there,"


Draco said shortly, and shook his head. "I...when I
left, I left everything. I didn't want to have anything to
do with magic, or with the wizarding world, ever again.
Gave it up entirely, dropped my wand in Lake Ontario
once I got off the plane, the whole nine yards."

"Why?"

Draco sighed. "I didn't want to do it anymore. I was


sick of being a wizard, sick of being a Malfoy. I'd been
feeling rather rebellious about the whole thing long
before the war ended, and that was sort of the icing
on the cake. I wanted out of here, more than anything,
so I just...left." He shrugged, staring off into the
distance. "It was easy, actually, once I made up my
mind to just go. Adjusting to life as a Muggle was the
hardest part."

Ginny snickered. "I'll bet. However did you manage?"

"With a great deal of difficulty," Draco said with a


snort. "I got better at it after a while. Discovered it's a
good deal easier to be insufferable and smug when I
had bodyguards and hexes and a wealthy father to
get me out of trouble. I got beat up a lot the first year
or so," Draco said ruefully. "A lot. It was - well.
Educational." He shifted uncomfortably and shot
Ginny a glance out of the corner of his eye. She
looked startled but amused. "Eventually I learned how
to fight back, and somewhat later figured out how not
to get into fights at all. And after a while, I met people,
made a few friends. Real friends," he said reflectively,
"and not just people who would hang about because I
had an influential father and good breeding. I didn't
intend to ever come back."

"Why not?" Ginny furrowed her brow. "I mean, why


would you just vanish, and leave your family and
everything? I couldn't imagine-"

"Yes, but you love your family, don't you?" Draco said
stiffly. "My father-" He stopped suddenly and clamped
his mouth shut. After a long moment, he took a deep
breath and looked at her. "I didn't have anything to
stay here for. My parents were dead, my 'friends' in
prison, and I didn't see the point of staying, being
prodded and questioned by Aurors, maybe sent to
prison myself just because of who I am. What would
the point have been? So I left."

He crossed his arms in front of him and glared at the


ground, a twinge of the old helpless rage that had
haunted him all through his seventh year rising along
his spine. That last year had been horrible; he'd been
fighting with his father over not wanting to join the
Death Eaters, fighting with the other Slytherins, who
were more than happy to just follow where their elders
led and didn't understand why Draco kept not
following, fighting with Harry and Ron and Hermione,
who were convinced that he was some sort of
ringleader for the young generation of Voldemort's
followers. Watching everyone around him choose
sides for a war he was sure no one would win, and
coming to the realization that he didn't want to choose
a side, he just wanted...out. And that there wasn't
going to be an out, not for him or anyone else.

It wasn't that he'd thought - at the time - that


Voldemort had the wrong sort of ideals for the running
of the world, and he had no particular qualms about
hurting Harry and his little friends. He'd wanted to hurt
Harry since the moment they'd met on the Hogwarts
Express and Harry had rejected his offer of friendship,
maybe even wanted him dead, just because he was
Harry, and Draco had never loathed anyone quite as
much as he did Harry Potter. But he'd wanted to hurt
Harry for his own quite personal reasons, and not just
because Voldemort wanted it done. He hadn't wanted
to be doing Voldemort's dirty work, Voldemort who
was ugly and nasty and two dimensional; altogether
the sort of person that Draco found unpleasant and
distasteful to be around. He'd discovered, after
meeting the Dark Lord the summer after sixth year,
that much to his own private horror, Voldemort was
crass, and really rather vulgar. Not the sort of person
Draco really thought would make a good ruler of the
world. Draco had never understood how his parents
could stand to kowtow to the man, who was half-
Muggle himself; they who had made a religion out of a
sort of impenetrable aristocratic snobbery.
He slowly became aware that Ginny was staring at
him, and that he'd been silent for a long time,
glowering at his feet. "Sorry," he said.

"It's alright," Ginny said quickly, smiling up at him.


"So...however did you end up joining the police
service?" she asked, clearly guiding the conversation
to a less painful topic.

Draco laughed. "It was suggested to me by a friend of


mine who was in law school. He claims it was
because he thought I'd make a good cop, but I think it
was just that he wanted to have a friend in the police
force so he could use me for favours. But I didn't have
anything better to do, so I decided to give it a shot. I
applied to the RCMP, and they actually let me in.
Didn't think they would. And it's fun."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Fun?"

"Oh yes. It's great fun," Draco said enthusiastically. "I


get to walk around carrying a gun, and I get to chase
people and say things like "Freeze!" and "Stop in the
name of the law!" I spend all my time playing cops
and robbers."

Ginny stared at him like she was trying to decide if he


were joking or not. "Alright, then. Somehow, the
thought of Draco Malfoy loose on the streets with a
weapon of any sort is mildly disturbing."
"If it makes you feel a bit better, I don't have a permit
to carry a gun in England."

"I'll sleep easier at night," Ginny said with a smirk.


"Oh, here we are," she added, stopping in front of a
square, ugly, six-story apartment block. Draco
followed as she marshaled Jamie and Sarah up the
walk, and held the door for her as she maneuvered
children and wagon inside. The small foyer led to a
poorly-lit hallway with suspect carpeting and lurid
yellow walls. Not exactly classy.

"How d'you get the wagon up the stairs?" he inquired


curiously.

"There's a lift," Ginny replied, struggling to keep


William still while she sorted out her keys. "Makes life
ever so much easier."

"I imagine so," he said. He watched as Ginny steered


her charges down the hall to the elevator. "I should
probably go."

Ginny stopped, her hands on the handle of the


wagon, blinking back at him. "Oh...of course." She
looked down at her hands and back up again,
awarding him with a sweet smile. "Thank you, for the
coffee and the help and everything."

Draco smiled back. "My pleasure."


There was an awkward silence.

"Do you have a - "

"Maybe we cou - "

They both stopped and smiled. Ginny fluttered her


hand at Draco. "You first," she said.

"I was just going to ask if you had a telephone," he


said with a faint smile. "And if you did, if I could
perhaps trouble you for it's number."

"Oh! I do, actually," Ginny said, patting her pockets. "I


can write it down for you..."

Draco produced a pen from the pocket of his jacket as


Ginny found a bit of paper in the front pocket of the
backpack. "It's 020 7854 9203," she said as he wrote,
balancing the paper against his knee.

Draco stepped back, and just looked at Ginny for a


long moment, then he leaned forward and took her
hand, raising it to his lips. "I'll call you," he said softly,
and smiled at her blush, then turned and made his
way back outside. He stood for a moment on the
sidewalk, orienting himself so that he could find his
way back to the store and his car. He put his hands in
his pockets, a smile creeping across his face as his
fingers encountered the scrap of paper with Ginny's
number on it.

He walked off down the street, whistling.

Chapter Two

~*~

"You would not believe who I ran into today," Ginny


said to her sister-in-law later that evening, fixing tea in
her tiny flat. It was about 8 in the evening, and
Hermione was enjoying a quiet evening away from
Ron, who was talking Quidditch and playing wizard
poker at the small house he and his wife shared out
near Ealing with a number of his chums from the
Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she accepted a


coffee mug full of Earl Gray tea from Ginny and sat
gratefully down at the kitchen table. She took a sip
and sighed happily before asking,"Who?"

Ginny sat across from her, facing the living room


where Hermione's twins were playing dragons with
Jamie, their three red heads bent together
industriously. Sarah and Willie were already in bed,
but Jamie was allowed to stay up a bit longer to play
with his older cousins. "You might want to put your
cup down."

"Oh, don't be a tease! Who?"


"Don't say I didn't warn you...Draco Malfoy."

Hermione almost dropped her mug from nerveless


fingers. "No!"

Ginny giggled at the expression on Hermione's face.


"Told you!"

"I thought he was dead!"

"Apparently he's not, since he seemed mobile enough


to rescue Jamie and bring him back to me. Not
corpselike in the slightest. I didn't recognize him at
first...he's really changed."

"He rescued Jamie?" Hermione asked, eyebrows


raising.

"You know James, always wandering off on his own,


looking for adventure. This time he found Malfoy and
convinced him to help Jamie come find me. Near
scared the life out of me to turn around and find Jamie
holding the hand of some strange man, then have that
man turn into Draco Malfoy."

"I'm sure!" Hermione said sympathetically. "So what


did he say?"

"Not much, actually. Just that he's working with


Neville - of all people - doing Auror work, and that he's
only been back a short while. Six months or so. He
was in Canada, apparently. He has the tiniest
American accent...it's quite cute." Ginny smiled.

"Um, cute?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at her


sister-in-law. "I thought you said you met Draco
Malfoy. Cute?"

Ginny laughed. "Yes, cute. Well, sexy would work as


an adjective as well."

Hermione just stared.

Ginny laughed again. "What? It is kind of sexy! It


makes him sound rather exotic."

"Gin, dear, are you sure you're feeling alright?"


Hermione asked, looking concerned. "Because if
you're having these kinds of thoughts about someone
like Draco Malfoy, maybe you should consider
perhaps getting out of the house a bit more. There's a
lovely young man working at the Library who - "

"'Mione! Would you please stop matchmaking? All we


did was chat," Ginny said indignantly. She eyed her
friend quietly for a moment, then decided that she
wouldn't share the rest of the encounter. Somehow,
Ginny doubted Hermione would understand what had
prompted Ginny to accept Draco's offer of a walk
home, coffee and ice cream. In fact, Ginny wasn't
sure herself. It might have been the look in his eyes
when he'd first helped her to her feet in the shop, or
the tingle she'd felt whenever he touched her,
however lightly. She couldn't remember the last time
anyone had made her feel like that, or looked at her
the way he had, with that sort of - of desire, for lack of
a better word. She actually wasn't even sure that
anyone had ever looked at her like that, not even
Harry.

"Earth to Ginny...are you alright?"

Ginny started. "Of course, sorry." Hermione was still


looking at her with an expression of disquiet. She
realized that she was playing with her teabag, dipping
it in her mug and raising it up to watch the water drain
off it in abstraction.

"I said, I didn't really think that Draco Malfoy would be


the type of person you'd actually talk to. He's
so...so..."

"He was rather pleasant, actually," Ginny said


defensively.

Hermione shot Ginny a skeptical look, brushing her


bushy brown hair back from her face. "Are you sure it
was Malfoy?"

"Yes, I'm sure it was Malfoy, I do remember him from


school. I could tell it was him. Not right off, mind, but it
was definitely him." Ginny set her teabag aside and
took a sip from her cup. "He looks...well. Different, but
not totally so. Tanned. He's gained weight."

Hermione smirked at that. "Happens to the best of us,


I'm sure," she said with a hint of malice. Hermione
had put on some weight after having the twins, and
was rather sensitive about it, despite Ron's protests
that she looked just fine. She was usually half-
heartedly following one diet or another trying to lose a
few pounds. Ginny didn't have the heart to tell her that
in Draco's case, 'gained weight' meant that he'd filled
out and got broad and well-muscled and lithe and
chiseled and...and...

"Gin?"

"Sorry, just thinking."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You're blushing."

"I am not blushing!" Ginny protested, trying to will her


cheeks to stop turning pink.

"You are, you are sitting there and blushing over


Draco Malfoy!"

"I am not!"

"Ginny..."

"What? I ran into him, and he was really rather


pleasant, and I thought it was worth mentioning, that's
all!" Ginny set her mug of tea down on the table with a
thump.

Hermione held up her hands. "Alright, alright, no need


to get defensive, I was just saying."

"Well, touching as your concern is, it's a bit misplaced,


as nothing happened, and nothing will happen, and
he probably won't call anyway and it doesn't matter
and I don't know why I mentioned it," Ginny said,
pouting a bit. "So I guess we can just drop it."

"Call?" Hermione said faintly.

"Oh, hell," Ginny said despairingly, dropping her head


into her hands. "I wasn't going to tell you that."

"You gave him your phone number?"

"Yes," Ginny said in a very small voice.

Hermione was aghast. "Why?"

Ginny sighed and rested her chin in her hand, staring


at her cup of tea. "Because... because he was friendly
and nice to the kids, he bought me a coffee and it's
been so long since any man has even looked at me
twice, and then he asked for my phone number. So I
thought, why not?"
"Why not? Because he's Draco Malfoy, that's why
not!" Hermione spread her hands, as though it should
have been obvious.

"So what?" Ginny shot back.

"Ginny, he was a suspected Death Eater! His father


was a Death Eater! The whole Malfoy family was
allied with Voldemort! The Ministry spent ages looking
for him after the war! I can't believe you'd even talk to
him, never mind give him your phone number...what if
he finds out where you live? What if he's just using
you for some revenge plan on Harry, because Harry
killed Lucius?"

"Oh, please, be realistic. If he'd wanted revenge on


Harry, he'd have done it before now. It's been 12
years!" Ginny scoffed.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold," Hermione said


darkly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He is not out for revenge,


Hermione."

"How do you know? He wouldn't say so, now would


he? I just don't want to see you get mixed up in
something bad," Hermione said, taking a sip of tea.

"Well, he's working with Neville. Ask him about Draco


if you're so concerned," Ginny said sullenly. "And, you
know, I am 28 years old. I can actually take care of
myself, strange though it may sound."

"Gin, I'm sorry. I'm just a little worried is all. You


weren't really involved in all the things that went on
during the war, so maybe your perspective is a little
different. I just don't want to see you get involved in
anything you can't handle," Hermione said
reasonably.

Ginny tightened her lips and didn't reply, trying her


best to ignore the implication that she wasn't capable
of handling something on her own. She loved
Hermione, but sometimes her "I am the solver of all
problems" attitude was really irritating.

"I can just imagine what Ron will say if he hears


Malfoy is back," Hermione continued. "He'll positively
flip - "

"Oh, God, 'Mione, don't tell Ron!" Ginny's eyes


widened in horror. Ron hated Draco with a thorough
and quite unreasonable passion.

"Do I look stupid? Or suicidal? Ron won't hear it from


me. I won't tell Harry either, for that matter," Hermione
said. "Just...be careful, Ginny."

Ginny sighed, partly in relief, partly in annoyance. "Of


course."
"So, tell me about Malfoy," Hermione said to Neville
over her shoulder. They were in the lunch room of the
Ministry of Magic, which despite being housed in a
large stone building dating from the 17th century and
populated by witches and wizards of all descriptions,
still managed to look like all cafeterias everywhere:
yellow linoleum, battered tables and molded plastic
chairs that doubled as torture devices.

"And here I thought you were here for the pleasure of


my company...you mean this date was just to pump
me for information?" Neville said with a grin.

Hermione poked him with her elbow, since her hands


were busy holding her cafeteria tray. "Nonsense, you
know I'm here because I adore you madly, I just want
to hear about Malfoy." She grinned back at him. "So
tell me all about him. And tell me why you didn't tell
me you were working with him before!"

"I didn't tell you before because it never came up. To


be perfectly honest, we've been keeping his presence
here as hush-hush as possible. There's not all that
much to tell, anyway." Neville nodded at a couple of
people as he steered Hermione toward a table at the
back of the crowded cafeteria "He's been in Canada
for the last 12 years, and he just came back about 6
months ago to follow a suspect on a case he'd been
working on there. The Ministry did an investigation on
his actions during the war, and the verdict came back
clear, so now he's working with our department; he
doesn't actually work directly for the MoM. Cecil
assigned me to help him while he's here, so I see him
a fair bit." Neville shrugged as he pulled Hermione's
chair out for her. Hermione glanced at him
sympathetically. "That must be a bit awkward, having
to work with him like that." He shook his head. "Not
really. It's rather strange, actually. It's like he became
a different person while he was gone...I barely
recognized him when I first met him again. I don't
know what he was doing all that time, but he's a first-
rate Auror now, got a nose for finding people and for
anything Dark Arts related. And he picked up a
passion for country music, of all things, which is
incredibly irritating."

Hermione laughed. "As if Draco Malfoy could be


anything less than incredibly irritating."

"Well that's the thing," Neville said. "He's actually not,


anymore."

Hermione shot a skeptical look at him.

Neville grinned. "Well, not as much. He's grown up


quite a lot. He's still a wanker; he's still a merciless
bastard, only now it's just to criminals, people who
actually deserve it. With everyone else he's unfailingly
polite. No more pulling wings off flies. No more
tormenting people just because he can. The country
music thing, and the fact that he always looks perfect,
no matter what...those are the main irritating things
about him now. That and he's a sarcastic fucking
bastard, but then, he always was."

"He always looks perfect?"

"Always. Doesn't matter if he's just been chasing


down a suspect, or hasn't slept in a week, or has
spent 2 days in a car on a stakeout, the man always
looks like he just walked out of a salon. Hair perfect,
nails manicured, pants pressed, drop dead
gorgeous...I have no idea how he does it." Neville
looked down at his own rumpled suit and sighed. "It is
beyond annoying."

"Malfoy?"

"What?"

"You just used the phrase "drop dead gorgeous" to


describe Malfoy."

Neville grinned. "Hermione, have you actually seen


Draco since he came back?" His grin widened as she
shook her head no. "Well, he looks much, much better
than he did then. He is no longer the skinny ferret we
knew and loved to hate. Not a woman in the office
who hasn't fantasized about what our Mr. Malfoy
looks like underneath those perfectly pressed suits I
hate so much. I have no idea what he did while he
was in Canada, but it sure as hell worked." He
laughed at the look of frank disbelief on her face. "You
really have to see him to believe it."

"I would have to see that. I keep trying to picture it,


and end up seeing him as he looked at eleven;
scrawny and short, with that nasty grin, hiding behind
Crabbe and Goyle. God, how I hated him."
Suppressing a chuckle, Hermione poked at her plate.
"Remember the time I hit him, back in...what, third
year? I don't remember who was more surprised, him
or me."

Neville laughed. "I remember hearing about it.


Hermione, vanquisher of gits."

"So how do you put up with him?"

"I tell bad jokes. It irritates him no end, probably


because half the time they actually make him laugh.
He has a third-grade sense of humour." Neville
shrugged. "I put up with him, he puts up with me, and
between times we make a very good team."

Hermione looked bemused. "That, I would not have


expected."

"What, that we actually get along?" Neville laughed as


Hermione nodded. "Oh, half the time I do want to kill
him, but...he's very, very good at what he does which
goes a long way here. Anyone who is as good at
Auroring as Malfoy is gets cut some slack. We all
have quirks. Why the sudden interest in him, anyway?
Planning to have a sordid affair on Ron, and casting
about for the person most likely to give him a heart
attack? Should I be hurt that I don't qualify?"

"I can't find the time to sleep with my own husband,


never mind have a sordid affair with someone else,"
Hermione said with a laugh. "No, I'm just curious to
see what he's up to now. Ginny ran into him the other
day, and she mentioned it."

Neville froze, a forkful of peas halfway to his mouth.


"Ginny?"

Hermione looked alarmed. "What?"

"Malfoy's seeing Ginny?"

"They're not "seeing" each other, as far as I know.


She says she ran into him at the supermarket, and he
asked her for her number...she said that you were
working with him, and I thought I'd ask. Is there a
problem?"

"He's never bothered to mention it to me."

"Would he? From what Ginny says, they just ran into
each other. No big deal."

Neville narrowed his eyes. "Gin's still out in Barking,


right?"
"Yes, silly, you know that, you helped her move."

Neville put his fork down calmly and pushed his tray
away. "I think I need to have a word with my partner."

"What is it?" Hermione put a hand on Neville's arm.


"Tell me what's wrong. Is it about Malfoy running into
Ginny?"

"Hermione...as far as I know, Draco is staying in his


parents' old mansion near Bath. He is about as far
from the East End of London as it is possible to get
without living in Wales. How the hell did he "run in" to
Ginny Potter at her local super?"

"What does that mean, then? Is Ginny in danger?"


Hermione was stiff with alarm. Draco Malfoy may
have been cleared of any wrongdoing in the war
against Voldemort, but he was still Draco Malfoy. A
man who, despite Neville's assurances to the
contrary, had tried to kill one of Hermione's best
friends, whose father was killed as he stood at
Voldemort's right hand.

"Danger? No. But I think its past time Mr. Malfoy and I
had a little chat." Neville's eyes narrowed, and
Hermione leaned back in alarm, almost
unconsciously. The round-faced boy she'd known
since Hogwarts was suddenly gone, replaced by a
cold-eyed, hardened man, and Hermione felt a small
pang of pity for Draco when Neville caught up with
him.

"GINNY WEASLEY?"

"Potter."

"WHATEVER! What the hell are you trying to pull,


Malfoy?"

Draco slumped in the visitor's chair in Neville's


cramped office in the bowels of the Ministry building,
tilting it backward onto its rear legs and putting his
feet on Neville's desk, mindful of the piles of paper
strewn everywhere. He stared broodingly at his
loafers. "Nothing is going on. I ran into her, we
chatted, I bought her coffee, end of story."

"How the hell did you happen to "run into her" in


London's East End? You live in fucking BATH!"
Neville was pacing in small circles next to his chair,
glaring at Draco, who, despite the stuffiness of the
room and the little man growing increasingly red in the
face from yelling at him, still contrived to look both
cool and comfortable.

"Only temporarily. And since when is it illegal for


people who live in Bath to frequent the eastern half of
London?"

"What are you planning?"


"For crying out loud, Longbottom, I am not planning
anything. I ran into her, we went for coffee, I treated
her kids to ice cream. That is all." Draco narrowed his
eyes at his partner suspiciously. "Why are you so
interested? And how did you find out I'd met her,
anyway?"

"She told Hermione, Hermione told me."

"Of course...Granger, amateur detective, strikes


again."

"It's Weasley now, and Ginny told her about you, so it


hardly qualifies as detective work. I see her from time
to time 'round the Ministry, and we meet up for lunch
now and again; Ginny mentioned I work with you, and
she asked. She's worried."

"And yet I don't demand to know what you are doing


having lunch with Ron Weasley - she married Ron,
yes? - Ron Weasley's wife, preferring instead to give
you the benefit of the doubt, and not immediately
jump to the conclusion that "lunch" is an euphemism
for "shagging her senseless". And I've just gone to a
very unpleasant mental place, thank you,
Longbottom."

Neville's mouth twitched slightly, and some of the


tension went out of his shoulders; the Longbottom
version of a belly laugh. "Fair enough, Malfoy. But you
haven't answered my question. What is going on?"
"Don't get all interrogatory on me. Nothing is going on.
Absolutely nothing at all. More's the pity," Draco
muttered the last bit, but not quietly enough.

"Oh?" Neville asked softly, raising his eyebrows.

Draco sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "What do


you want to hear?"

Neville sat down at his desk and eyed Draco over its
littered surface. "How about the truth?"

Draco didn't look down, but stared at the ceiling as if


hoping for divine intervention. "The truth, Mr.
Longbottom, is that one afternoon not so long ago, I
was out combing the supermarkets of London looking
for Squirrel peanut butter - which apparently we do
not sell here in Britain, although we should. World-
dominating empire, my ass, can't buy decent peanut
butter in this country - " he caught the look Neville
aimed at him and sighed again. "Sorry. I was looking
for peanut butter, and was accosted by a very small
boy with bright red hair and Harry Potter's eyes. He
calmly informed me that he had misplaced his mother
- his words, not mine - and would I be so kind as to
help him find her? What the hell was I going to do, tell
a lost 6-year-old to sod off? So I let him lead me
about, and discovered that Mother was none other
than the littlest Weasel, all grown up."
"Peanut butter?"

"I like peanut butter," Draco said sulkily.

Neville snorted. "So, let me get this straight. You went


on a quest for...peanut butter, ran into Ginny,
suddenly decided to be her friend, and asked her
out?" he asked skeptically.

Draco hitched one elegant shoulder in a small shrug.


"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Isn't shagging a Weasley against the Malfoy code of


honour or something?"

"Well, since I'm the only Malfoy left, I figure I get to


make my own rules."

"And?"

"And?"

"That's what happened? You got accosted by Jamie


in the supermarket, and ended up shagging his
mother?"

"You must lead a sad and sorry life indeed if you think
that a cup of coffee constitutes a shag, Longbottom. If
it does," Draco shot a sly glance at the litter of coffee
cups scattered amongst the paper on Neville's desk,
"you certainly get around."
Another twitch, one that almost became a smile. "But
you intend to shag her, yes?"

"Hah."

Neville waited as Draco counted ceiling tiles. "That's


not an answer."

"No, it's not."

"You do, though, don't you?"

"Do you plan to actually ask that young man down at


the fish and chip place on the corner for his phone
number, or are you just going to continue to make
yourself sick on grease so you can stare at his ass?"
Draco smirked as Neville's face went from red to
white and back again.

"None of your damned business, you albino ferret!"


Neville was quivering, but with rage or
embarrassment, Draco couldn't tell. He spread his
arms and shrugged.

"I do believe you just answered your own question."

"God, you're a pain in the ass."

"Notice me exercising remarkable self-restraint by not


commenting on that."
"Fuck off."

"Poufter."

"Git. Don't you have to be somewhere?"

"Might I remind you that you dragged me to the


bowels of Hell that your Ministry superiors call their
Headquarters to interrogate me?"

"And now I'm telling you to get the hell out. Smug,
overgrown, whey-faced - "

"Why Neville, I didn't know you cared." Draco swung


his feet off the desk, tilted his chair back to the floor
and stood, pausing at the door to blow the other man
a kiss. "I'll miss you terribly too, I promise."

"Get out. God." Neville stared at the door for several


long moments after Draco shut it behind him.
Something was up, he knew that, but Draco had
always been close-mouthed, even as a child, playing
his cards close to his chest. Neville was no closer to
knowing what Draco was about with Ginny than he
was when he'd dragged the other man down here, to
pump him for information at Hermione's request. All
he had was a suspicion, and Neville knew better than
anyone that of the two partners, it was not he who
had the reliable hunches.
Several weeks later

"Hermione, I have nothing to tell you. I wish I did, but


he's a slippery bastard when he decides not to talk
about something, and judging from the progress I've
made - namely, none - I'm guessing that Ginny falls
squarely in the category of Things Draco Will Not
Discuss."

Hermione and Neville were back in the Ministry


cafeteria, Hermione having run down from Diagon
Alley, where she was doing research at the Library.
"Ginny won't say anything about him either, except to
ask me not to tell Ron...which I agreed to, since you
know what he's like. All I know is that they've gone on
three coffee dates, he's taken her and the children to
the park twice, she zones out every time she talks
about him, and that according to her, he seems to
quite like the children. Which is disturbing in and of
itself." She sighed and prodded at her lunch with her
fork. "Why do we eat here? The food's disgusting."

"We eat here, my dear, because I am on call and


cannot leave the building. Sheer bad luck for you that
most of the times we meet happen to be the times
that I can't actually go anywhere pleasant. I wouldn't
say that Malfoy liking kids is disturbing, just a bit out
of character. Or what we know of his character, which
isn't much, to be honest."

"We know he's a self-serving little sneak." Hermione


snorted. "Or used to be," she added quickly at the
look Neville shot her. "Can he really have changed
that much?"

"Either he has changed that much, or none of us had


any real clue as to what he was like back in school.
Although considering the fact that all the Gryffindors
hated him on sight, and vice versa, that might actually
be close to the truth. Maybe there was always a
warm, fluffy Draco just aching to get out the whole
time."

Hermione made a rude noise.

"All right, maybe not. But he is a lot calmer now than


he used to be. I don't think he's using Ginny, if that's
what you're worried about. He hasn't slept with her, I
know that. Hasn't even kissed her yet." Neville
grinned as Hermione gaped at him. "I asked."

"You asked?"

"Quickest way to get an answer. He won't lie to me."

"You seem so sure," Hermione said.

"Hermione, he's my partner. My life is in his hands


whenever we're on duty and his in mine. We trust
each other. We have to," he said. "Although it was
hard at first...I kept waiting for him to lie in wait around
a corner so he could, I don't know, steal my wand and
magic my shoelaces together. I did not want to be
assigned to him, believe me."

"How did you end up working with Malfoy, anyway?"

"Long story, most of it classified. He came back, I was


free, so they stuck us together. Sheer dumb luck. And
now I'm stuck with him, the sly bastard," Neville said
morosely.

"Why, Longbottom, I'm shocked and hurt to hear you


say so. You think we're stuck together? Don't you
believe in destiny? Fate? A meeting of true minds?
Why, if it isn't Mrs. Weasley." Neville and Hermione
both jumped. Draco stood over the table a moment,
smirking at Hermione, then leaned forward and gently
closed her mouth, which had been hanging open as
she stared at him, with one finger. She blushed a
deep shade of red and quickly looked down at her
food.

Neville had the appallingly bad grace to laugh at the


expression on her face. "I did warn you," he grinned.

"Warn her about what?" Draco asked, looking


interested.

Hermione blushed deeper and glared at Neville. "Oh,


nothing. Just a conversation we had the other day. I
haven't seen you in ages, Draco, how have you
been?"
"All right. Keeping busy...been here and there, doing
this and that. Although I hate to interrupt your little
tryst, I need to lure your date here away from you."
Draco turned to Neville. "Cindy in Forensics thinks
she might have something that could be a lead on the
case."

Neville stood up immediately. "Finally. I'm sorry


Hermione...duty calls. Give my love to Ron and the
twins, will you?" He leaned over to give her a quick
hug as she nodded. Draco took her hand and bowed
to her with a flourish, kissing it softly on the knuckles
and smirking before turning and following Neville out
of the cafeteria, leaving Hermione alone with her plate
full of mystery meat.

"I'm serious! I could not believe it was Draco Malfoy


standing in front of me. He's...he's...I can't even
begin...I don't know where to start. Lavender, you
have no idea." Hermione was back in her own office,
housed in one of the corner towers of the large
building that served as Diagon Alley's public library,
sharing tea with Lavender Thomas, nee Brown.
Lavender was the researcher-in-residence for
Divination at the Albus Dumbledore Public Library, a
relatively new position, but one Hermione was glad to
have her old housemate in. Flighty Lavender might
be, but she was far better at Divination than old
Trelawney had ever been. The Library was a fairly
recent addition to the heart of Wizarding London,
having been established after the death of the great
headmaster and the final defeat of Voldemort.
Hermione spent half days there doing research during
the week, and half days at the Ministry twice a month,
lending her expertise in Transfiguration and Charms
to whichever departments needed her. Now, however,
she was ensconced in her chair, talking animatedly to
Lavender, who'd cornered her the minute she got
back.

"Judging from the look on your face," Lavender had


said in a hushed voice, hauling Hermione across the
library's main floor, "something out of the ordinary
happened at lunch. Spill!"

So Hermione was trying. "He's...God he's at least 6


feet tall, which he was before he left, but he's filled
out, and I don't know, worked out or something. He's
not nearly as skinny or gawky as he was then.
Remember how he used to be all elbows and knees
and pointy nose? And he moves like a cat! And he
has cheekbones to die for! How did we fail to notice
that in school? And he grew out his hair, down past
his chin, it's practically silver now instead of just
blond. And he's got the nicest ass...oh lord."
Hermione dropped her head into her hands. "And I
just sat there gawking at him like an idiot. He actually
had to close my mouth for me; I might as well have
been drooling. I cannot believe myself. Given another
moment, I'd have been simpering." She shook her
head in disgust. "And now I'm babbling. I am officially
going mad. It's Draco Malfoy, for crying out loud...who
cares what he looks like?"

Lavender laughed. "So how are we going to go about


luring him in here? I have to see him now. If he can
make Hermione Granger-Weasley, possessor of the
cutest husband in England, go weak at the knees, he
has to be a sight for sore eyes."

Hermione moaned. "Yes, now that I've made a


complete fool of myself, I'll just call up Neville and
start dropping hints. 'So, how's Draco doing? Want to
bring him down here so I can look pathetic again'? I
am so embarrassed."

"Tell him to bring Draco over so I can look pathetic. I


don't mind." Lavender snickered, clearly enjoying
Hermione's discomfiture.

"Lavender, you are not helping!"

"I wonder if it would be polite to invite him out to


lunch, you know, for old time's sake..."

"Oh yes, there's an idea. 'Hello, Draco, I know we all


loathed you with intensity at Hogwarts, but now that
you're back and look like sex on a stick, we
desperate, depraved, middle-aged women would love
to spend an hour or so slobbering on you and
amusing ourselves by creating sordid little fantasies
featuring you and pots of chocolate, let's hook up.'
Sound plan."

Lavender collapsed into gales of laughter. "Pots of


chocolate?"

Hermione grinned evilly. "Oh, you can get quite a lot


of mileage out of a pot of chocolate. You know that
jarred Cadbury's chocolate spread you can buy that
Muggle kids love to put on toast? Very useful stuff."

"Oh dear...would it be wrong of me to picture Ron


covered in chocolate?"

"Yes. Stick to Draco, or better yet, how about Dean?


You know, the one you're married to?"

"Bah, you'd never spot the chocolate on him."

"Wonder if they sell white chocolate in jars..."

"Hermione!"

"Hey, you get to picture my husband, I get to picture


yours!"

Lavender descended into giggles again, infecting


Hermione with her giddiness. Finally Hermione took a
deep breath and sobered a bit. "It does make you
wonder, though. I get the impression from Neville and
Ginny both that the change in Malfoy is a lot more
than just physical. I mean, he basically fled after the
war. I wonder why he's back now."

"Neville didn't say?" Lavender asked.

"No, but you know how Neville is nowadays. You


have to drag information out of him with a crowbar."
Hermione sighed. "I guess I shouldn't be all that
surprised that Draco has changed so much. Who
would have thought, in school, that Neville of all
people would make an Auror?"

Lavender nodded. "I know. Or that you and I would


end up housewives, or that Parvati would end up a
globetrotting glamourpuss." She sighed and patted at
her own pale hair, drawn back in a sensible bun. "I
wanted to be the glamourpuss."

Hermione laughed softly. "I always thought I'd


become a teacher, stay at Hogwarts, have a career,
maybe travel...and I end up married with two
impossible children, barely finding time to do even
half of the research I'd like."

"But you have a very cute husband."

"There is that." Hermione smiled fondly at the picture


of Ron and their twin sons that held a place of honour
on her desk. "Not that Dean is anything to sneeze at."

Lavender leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I


always rather thought you'd end up with Harry,
though."

Hermione blinked. "With Harry?"

"Well, yes. I mean, look at the choices. Ron, trusty


sidekick with terrible temper or Harry, dashing and
handsome defeater of evil wizards. I'd have gone for
Harry."

"Ron doesn't have a terrible temper!" Hermione


protested, as Lavender nodded vehemently. "He
doesn't! And anyway, I honestly never seriously
considered it. I mean, Harry is a wonderful person,
and my best friend, but...he's like my brother. Ron's
always been more than that. And there was always
Ginny for Harry."

Lavender nodded. "I always wondered about that. I


mean, the whole dynamic of your friendship with the
two of them. And how Gin fit into everything."

"I've never really analyzed it. Ron and I have always


seemed like a bit of a couple, partly because Harry's
always been quite standoffish, even within the three
of us. Self-contained. I did have a bit of a crush on
him in fifth year, but I got over it, since he never
seemed to notice, and because, well, Ron..."

"Ron followed you around like a puppy," Lavender


giggled.
Hermione blushed and smiled. "And then Harry and I
were the same height for a bit, which just killed any
and all possibility of romance. Not that it's his fault,
but I don't think I could date a man who was quite that
short." That made Lavender snort and giggle again,
but Hermione determinedly ignored her. "Well, it's not
very romantic, is it? Gazing dreamily into your lover's
eyes is all very nice in theory, but when it comes
down to it, who'd be getting the jars down from the top
shelf in that relationship? I don't know how Ginny
managed it. She was actually taller than he was for a
little while, 'til he hit his growth spurt in seventh year."

"Gin's been starry-eyed for Harry forever, though. I


doubt she cared," Lavender pointed out. "I was rather
shocked they even got divorced."

"You and everyone else, including the entire Weasley


family. I thought Molly was going to take to her bed
from shock. But Harry and Ginny still get along, and
they're both good to the kids, so I suppose it's worked
out. Gin does seem a bit happier now that they've split
up." Hermione shrugged. "Who knows what really
goes on in relationships?"

"That's true," Lavender said musingly. "One never


does what about Malfoy? How did Ginny meet him?
Are they dating now, or what?"

"I don't know that I'd call it dating," Hermione replied.


"She ran into him at the supermarket several weeks
ago, and he helped her home. She says he's quite
nice, although now that I've seen him in person, I
have to wonder how much of her assessment of his
nice-ness is a reflection of his nice-lookingness,"
Hermione said, which sent Lavender off into fits of
mirth again.

"Oh, I have to see him now!" Lavender pulled out a


small lacy handkerchif and dabbed at her eyes. "If you
can't even include him in a sentence without getting
distracted, he must be simply scrumptious."

Hermione sighed in mock-disgust. "I'll see what I can


do about having Neville bring him 'round. But you
have to promise not to drool on him."

"Oh, I wouldn't," Lavender protested. "I do wonder


what happened to cause such a big reversal, though.
I mean, if Neville can stand to work with him at all, he
must have undergone some sort of major personality
change."

"Twelve years is a long time. Who knows what


happened to him? We've all changed," Hermione said
thoughtfully. "I'd have given a great deal to have been
a fly on the wall for Neville's first conversation with
him, though."

~*~

Chapter Three
The hardest part 'bout leaving,
The hard part's not going away
It's the life you have to take with you
And how little you really want to stay
- Beaujolais Nouveau, The Humpff Family

A great many people were confused, after the end of


Voldemort's War, by the life choices made by Harry
Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Hero of Hogwarts
and icon of the wizarding world. He could have
entered the Ministry, could have become an Auror,
could have taken the position of Headmaster of
Hogwarts, could have stepped into the shoes of
Gregory Patterson, the Minister of Magic at the time,
indeed, could probably have stepped into the shoes of
Voldemort himself, without a single soul batting an
eyelash.

But he didn't. Harry Potter appeared at the Wasps'


training camp near the end of September of 1998 with
a group of other hopeful Quidditch players, went
through tryouts and secured the position of Seeker. A
year later, a small notice was printed in the Daily
Prophet, announcing the wedding of Harry James
Potter and Virginia Anne Weasley, which had
occurred over the weekend, attended only by family
and close friends, conducted quietly and without fuss.
There was much disgruntled grumbling amongst the
press core about this lack of publicity, but the
grumbling was done in private and nowhere near the
airwaves or front pages.

Harry did not talk about the War. Not to his friends,
not to his family, and certainly not to the press. Any
reporter foolish enough to even mention it in his
presence found themselves swiftly and totally frozen
out, not just for a single interview, but from any
chance of speaking to The Boy Who Lived ever again.
If a reporter tried to ask Harry Potter about He Who
Must Not Be Named, that reporter could give up on
getting so much as a sound bite from him.

Harry did not talk about the War. That didn't stop
everyone else from talking about the war and his
involvement in it, of course; Voldemort's defeat and
death, and the capture and trials of his Death Eaters
took up much of the next five or six years, with
everything from small newspaper blurbs to ten-
volume theses being written about the events of 1998.
The press had a journalistic field day, as everyone, it
seemed had a story or five to tell about the War.
Stories about Harry were particularly popular, of
course; Ernie McMillan made a small fortune with his
tell-all book Living with Harry: The Hogwarts Years.

Harry did not talk about the war; neither would Ron, or
Hermione, or many of the Hogwarts teachers or
students involved speak of it publicly. Neville would, if
it were very late and he were well on the way to
getting very drunk, point out that his near-death at the
hands of a small group of Death Eaters just before
Voldemort was killed was what finally spurred him to
the realization that life really is too short to be afraid of
one's own shadow. He signed up for Auror training
not long after the end of the war, worked incredibly
hard at it, and surprised everyone, including himself,
by graduating at the top of his class. Ron had secretly
proposed to Hermione the Christmas before
graduation, and they surprised no one when they
were married a year later, in December of 1998.
Ginny went away to travel Europe for 3 months after
the war ended, in part to escape having to talk about
the war, and when she came back she found that
absence made Harry's heart, at least, grow fonder.
They started dating soon after, much to the delight of
the entire Weasley family.

The war was not without its casualties. Seamus


Finnegan, he of the ready smile and boisterous laugh,
was silenced forever on the Hogwarts Quidditch field
that day in June of 1998. Bill Weasley, Cedric
Diggory, Hannah Abbott, Stewart Ackerley, Laura
Madley, Graham Pritchard, Professor Flitwick,
Professor Snape: only some of the names of people
who died during the War. Every death left a hole in
the fabric of the wizarding world, and none wider than
that caused by the death of Albus Dumbledore. He
outlived the war, and saw Ron and Hermione married,
but the dawn of 1999 saw the death of one of the
greatest wizards who ever lived.

Dumbledore's death was a great blow to the wizarding


community, one that was hard to recover from. But life
went on, as it tended to; other figures stepped into the
gaps he left behind. Minerva McGonagall took over as
Headmistress of Hogwarts, and Arthur, Ron and
Percy were just a few of the wizards who were called
on to take positions in the Ministry.

Rooting out the surviving Death Eaters and


supporters of Voldemort took up much of the next few
years. Many, of course, had died in the attack on
Hogwarts that ended up being Voldemort's downfall,
not least of whom were Crabbe, Goyle and their sons,
the Lestranges, Nott, the elder Parkinsons, and
Lucius Malfoy. Pansy Parkinson gave herself up to
the authorities soon after the war's end, and plea-
bargained her way out of an Azkaban sentence by
giving a long list of Death Eater names, including one
Peter Pettigrew. His capture led to the celebrated
clearing of the name of Sirius Black, which was one of
the few bright spots to be found in the bleak early
days of 1999.

Draco Malfoy had vanished without a trace. Every so


often, the Ministry would make a concentrated effort
to find him, since the son of one of the most pre-
eminent Dark wizards would be a prize to whoever
managed to bring him in. He was even listed,briefly,
on the roll of wizards considered "highly dangerous",
until Harry Potter surprised everyone in the wizarding
world by insisting Malfoy be removed from it. Harry
never told anyone why.
It was the only time Harry ever spoke, even indirectly,
of what actually happened on the day that he killed
both Voldemort and Draco's father, and ended
Voldemort's war.

March, 2010

"Longbottom! My office!" Cecil Dobbins barked,


poking his head through Neville's door.

Neville permitted himself a small sigh of exasperation


for his short-tempered, oft-harried supervisor before
setting down his sheaf of reports and stepping out of
his tiny office. He headed down the long, low room
that housed the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement. It was as large as the Hogwarts great
hall, filled with a mishmash of desks, tables and
chairs where the department clerks and junior Aurors
worked, and was surrounded on all four walls by small
offices. The big main room was affectionately referred
to as "the Owlpen", and Neville smiled as he stopped
at Debbie's desk, outside Cecil's office. Although he
was more than happy to have his own office space,
he sometimes missed the noise, camaraderie and
excitement of the pen. He nodded to the elderly
secretary, who jerked her head toward the door and
said, "Well, go on then."

He pushed the door open and stepped into his


supervisor's office, a small, moldy room scarcely
bigger than Neville's own. Cecil was glaring out the
grimy window at the wet March morning, and he
grunted as Neville came in and shut the door behind
him.

"What's up, boss?" Neville asked as he took the two


steps necessary to reach the rickety visitor's chair and
lean one hip against it.

"I'm pulling you off the Zimmer and Barston cases,


we've got a new assignment, and I need you on it,"
Cecil said, turning from the window to glare at Neville.

"You're pulling me off my cases? What for?" Neville


didn't bother to hide his outrage. "I've got some great
leads on Zimmer now, and I'm nearly at a
breakthrough with Barston - "

"Well you can pass 'em over to Bell and McDougall,


because I need you on this new case." Cecil said,
chewing on his moustache. "The Minister's asked me
to pick someone to work with Scotland Yard, and
you're the one I want for this job. You're gonna be a
liaison between the Department and the Muggles for
this thing they're working on."

"Since when do we help the Muggle police with their


cases?"

Cecil huffed and shuffled over to his chair, sitting


heavily. "They've come across a couple of
entrepreneurs, and they need help. Some young
dropout from one of the American wizarding schools
decided to make a name for himself by hooking up
with a Muggle hood, crossing the pond and robbing
banks with Dark Arts spells and memory charms." He
snorted in disgust. "These kids are violating who
knows how many laws, and using Dark magic in the
Muggle world. The Yard has someone on the case
already, apparently on loan from the Canadian
Muggle police - can't remember what they're called,
but their national force - this guy's been on the trail of
the Muggle suspect for several years. He came over
when the Muggle hooked up with this failed wizard
and came to England, working with Scotland Yard
with what he knows from tracking the Muggle in
Canada. The Yard wants someone from the
department to work with this guy, to put a stop to
those two. Sit."

"And you pick me. I suppose I should be flattered,"


Neville groused, as he perched himself on the edge of
the chair, not quite trusting his full weight to the
groaning wood. "How are you going to explain to this
Canadian bloke that he's going to be working with a
wizard?"

"Well, that's the thing," Cecil said, chewing on his


moustace. "It was he who suggested it, talked to his
supervisors at the Yard and got them to talk to the
Minister to have us brought in. He's not actually from
Canada himself, you see, just did his police training
there," Cecil paused, then said, with the twinkle in his
eye that Neville knew meant he was about to say
something Neville wasn't going to like, "This bloke's a
wizard, believe it or not, from here in England. Even
went to Hogwarts...you've probably heard of him.
Name of Draco Malfoy."

Neville stopped breathing for a moment. "Draco


Malfoy? I thought he was dead!"

Cecil grinned, a gleeful bearer of bad news. "Nope.


Apparently he's alive and well and in London as we
speak. Dunno how he ended up in Canada, but he's
the man you'll be working with. I'm gonna have you
head over to the Yard this aft - "

"NO!"

Cecil blinked at Neville, as close to startlement as he


ever got.

"Absolutely not. If this is some kind of sick joke, I don't


find it funny in the least! I will not, I will not work with
Draco Malfoy. Period." Neville had shot to his feet and
was glaring across the desk at his supervisor, hands
clenched in fists at his sides. "I won't. No. Find
someone else. No."

"Longbottom..."

"NO!"
Cecil's temper finally kicked in and he surged to his
feet, shouting. "God dammit, you don't get a choice! I
want you on this case, you're the best man for the job,
and I don't give a damn what you think of Malfoy, you
are working with him and that's final! Whatever petty
little grudge you have against him - "

"Petty? He was a Death Eater! Harry killed his father


while the man stood at Voldemort's right hand! He
tried to harm Harry, and Ron, and Hermione, and just
about everyone else in Gryffindor at some point or
other! His father was one of the people responsible
for what happened to my parents! He's a smug, evil
bastard and I will not work with him!" Neville was
shaking with rage, his nails digging small crescents
into the palms of his hands.

Cecil shouted right back. "And who should I put on


this case instead of you? Bell, who's got all the
subtlety of a sledgehammer? Watkins, who's still
green behind the ears? Kerry, who wouldn't know a
Muggle if one bit him? Findlay, who wouldn't know a
Dark Magic spell if it danced a tango with her? You
are the best Auror I have, dammit, and I want you on
this case! We've a rogue wizard loose and targeting
Muggles, if word of this gets out, all of our asses are
on the line and I need you here! That is an order,
Longbottom!"

Neville opened his mouth and then closed it again.


Finally, in an awed voice, he said, "I'm the best Auror
you've got?"

"May the Founders help us all, eh?" Cecil snorted, his


anger evaporating as suddenly as it had appeared.
"Look, Longbottom, be reasonable. We did a thorough
background check on him, and came up with no
substantial evidence that he was involved with the
Death Eaters; it was the first thing I demanded. And
he came through clean, no Dark Mark, no
involvement, nothing." He sighed heavily. "I know you
don't like it, I don't like it either. You should have been
a fly on the wall for the conversation I had with the
Minister about this. But these two need to be stopped,
and stopped fast, and having you on this file is the
best way to do that. And you are a damn good Auror,
Longbottom, one of the best. And I will order you if I
have to. But I'd rather not."

Neville sighed, his own anger fading. He raised his


hands helplessly. "I just...God. I can't work with him.
Draco Malfoy made my life a living hell my entire 7
years at Hogwarts. And not just me, but Harry and
Ron and 'Mione, and most of the rest of Gryffindor.
Hell, the rest of the school. He was a despicable
bastard, and I hated him. You have any idea how
happy I was when I thought he was dead?"

"You can do it, man. Just try not to kill him 'til after you
solve this thing," Cecil grunted. "Put up with him 'til we
get these bastards in Azkaban, then you can torture
Draco Malfoy to your heart's content."

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" Neville


asked in defeat

"Because you're terrible at telling people no. Now get


the hell out of my office."

"How did I get myself into this?" Neville sighed as he


stood on the front steps of Scotland yard, glaring up
at the large, ugly building in front of him, the tag of his
brand-new Muggle shirt rubbing against the back of
his neck. Setting his shoulders determinedly, he made
his way into the edifice of New Scotland Yard and
over to the officer sitting behind the front desk.

"'Ow can I help ye?" the man grunted, looking as


uncomfortable in his confining black uniform as
Neville did in his suit.

"I'm here to see Detective Malfoy," said Neville. "I


have an appointment. Name's Longbottom."

"ID?" The officer nodded at the card Neville showed


him (a Muggle driver's license, which Neville had got
a few years ago at Cecil's insistence, on the grounds
that it would be 'bloody useful'. Which it was,
actually.). He checked the name on Neville's card
against a list on his desk, and handed Neville a small
plastic key fob. "Yer expected. Malfoy's in room 316,
elevator's down the hall, wave that in front o' the wee
gray box on the wall, door'll open."

Neville nodded his thanks and made his way into the
bowels of the great glass building. He'd spent time in
the Muggle world before, either undercover with the
Department or just for the experience of walking
among non-wizards. He wasn't as comfortable with it
as Ginny or Colin or some of the other younger
wizards, who seemed to live half in the wizarding
world and half in the Muggle and traveled at ease
between the two, but he made do, and didn't seem to
stand out too much. It was considered fashionable
these days to ape Muggle culture to a degree,
copying some of their fashions and expressions -
Hermione claimed it was a reactionary response to
the war with Voldemort, whicht tried to wipe out
Muggle-born wizards

Neville found the elevator and stepped inside


gingerly, pushing the button and waiting as the creaky
machinery lifted him up three stories. He stepped out
and waved the plastic fob in front of the small box on
the wall as directed, and watched in bemusement as
the door slid open, revealing a long, sterile hallway
with truly hideous green carpeting and lit by harsh
fluorescent lights.

It didn't take him long to find room 316, which turned


out to be a surprisingly spacious office, albeit with an
uninspiring view of the building across the street out
of the large window and the same bilious green
carpeting as the hall. Neville stood in the hall a
moment, uneasily staring at the empty office, and the
equally empty hallway. He checked his watch; it was
2:30, so he was right on time. Tentatively, Neville
stepped inside and looked around nervously. "Well,
what now, then?" he muttered waspishly. Typical of
Malfoy to be late; making Neville wait around to put
him on edge, most likely. He sat down on the visitor's
chair in front of the desk, fidgeting nervously, then
stood up again after a minute. He poked his head
back out into the hall...no sign of anyone.

Neville let out his breath in a huff and glared at the


office. It was quite large, easily twice the size of his
own office back at the Ministry, which was barely
more than a broom closet. Besides the L-shaped oak
desk, which was currently covered with a computer
and a frightening amount of paper, there were a
couple of large metal filing cabinets against one wall
and an oak bookshelf crammed with official-looking
binders and books with sterile titles like Community
Policing: A Guide for Police Officers and Citizens and
Reputable Conduct: Ethical Issues in Policing and
Corrections.Neville stared at the books moodily,
noting that someone - Malfoy, he guessed - had
carefully arranged all of the books to line up by size,
creating neat slopes from left to right on each shelf.
There were several pictures on the second shelf, in
unpolished wooden frames.

Intrigued, Neville bent over slightly to look at the


photos. They were Muggle pictures, the subjects in
each standing perfectly still and not waving or
mugging for the camera like the two photos on
Neville's desk at the MoM. (One of Ron, Harry, Ginny
and Hermione at Ron and 'Mione's wedding, giggling
playfully and pushing one another, and one of
Neville's graduation from Auror training; in that one,
picture-Neville tended to strut around looking both
smug and proud, adjusting his wizarding hat and
thrusting out his chest.) He could see the wisdom of
having non-moving pictures in the middle of a Muggle
police station, though - it probably saved a lot of
questions. Neville picked up one of the frames and
examined it closely. It showed a group of eight men in
dusty jeans, plaid shirts and cowboy hats leaning and
sitting along a fence rail, the land behind them rising
up in green and gold hills to the foot of snow-covered
mountains in the distance, under an impossibly blue
sky. It didn't look like anywhere in Britain or even
Europe. All of the men were grinning, a couple of
them with arms draped around each other's
shoulders. Neville flipped the picture over, and on the
back of the photo, which was pinned in the frame
without matting, were the words Lazy D, Roundup,
Fall, 2005. "Lazy D?" he asked aloud, frowning. What
the heck was a lazy D? Neville shrugged and put the
picture back, moving on to the next one.

This one showed what looked like a river in flood,


roaring over huge rocks in great crashing waves of
white foam, sheer cliffs rising out of the river on the
far side. In the middle of the picture, teetering on the
crest of a wave, was a large yellow raft, filled with a
group of unrecognizable people in white helmets and
lifejackets, looking like they were holding on for dear
life. At the back of the raft, on a higher seat, wearing a
garish purple helmet and life vest, was a dark-haired
young man wrestling with two long oars. Neville
peered closer at the picture; while the rest of the
people in the boat looked scared witless, the young
man was clearly grinning ear-to-ear and looked to be
having the time of his life. Neville flipped it over, to
read John, Kicking Horse, Summer 1999. That didn't
make any sense to him either.

The last picture was of two people, a criminally


handsome man and a petite blonde woman who
looked like a china doll, sitting on an outcropping of
rock, in profile to the camera. The man was dressed
in hiking boots, black pants and a dark blue fleece
pullover, long light-blonde hair pulled back in a
ponytail at his neck, and the woman was wearing a
green cotton sweatshirt and khaki shorts, leaning
back against his chest. He had his arms around her
and his chin on the top of her head, and they were
both gazing at something in the distance. A range of
pine-covered mountains rose up behind them, tinged
with gold from the sun. The back of the photo read
Draco and Laura, Whistler, Spring 2001.

Neville blinked and flipped the picture back over in


disbelief. That was Draco? He looked
so...so...gorgeous! He didn't look anything like the
Draco Neville remembered. He stared at the photo for
a long minute, trying to reconcile his memory of
Malfoy in seventh year - skinny, sullen and scowling,
with the adolescent awkwardness that came of
growing too tall too fast - to the chiseled man in the
photo. At long last, Neville grudgingly admitted to
himself that he recognized the nose. And the hair...he
didn't imagine there were that many people in the
world with Draco's peculiar white-blonde hair. Neville
wondered idly who the woman was. He placed the
photo back on the shelf and returned to the other two
pictures thoughtfully.

After another few moments of searching the first


picture, he finally realized that the man sitting on the
top post of the fence on the left-hand side, leaning on
the shoulder of a burly older man standing beside him
was also Draco, in a blue plaid shirt, jeans so filthy
they appeared brown instead of blue, a dusty brown
cowboy hat, and alarmingly pointy boots. And Draco
was grinning, looking relaxed and cheerful and happy;
that must have been why Neville hadn't recognized
him straight off. For he still had the same sharp nose,
and Neville could see even under the hat that Draco's
hair was the same shade of silvery blonde it had
always been. He shook his head and set the picture
back down again.

Neville was just about to pick up the middle picture


again, when a voice from the doorway said, "Oh, hell.
Am I late?" Neville turned.

A surprisingly attractive Draco Malfoy in a still photo


was quite a different matter from a surprisingly
attractive Draco Malfoy in the flesh. A surprisingly,
stunningly, terribly attractive Draco Malfoy, in a
ridiculously attractive white silk shirt that clung to his
shoulders and chest, and pale khaki trousers covering
long, lean legs. His long blonde hair was tied in a neat
ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his skin had a
faint gold glow, as if he'd spent some time in the sun
recently. Neville felt his mouth go dry. Draco shifted
the pile of folders he was carrying into his left arm and
strode forward, hand extended. Neville took it weakly,
and tried desperately not to notice that Draco had tiny
little laugh lines around his silver-gray eyes, or that
his hair escaped from its ponytail just under his ears
into little silvery curls. "Draco Malfoy. Sorry if I'm late,
could have sworn I said 3. I'm guessing the Ministry
sent you over...have a seat."

Draco waved one hand at the visitor's chair and came


around the edge of his desk, surveying the hurricane
of paper strewn all over. He shrugged one shoulder
and dropped the stack of folders in a pile near one
edge, then sat down in the chair. Neville sat down
nervously as Draco shuffled reports around, and
cleared his throat. "Yes, I've been assigned to work
with you."

Draco looked up. "And you are...?"


Neville paused a moment, astonished. Draco didn't
recognize him? Well...granted, Neville hadn't
recognized him at first either. "Neville Longbottom,"
he said finally.

Draco cocked his head and looked at Neville for a


long moment, shoulders tensing imperceptibly. "Hello,
Longbottom," he said finally. "How've you been?"
Then he bent his head to the folder in front of him,
making notes in the margin of one of the sheets of
paper.

"I...um, well enough." Neville wasn't sure how to react.


Here he was, in a Muggle police station, sitting across
from one of his worst enemies from his school years,
and the man was being almost nice to him. Maybe
Draco had suffered a head wound. Or undergone a
personality transplant. He surreptitiously rubbed his
hands against his trousers, was about to say
something when Draco looked up again. He picked up
the folder he was looking at and handed it across the
desk to Neville. "That's a summary of what I know so
far on the wizard in our little duo. I don't know how
much your supervisors have told you about this case,
but I was thinking it might be a good idea for you to
concentrate on the wizard while I keep tabs on the
other one."

"Alright...is this all the information we have?" Neville


asked, flipping through the slim file, grateful to have
something to hold onto.

"So far," Draco said coolly. "The Canadian Ministry of


Magic wouldn't let me have access to their files on
him, so that's all I've been able to come up with. You
might want to try asking, however. They might release
the information to you."

"Why wouldn't they give it to you?" Neville asked


without thinking, still reading the sheets contained in
the folder. He looked up in surprise when Draco didn't
answer. The other man was regarding him with
hooded gray eyes.

"Actually," Draco said after a long moment, "I didn't


ask. But they wouldn't have, even had I bothered."

Neville frowned. It had been a long time since Draco


had been seen in England, and granted, neither he
nor his father, Lucius Malfoy had been the considered
the most pleasant men in the world, but there wouldn't
have been any reason for the Canadian MoM to
withhold information, would it?

His confusion must have shown, for Draco smiled


slightly. "As far as anyone overseas knows, I am just
another Muggle cop dealing with something he
doesn't quite understand. Unlike here in Britain, the
wizarding community in North America isn't so closely
connected to the Muggle world that they would
willingly exchange information like this freely."
"A Mug...you...what...?" Neville caught himself and
took a deep breath. " 'Just another Muggle cop'?
What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Mr. Longbottom, that 12 years ago I left the


wizarding world for good, and if this stupid little prick
I've been chasing hadn't decided to get himself mixed
up with a failed wizard and forced me to come back
here, I would have stayed gone from the wizarding
world." He sounded surprisingly bitter.

"You've been living as a Muggle?" Neville said in


disbelief.

"I don't know if I should be flattered or offended by


your tone. Yes, I've been living as a Muggle."

"You?"

"Yes, me. I think we've established this. Can we move


on?"

"I just...I'm just a little surprised, is all." Neville snorted


inwardly. Surprised was hardly the word. Draco
Malfoy, racist little git, living with Muggles and
Mudbloods for over a decade years, shunning the
magical community? "It seems a little...out of
character."

"And, of course, you know so much about my


character," Draco said icily. And suddenly, there was
the Draco Malfoy Neville knew, glaring at him now
with frigid gray eyes, a sort of coiled menace in the
set of his shoulders. "Since we're taking a little trip
down memory lane, however did you manage to
become an Auror? Did they let you bring your
Remembrall into your exam?"

Neville bristled. "You - " he said, then clamped his


mouth shut. You haven't changed a bit, he'd been
about to say, but he wondered if it were true. The
Draco Malfoy he'd known wouldn't have been caught
dead anywhere near a Muggle, much less live as one.
Of course, the Draco Malfoy he'd known would have
happily lied through his teeth if he thought it'd put
Neville on edge.

Draco took a deep breath, visibly forcing himself to


relax. "Look, if you want to go back to your little
Ministry and tell them you don't want to work with me,
that's fine. All I need is someone who can look after
the wizarding side of things, so I don't have to. It
doesn't have to be you."

Neville slumped slightly in his chair. "No'allowed," he


muttered.

"What?"

"I'm not allowed to give up the case. I already tried."


Neville said rebelliously.
Draco stared at Neville for a long moment, then
started to laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Well, now I know how he got the laugh lines, Neville
thought to himself. He realized suddenly that he'd
never seen Draco genuinely laugh at Hogwarts.
Smirk, yes, snicker, yes, but not actually laugh, freely
and without holding back, like he was doing now.
"Already way ahead of me, are you, Longbottom?"

"I'm glad you find it so amusing, Malfoy," Neville


replied, but without rancor.

Draco suppressed another chuckle. "Sorry," he said


cheerfully. "I can just imagine what your first reaction
to working with me was."

Neville looked at the other man a little wildly. Had


Draco just apologized to him? He looked down at the
folder in his hands in confusion. Finally he looked up,
into Draco's clear grey eyes. "I was a little shocked, to
be honest. Did you know that everyone thinks you're
dead?"

Draco snorted. "Had no idea. Doesn't surprise


me...who started that particular rumour?"

Neville shrugged. "Dunno. Came about after you


vanished without a trace, after the war. The Ministry
was looking for you, you know. Had Aurors all over
Britain, and after they didn't find you, it was just
assumed."

"Well, as Mark Twain once said, the rumours of my


death have been greatly exaggerated. I didn't die, I
just...left."

"Why?" The question slipped out before Neville could


help himself. 10 years as an Auror meant he spent a
lot of time asking questions, and it was the obvious
one.

Draco tensed, his jaw tightening. "Because I wanted


to."

"None of my business?"

"Good guess." Draco nodded at the file Neville held.


"Like I said, if you can get in touch with the Canadian
Ministry about that guy, I'll see what I can find here on
the other one. Let's hope we can catch these bastards
before it drags on for too long."

Neville stood up, knowing a dismissal when he heard


one. "I'll see what I can do." He hesitated. "Um...how
should I get hold of you? When I find anything?"

"Heh, good question." Draco looked around at his


desk for a moment, then grabbed a pen and a slip of
paper. "Know how to use a telephone?"

"Of course!" Neville replied indignantly.


"Just checking. Many wizards don't," Draco said
soothingly, and handed him the paper. "This is my cell
number; call me on that and we can find a time to
meet."

"Alright," said Neville. "I'll be in touch, then." He


moved toward the door, then stopped to look back at
Draco suddenly. Draco's head was already bent to his
work, sunlight glinting off his silver hair. "Where did
you go?" he asked suddenly, the words escaping
before he could stop himself.

Draco looked up and smiled slightly, cocking his head


to one side. "I went to Canada. Thought you knew
that. Didn't the Ministry tell you?"

Neville just shook his head. "Yes, but..." he shrugged


finally, giving up the attempt to put his surprise and
curiosity into words. "Where in Canada?"

"Few different places. Toronto, Winnipeg, every


damned pathetic little town on the Trans Canada
Highway between Manitoba and BC, or so it felt at the
time...spent most of the last 10 or so years in Calgary,
though. In Alberta," he added, at the look of confusion
on Neville's face. "Western prairies, near the Rocky
Mountains. You can look it up on a map, if you're that
curious."

"Oh," Neville said intelligently.


"Longbottom?"

"Yes?"

"Delightful as it is discussing my personal history with


you, I have work to do." Draco waved a hand at him.
"Shoo."

Neville huffed, insulted at the flippant dismissal, but


Draco already had his head bent over his paperwork
and didn't look up. Neville threw up his hands and left.

Over the next few months, they settled into a strange


mix of animosity, professional rivalry and
companionship. Neville discovered that Draco had a
wry, cynical sense of humour, an extremely jaded
view of human nature and the irritating habit of
humming the most hokey country songs in existence
at the most inappropriate of times. He had a
surprisingly good singing voice although he rarely
showed it, was a decent cook, refused to use magic
under any circumstances, and hated to get wet.

He was also, Neville found, extremely perceptive.


They'd only been working together three weeks or so
when out of the blue, Draco tilted his head, gave
Neville an inscrutable look from across his desk and
asked, "So how come you don't have a boyfriend?"

Neville had opened and shut his mouth several times,


before finally settling on saying "What?" in a shocked
tone.

Draco shrugged one shoulder. "Just curious."

"What makes you think I'm...that I...I'm..."

"Gay? Just a hunch," Draco replied calmly.

Neville glowered. "What do you mean, a hunch?"

"A hunch. A feeling. An educated guess." Draco


smirked at him. Neville had already figured out that
Draco's "hunches" were the most reliable he'd ever
encountered, but it was a bit disconcerting to know
that Draco was using them on him. He hadn't willingly
told anyone but Ginny about his sexuality - the
wizarding world wasn't nearly as open-minded about
such things as the Muggle world, and homosexuality
was intensely frowned upon. No one he knew, not
even Hermione, had deduced that the reason Neville
never dated women was because he preferred men,
and Neville fully intended to keep it that way. He'd
long ago made it a rule not to discuss his sex life (or
lack thereof) with anyone, and he wasn't about to start
with Draco Malfoy. Especially not with Draco Malfoy.
Neville cleared his throat warily, trying to formulate a
decent reply, but Draco cut him off. "Oh, stop looking
like you're about to be lynched. If I haven't run
shrieking by now, I'm not about to, am I?" Draco
leaned back in his chair and regarded Neville frankly.
"I should hope you realize by now that I don't care."

Neville shut his mouth and nodded. "I don't tell


people."

"I gathered. Still, why don't you have a Muggle


boyfriend? Lots of wizards do. Or used to," Draco
said. "Though that may have changed. Everyone did
it, no one talked about it."

"They still don't talk about it. I wouldn't even know


where to start," Neville blurted honestly, then winced.
"I mean, I'm not - that is, I - dammit. I hardly see how
it's any of your business, my private life."

"I was just asking." Draco shrugged idly and started


examining his fingernails.

"So where's your girlfriend, then?" Neville demanded.


"Since we're on the topic."

Draco's face went utterly blank, as though a switch


had been thrown somewhere in his head. "I don't
have one," he said, in a tone that flatly discouraged
questions. "And it's none of your business."

Neville raised an eyebrow at him, but Draco ignored


it. "Fine then," Neville said sharply, and they didn't
speak of it again.

~*~
Chapter Four

Did the stars shine brighter on the night we met


Were the blossoms sweeter in the trees
Did a songbird sing in your heart when we kissed,
Did you fall in love with me?
- Did You Fall In Love With Me, Prairie Oyster

November, 2010

Draco ran one hand over his hair and pressed the
elevator button again. He debated just taking the
stairs, but decided that, impatience aside, his
immaculate suit wouldn't stay that way if he ran up 5
flights. The lift doors finally slid open and Draco
waited with rather bad grace as a group of teenagers
piled out, flowing around him and giggling. He
stepped in and punched the button for Ginny's floor,
leaning back against the rear wall as the doors slid
shut and the elevator started to rise. He wasn't late,
exactly...at least, no more than 5 minutes. Maybe 10.

The lift stopped at the 5th floor, and Draco made his
way to Ginny's door. He knocked, then paced in a
small circle, waiting for Ginny to answer, running his
hand over his hair again, silently wishing he had a
mirror. Not that he was being vain, he just had the
horrible feeling that his hair was out of place. He
patted it again, then tugged at the lapels of his suit
jacket to straighten them. Ginny seemed to be taking
an awfully long time to answer the door. He wasn't
nervousper se; after all, it wasn't as though they
hadn't gone out before, for coffee or gone to the park,
semi-neutral meetings chaperoned by her children
and a score of other people. Of course, going to the
park was not the same as going to the theatre and out
for dinner. And it would be the first time they'd be
alone together, without the kids around. But he wasn't
nervous. Malfoys did not get nervous when picking up
gorgeous women and taking them out on the town,
and he was a Malfoy. Therefore, he was not nervous.
Draco nodded to himself and marked out another
small circle on the truly ugly carpet. Not nervous at all.

Draco was about to knock again when he heard a


muffled voice on the other side of the door, then the
sound of the bolt sliding back, the door opened, and
he found himself face to face with Ron Weasley.

Draco froze, eyes wide. Oh shit.

Ron extended a hand, smiling. "Hi! You must be


Ginny's date. She's almost ready, I'm her brother. Just
here baby-sitting," he said.

Draco gingerly shook Ron's hand, silently hoping he


could avoid telling Ron who he actually was. For
once, being almost unrecognizable as his 17-year-old
self was a definite blessing. "Hello," he said
cautiously, and stepped forward into the small foyer
as Ron moved back to let him in.
Hermione appeared behind Ron's back, gesturing
frantically at Draco. He wasn't sure exactly what she
was after him to do, but assumed it had something to
do with not revealing his true identity to Ron. Since
Ron was 4 inches taller than Draco and outweighed
him by a good 40 pounds, Draco figured it would be
prudent to go along. He cleared his throat
uncomfortably and tried not to feel like Ron was
looming. "Um...is Ginny almost ready?" he asked.

"Ron, dear, why don't you go check?" Hermione said


immediately.

Ron shot his wife a look.

"Why don't you go check on her? She's probably


doing girl stuff," he said belligerently. "Makeup or hair
spells or wha - oh, there you are."

Ginny appeared in the hall entrance, looking stunning


in black woolen dress pants and a green turtleneck
sweater. A gold pendant hung on a chain just above
her breasts, and her hair was swept up in copper
ringlets, with a few stray curls drifting across her
forehead. "Hello! Sorry I'm running late, let me just
say goodbye to the kids!" She slipped through the
kitchen into the living room, and Draco heard her
talking, then a chorus of young voices in reply. She
came back into the kitchen and gave Hermione a
quick hug. "Thanks so much for babysitting you two,
just let me get my coat and we can go."

She grabbed the coat in question off the back of one


of the kitchen chairs, slung her purse over her
shoulder and grabbed Draco by the hand, pulling him
out the door as fast as she could. She ignored Ron's
protests, and their escape was conveniently aided by
a distraction from a pair of small red-headed boys
who bore a startling resemblance to Ron.

Ginny waited until they'd got into the lift before


bursting out: "I am so sorry! Harry decided at 5 this
afternoon that he couldn't take the kids this weekend,
and I couldn't find a sitter. I had to call Hermione, and
of course she had to bring the twins with her, then
when Ron found out that she was going to come sit
for me, he decided to poke his great ugly nose in and
tag along...I'm so sorry."

She looked distraught, and Draco touched her


shoulder, smiling. "It's alright," he said soothingly. "No
harm done, he didn't kill me. Actually, he didn't even
recognize me, and Hermione seemed quite intent to
keep it that way. So we're safe."

Ginny laughed, her face brightening. "Much as I love


my brothers, they're a bunch of nosy, overprotective
brutes at times. Thank heavens this isn't a night that
Fred or George show up at Ron's place for food, or
they'd all be here. And I am sorry...I could kill Harry
right about now, he always does this."
"What happened, that he couldn't take the kids?"

"One of his players is getting married, and they're


doing the stag party tonight. I guess he figured I
wouldn't be doing anything, so I wouldn't mind having
him not take the children. Not like I have a life of my
own, or anything," Ginny scowled. Then she shook
her head sharply. "But I'm not going to think about it.
It'll only make me angry, and that would spoil the
evening." She beamed at Draco as the lift door
opened at the ground floor.

"Well, we should hurry a bit, or we'll miss the start of


the play. I must apologize too, since I was late as
well," Draco replied, helping Ginny into her coat
before they stepped out into the cold.

"What are we going to see?"

"Shakespeare, the old standby. They've renovated


the old Globe theatre, and I thought it'd be interesting
to see what it's like." Draco opened the passenger
side door and handed Ginny into the car, then came
around and slid into the driver's seat. "The Merchant
of Venice is playing, which I haven't seen yet, and I
didn't think you had, so I thought we could check it
out."

Ginny's eyes lit up. "I've never been to a real Muggle


theatre...this should be exciting!"
Draco laughed. "Well, I hope it lives up to your
expectations."

Inside the apartment, Hermione and Ron had


established calm amongst the children, and settled on
the couch to watch them playing. Hermione was
silently blessing Brendan and Adam, who like their
uncles could always be counted on to provide a
convenient distraction. She leaned back and closed
her eyes, hoping Ron had been sufficiently distracted.
Her hopes were dashed, unfortunately.

"Hermione," Ron said slowly once he'd got his breath


back. "What are you not telling me?"

"What makes you think I'm not telling you


something?" she asked squeakily.

"The fact that you are studiously not mentioning the


subject of Ginny's date was my first clue," Ron
replied, eyeing his wife suspiciously. "And that you,
for some reason, seemed to not want me to talk to
him. Now...why wouldn't you want me to talk to this
mystery man?"

"I don't know what you're yammering on about!"


Hermione got up from the couch and bustled into the
kitchen. Ron watched her quietly, his suspicions
confirmed. Hermione never fidgeted, she never
squeaked, she never bustled for no reason, and she
never avoided subjects. Something was up. Ron's
eyes narrowed.

"So. Let's examine this, shall we?" Ron said, settling


back into the couch and watching Hermione's back as
she made tea. "Ginny has a date with a tall, muscular,
blond man who appeared out of nowhere. You know
this man, or so I assume, since you were doing that
talking with gestures thing behind my back - that I
hate, by the way - to get him out of here before I could
speak to him for any length of time. Ginny seemed
determined to drag him out of here by the ear so I
couldn't talk to him. Although you seem to know him,
you have never mentioned this man before, to me or
to Harry, and you tell Harry and me everything. You
won't tell me his name, Ginny wouldn't tell me his
name, he didn't tell me his name..."

"Ron - "

"No, no, don't interrupt me! I'm going to figure this out.
Let's see. How many tall blond men do I know that I
wouldn't want my sister to date?" Ron started ticking
names off on his fingers. "Chris Brown, from my
office, but it wasn't Chris, obviously. Michael Van
Buren, from Foreign Magical Affairs. Nick Sorenson,
who has that shop in Diagon Alley. Never met him,
but he's a blond, and any man who runs a flower shop
is suspect. Doug Mackenzie, who works for Witch
Weekly. Hmmm...who am I missing? Someone I
haven't seen in a long time, maybe? Since I didn't
recognize him."

Hermione sighed silently as Ron thought aloud. Ron


might not be the quickest thinker she knew, but he'd
work at a problem he was interested in until he'd
come up with a satisfactory answer. Horribly
stubborn, was her husband.

"Now who do I know who's blond that I haven't seen


in a long time? Kip Wilkenson? No...too short to be
Kip. Bob Ketchum? Although he's married. Hmmm..."
Ron sank into silence, pondering and searching his
memory. Hermione eyed him warily, hoping like hell
he wouldn't make the connection.

Ron continued to spring names on her all evening, as


he thought of them, or when he thought she was
distracted enough that she'd answer honestly without
thinking about it. Finally, after Ron followed her into
the kitchen while she dried the dishes to pester her
some more, Hermione reached the end of her
patience. She slammed the pot she was holding onto
the counter and glared at her husband. "Ron, stop it! I
am not telling you. If Ginny wanted you to know, she'd
have shared that information with you."

"So you know!"

"Yes, but I am still not telling you."

Ron did his best lost-puppy face. "You mean, you'd


hide something like this from your own husband?
Keeping secrets from me with my own little sister? I'm
hurt. Crushed. Terribly wounded."

"I'm not buying it."

"Won't you give me even a small hint?" Ron asked


pleadingly. "Please?"

"Ron..."

"Just a little one," Ron said, wrapping his arms around


her waist. "Doesn't even have to be an obvious one.
Something simple, like...have I met him before?"

Hermione sighed, trying to wriggle away from him.


"Ron, I meant it. If Ginny wanted you to know, she'd
tell you herself."

Ron frowned and let Hermione go. "She told you,


though."

"She didn't tell me - well, alright, she did tell me, but
she didn't mean to. I sort of put two and two together
when she let something slip."

"Come on Hermione. Why wouldn't she want me to


know?"

"Because if you find out, you'll over-react."


"Me?" Ron said innocently. "Over-react? Why would I
over-react?"

"Because over-reacting is what you do best, dear."

Ron looked hurt, and wandered back into the living


room, flopping down on the couch to watch Jamie and
the twins playing. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief
and went back to doing the dishes.

Five minutes later, she turned around, a plate in hand,


and bumped into Ron, who was standing right behind
her. "Ron, honestly, don't - " She started, but stopped
when she saw his face. He looked murderous. "Oh
dear."

"I asked Jamie."

"Oh dear."

Ron closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath,


before saying, very, very quietly. "Draco Malfoy?"

"Now, Ron - "

"DRACO MALFOY?"

"Ron, keep your voice down!"

"He's supposed to be DEAD!" Ron stomped around in


a circle, waving his arms. "NOW I know why you didn't
want to tell me! That - that - that - ferret has the gall to
show up here and date my sister - "

"Ron!" Hermione waved her towel at him. "It's none of


your business what Ginny does. For God's sake,
she's an adult, in case you've failed to notice, and she
can take care of herself."

"She's my sister! And you knew! You knew, and


actually stood there and refused to tell me! That my
own sister was gadding about, slumming with some
evil, back-from-the-dead, two-faced, stuck-up - "

"Why are you yelling, Uncle Ronnie?"

Ron froze, mid-sentence and turned around. Sarah


was standing in the hallway entrance dressed in a
frilly pink nightgown and holding a stuffed yellow
bunny rabbit. "Sarah, sweetie, what are you doing up?
You're supposed to be in bed," Ron said softly.

"You woke me up. Why are you yelling?" Ron


shrugged helplessly, looking to Hermione, who glared
at him. Sarah padded into the kitchen and raised her
arms to Ron, waiting expectantly. He finally bent
down and scooped her up, and she wrapped her arms
around his neck to give him a kiss, knocking his ear
with her bunny rabbit. "Why are you mad?"

"Uncle Ron just found out something and he's not


very happy about it, is all," Ron said to her. He shot
Hermione another pleading glance but she just
frowned and shook her head, as if to say you're on
your own.

"What did you find out?"

"Well, your mommy is spending a lot of time with


someone that I don't particularly like," Ron said.

"You mean Draco?"

Ron cleared his throat. "So you've met him, I take it?"

"Yes. I like him," Sarah said coolly. "He's nice."

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times. He


glanced over at Hermione, who just shrugged. "How's
he nice?"

"He buys us ice cream. He took us to the park once.


And he really likes Mommy."

"And how do you know that?" Ron asked with interest.


Sarah looked at him, brushing a tangled black curl off
her cheek.

"I just do," she said, and bent her attention to her
bunny rabbit. Ron looked at Hermione over Sarah's
head. She shook her head at him and motioned him
to carry Sarah back to bed.
Ron shifted Sarah's weight. "Well, I'm sorry I woke
you up, sweetheart. How about we go back to bed,
hmmm?"

"Will you stop yelling?"

"Yes, honey, I will," Ron said guiltily.

"Alright," Sarah said agreeably, and let him carry her


off to the bedroom she shared with William.

Grateful for the reprieve, Hermione finished putting


away the last of the dishes and went out to gather up
the twins and Jamie, who were hovering near the
archway to the living room and trying to pretend they
weren't listening in. "Right, you lot, time for bed for
you too!"

Amidst much groaning from Brendan and Adam, and


a resigned sigh from Jamie, she herded the boys into
pajamas and off to their respective beds, Jamie in his
own room, and the twins bunking down in Ginny's
room until it was time to take them home. Ron came
to help her get everyone settled, after he'd put Sarah
back to bed and checked on William, and it was half
an hour before they managed to flop back down on
the couch.

Ron was silent for a while, draping one long arm


around Hermione's shoulders and leaning back. She
curled up against his side and rested her head
against his chest, listening to him breathe. She could
tell he was thinking hard about the whole Malfoy
situation, and decided to let him think himself out.
When Ron finally spoke, she could hear his voice
rumbling through his chest. It was comforting. "I still
want to know why you didn't tell me."

"I didn't tell you because of exactly what you said


when you did find out," Hermione replied. "Because
you never liked Draco, and I knew you'd be mad."

"And why shouldn't I be mad? Ginny going 'round


hiding things from me, dating Malfoy of all people...it's
just bizarre." Ron frowned pensively and shook his
head. "I thought Malfoy was dead, anyway."

"Well, obviously not. He just left the country and let


everyone think he was dead. Did you know he's been
living as a Muggle?" Hermione asked, leaning back to
catch the disbelieving expression on Ron's face.
"Strange, no? I could barely credit it myself."

"That's just...too weird to think about," Ron replied.


"That...well. Sort of shakes one of the foundations of
what is normal and right, doesn't it?"

"Oh, Ron. People can change, you know," Hermione


pointed out. Poking him in the chest. "We all have,
including you, Mr. Calm and Cool."

Ron blushed slightly. "Yes, well, but Malfoy? A


Muggle? It's just fundamentally wrong," he said,
shaking his head. He sat quietly for a few more
minutes. Finally, he sighed. "D'you think Sarah's
right? That he does like her?"

Hermione shrugged. "I have no idea. I really haven't


spoken to Malfoy since he got back, and Neville says
he won't talk about it."

Ron craned his neck to look down at her. "Neville?


What's Neville got to do with it?"

"Oh, Neville and Draco are partners. They're working


together for the Ministry on some case, Neville says."

"Neville knew?" Ron sounded indignant. "Why am I


always the last person to find out about these sorts of
things?"

"In this case you're not, actually. I don't believe


anyone's mentioned it to Harry as of yet," Hermione
said wryly. "And don't you go running and tell him
either, you can leave that particular task to Gin. And
Neville only knew because Ginny told me she'd run
into Draco, and I was worried, so I asked Neville
about it. So Neville asked him, because he works with
him."

"Poor Neville."

"Ron!" Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. "Neville


says he's not so bad, actually."

"He's a git! Once a git, always a git. What I really want


to know is what the hell Ginny is thinking."

Hermione snorted. "You saw him...what makes you


think she's thinking at all?"

"What, Malfoy got tall all of a sudden, and Ginny goes


and falls all over him?"

"No, Malfoy got gorgeous. If he were going 'round


buying the twins ice cream and being nice to me, I'd
probably throw all my thinking about the standard
definitions of good and evil out the window too."

"He's not all that," Ron grumbled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Actually, Ron,


he is all that. And a bag of crisps." She giggled as
Ron scowled, and snuggled into his chest. "But all
told, I think you're much cuter."

"Well that's something."

Hermione hummed happily, nestling her head against


his shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, the girls
'round at the library think you're cute too."

"You talk about me with the women you work with?"


Ron asked, aghast.
"Well, of course. What do you think we talk about,
Quidditch?" Hermione grinned. "We talk about you.
And everyone else's husband too. So far you're
leading the poll for cutest husband in England, though
Dean Thomas is running a close second." She
paused thoughtfully. "Of course, I still haven't
managed to think up a subtle way to get Neville to
bring Draco 'round..."

She had to muffle her laughter so as not to wake the


children when Ron pushed her off the couch.

The play, as it turned out, left a great deal to be


desired. After much whispering and nudging (and
enough muffled snickering to earn them glares from
their neighbours), Draco and Ginny decided to leave
at intermission. They stopped to eat at a tiny Italian
restaurant, complete with checkered tablecloths and
truly excellent food.

"So what was it that caused the reformation of Draco


Malfoy?" Ginny asked, smiling at him over the plate of
kahlua ice cream cake they were sharing for dessert.
They had exhausted the topic of the play's merits, or
lack thereof, sometime around the middle of the meal.
"Since you have reformed. No one recognizes you,
and you cause awe and wonderment wherever you
go."

"I don't know about the awe and wonderment," Draco


snorted. "It wasn't any one thing, really. I guess. More
a series of realizations on my part."

"Realizations?"

Draco nodded. "You know, when things happen and


you really start to wonder if everything you've ever
believed up to that point is actually true."

Ginny smiled faintly. "You mean, like an epiphany."

"More than one," Draco shrugged.

"What sort of epiphanies, then?" Ginny asked. "You


don't have to tell me - I mean, I know it's terribly
forward of me, and I'm being horribly nosy."

Draco smiled at her across the table. He wondered if


she had any idea that she could ask him anything and
he would tell her. Whatever he had been expecting to
find when he returned to England, Ginny Potter wasn't
it. She had taken him completely by surprise, and he
didn't think he could explain it if he'd tried. Hell, he
had tried to explain to Neville once, after their brief
and non-constructive chat in Neville's office, but had
the feeling that he'd failed miserably. It was as though
spending time with Ginny was the only thing that
made this whole trip worthwhile.

His attraction to her, his desire to spend all the time


he could with her, his willful disregard of the fact that
she was Harry Potter's ex-wife and he was being a
monumental fool to even think about having a
relationship with her - he couldn't explain those things,
or didn't want to explain them, not even to himself. He
mentally shook himself. One of these days, he'd have
to sit himself down and figure out what the hell he was
doing, but not right now. "I think the first one came the
summer after the Triwizard Championship." Ginny
blinked in surprise and Draco smiled faintly at the look
on her face. "When Harry and Cedric were portkeyed
off to meet Lord Voldemort, and Cedric came back
dead. Not because he'd done anything particularly
heroic, just because he was inconvenient."

"The spare," Ginny whispered. Draco raised his


eyebrows inquiringly. "Harry...he told me once, that
that was what Voldemort had said to Wormtail when
Wormtail killed Cedric. To 'kill the spare'."

Draco's lip curled. "Exactly. He was expendable, not


important. At first, I was of the opinion that Cedric had
got what he deserved, but over that summer, I started
to realize what it would really be like under Voldemort.
It used to be my goal in life, to meet Voldemort. And
Cedric Diggory - brave, handsome, upstanding,
fair,pure-blooded Cedric Diggory - met Lord
Voldemort and died. My father used to go on and on
about how wonderful it was in the 'good old days', and
how great it would be when Voldemort returned, but
after it actually happened, he was scared. Real, true,
bone deep fear of what Voldemort could do. I'd never
seen my father afraid of anything, but he was afraid of
the Dark Lord. And it just got worse as Voldemort got
more and more powerful. And I started wondering
then, why on earth Lucius followed him. Then from
there, wondering why on earth I should follow him.
The idea looked less and less attractive every year."

"So you never became a Death Eater?"

Draco gazed at Ginny consideringly, then shrugged


off his jacket and unbuttoned the cuff of his left
shirtsleeve. He pushed it up and held his arm out to
Ginny over the table, face impassive. There was a
long scar running from his wrist almost to his elbow,
silver against the pale flesh of his forearm. Ginny
gasped sharply, looking from the scar to Draco's face.
"What...?"

"My father," Draco said steadily, "wanted me to take


the Dark Mark the summer before seventh year. I was
going to turn 18 in February, and he thought that
Voldemort would let me, although I was young for it,
because it would be useful to have a Hogwarts
student who was bound to the Dark Lord." His mouth
twitched. "I...disagreed."

"Your father did that?" Ginny asked, shocked to her


core, reaching out involuntarily to touch his wrist,
where the scar began.

Draco gave a little laugh and shook his head. "Most


people think that the best way to slit one's wrists is to
cut across the wrist, where the veins are," he said
quietly, and drew a finger lightly across his arm, just
below the heel of his hand. "But to be really effective
you have to slice up the arm, deeply, in order to hit
the arteries." And he traced his finger along the path
of his scar.

Ginny went white. "Oh God," she whispered.

"Mother found me; one of the house elves told her,


and she got to my room before I bled to death," Draco
laughed softly again. "I failed quite spectacularly at
what I'd intended, but I was too weak to undergo the
Dark Mark that summer. Father was...rather
disappointed." Disappointed didn't quite cover it,
Draco reflected. Narcissa had later told him that while
he was recovering from his wound, Lucius had calmly
and steadily broken every single smashable object in
the house, then repaired them with magic and calmly
broken them all again. Several times. The fight that
had occurred once Draco had recovered enough to
get out of bed was one of his less pleasant memories.
"He placed a spell on me so that I couldn't try it again,
so I made up my mind that if I had to live, then I
wasn't going to do it near him. I stayed at Hogwarts
that Christmas, and left right after the war ended."

"Why? Why would you want to...to..."

"Because I didn't think I had any other choice. I could


take the Dark Mark, and get caught up in the war, and
die, or be captured and get sent to Azkaban and die,
or I could not take the Mark, and let Voldemort and
my father realize that I wasn't loyal to 'The Cause',
and die. As far as I could see, my options were rather
limited. If I was going to be doomed, I wanted it to be
on my own terms." Draco gently removed Ginny's
fingers from his arm and pulled his sleeve back down,
fastening the cuff. "A bit melodramatic, I realise, but I
was only 17 at the time."

"Why didn't you say something?" Ginny asked.

"What would I have said? And to whom?" Draco


asked bitterly. "Snape was dead by then, and
everyone else, from Dumbledore on down, believed
that I was firmly in the Death Eater camp, that I was
totally under my father's thumb, and by extension
Voldemort's. No one would have believed me. And
the very last thing I was going to do was go to any of
them - go to Harry and protest my innocence and beg
to be forgiven."

Ginny stared silently down at her hands folded in her


lap. "You...still don't like Harry very much, do you?"
she finally asked.

"Not particularly," Draco said. "Perhaps because he's


a great, irritating git."

Ginny let out a breath that was not quite a laugh.


"He's not that bad."

"So you say," Draco said, the corner of his mouth


twitching up. "You're not exactly unbiased."

"Draco, you're not..." Ginny stopped suddenly. She


looked at him, eyes unreadable. "If I ask you
something, will you answer me honestly?"

Draco cocked his head and frowned. "Of course."

"Are you doing - this - " and she waved her hand to
encompass the restaurant, " - just because you know
it'll irritate him when he finds out?"

He narrowed his eyes, face shuttering. "You mean,


am I using you?"

Ginny blushed, but didn't look away. "That's one way


to put it."

"And will you believe me if I say no?"

"Are you saying no?"

Draco turned his head away sharply and took a deep


breath. He turned back and caught her eyes with his,
gray burning into brown. "I have spent the last two
months thinking up excuses to end up in or near
Barking, on the off chance I might see you,
manufacturing reasons to call you so I could hear
your voice. There are probably a score of people who
would cheerfully string me up if I so much as look at
you wrong, and surprisingly enough, I really don't
care. I am not doing this just to piss off Harry Potter."
He stopped abruptly; he hadn't meant to be quite that
honest.

This time she did look away, her cheeks burning. "I'm
sorry," she whispered to her hands. "It was an unfair
question."

There was a long silence. "But one I can't blame you


for asking," Draco said finally.

"I'm still sorry." She raised her head and looked


directly at him. "It was unfair."

"You're the Gryffindor," Draco said, smiling. "I'll take


your word for it."

Ginny smiled back, as if relieved for the small break in


tension and leaned forward to poke at the melting
remains of their dessert. "Alright...shall we go for a
diplomatic subject change?"

"We could. What do you want to talk about instead?"

"Um...Quidditch?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Don't follow it anymore."


Ginny laughed. "Don't tell anyone, but neither do I.
Um...you could tell me about Canada?"

Draco leaned back and nodded thoughtfully. "I could.


What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Ginny said with a grin. "I've never been


to America, so you can start anywhere you like."

"Well, for starters, never call a Canadian an


American, they're bite your head off," Draco said.
"Canada and America are two entirely different
places. Most Canadians tend to be quite fierce in their
insistence on maintaining their distinction from the
US."

"Really?" Ginny leaned forward and rested her chin


on her hands. "I would have thought, what with them
being all on the same continent, that they're basically
the same."

"Well, they are. But you can't tell a Canadian that,


they'll flip. Very protective of their national identity,
Canadians are." Draco thought for a minute.
"Canada's...big. You can literally drive for hours going
east and west, and not hit the edge of a province."
Draco shivered. "It's actually rather scary, to be out in
the middle of nowhere and *know* that you're the only
person around for literally miles and miles and miles."

"Sounds rather boring."


Draco shook his head. "No, not really. Just different.
Everywhere you go in England, there's borders. You
can't walk for any significant distance without reaching
a fence or a road or a house or something, but over
there you can. The RCMP training centre is in
Saskatchewan, and I rather liked it there. It's pretty."
He paused again. "And humbling, for lack of a better
word."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Humbling?"

"I don't know how else to put it. It's...it's so big, and
you're just a tiny little speck in the middle of this huge,
huge prairie that goes on forever. It makes you feel
small and rather insignificant. It was a new experience
for me," Draco said wryly. "But it is beautiful, in a way.
I actually walked across probably half of
Saskatchewan."

"Walked?" Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"I was hitchhiking and no one'd pick me up. It was


either keep walking or starve to death on the side of
the road. Walked for 2 or 3 days, I think, before
someone stopped and and gave me a lift to Regina.
That was rather scary. I was getting extremely worried
by that time."

"Why on earth were you hitchhiking across


Saskatchewan? I don't even think I know where
Saskatchewan is" Ginny shook her head in disbelief.

"Honestly, between you and Neville, I'm going to start


carrying around an atlas," Draco laughed.
"Saskatchewan is in the middle of Canada, one of the
three prairie provinces. It's got a population of 2
million, which is less than the entire city of Toronto,
and its principal export is wheat."

Ginny leaned back, impressed. "How do you know all


this stuff?"

"Part of the test for my Canadian citizenship that I've


never quite managed to forget. I know more boring
Canadian trivia than any sane person should know.
Did you know Canada didn't actually have its own
Charter of Rights until 1982?"

Ginny laughed and shook her head. "You're a


Canadian citizen?"

"Had to be, to join the RCMP," Draco said. "I like


Canada. And after all, I hadn't intended to leave, so it
seemed a logical step."

"Why did you leave, then? Why'd you come back?"

Draco shrugged. "Work. We had a tag on a young


man who'd been involved in some highly suspicious
activities. He hooked up with another young man and
the two of them shipped out for here. I did a
background check, discovered that the other young
man happened to be a wizard, and a few things that
hadn't made sense became clear, so I got permission
to follow, and here I am."

Ginny's reply was interrupted by the matronly owner,


bustling over with the cheque, and the thread of their
conversation was lost. For most of the drive home
they sat quietly; not an awkward silence, but
comfortable, as though words weren't needed. When
they arrived at Ginny's apartment block, Draco walked
her up to the front door of the apartment block and
waited while she dug her keys out of her purse. Once
she had them in hand, she turned back to him and
smiled. "Thank you so much. I had a good time."

Draco smiled back. "I did too. We should do this


again. And pick a different play."

Ginny laughed delightedly. "Yes, definitely. I'd invite


you upstairs, but..."

"Perfectly all right. I'd rather not have to dodge around


Ron right now, anyway."

Ginny grimaced and rolled her eyes. "This part, I'm


not looking forward to. If 'Mione's said anything, I'm
sure I'm in for quite the lecture."

They stood for a moment in silence, then Draco


reached out slowly and touched her cheek, turning
her face up to his. He moved slowly, giving her time to
back away if she wanted to, touching his lips to hers
in a gentle kiss. Ginny sighed softly and leaned
toward him. She wound her arms around his neck,
kissing him back, her lips parting under his.

He had intended it to be a chaste goodnight kiss, a


simple close to a pleasant evening, but the taste of
Ginny's mouth was intoxicating to him, and Draco was
feeling anything but chaste all of a sudden. He curled
one hand into the mass of curls at her neck as his
other hand drifted down to rest against her waist,
beneath her coat. She pressed herself against him,
gasping breathlessly as his fingers slipped out of her
hair, drifting along her ear and down her neck. Draco
forced himself to raise his head at long last, aware
that if he didn't stop kissing her now, he never would.

Her eyelashes fluttered up, and she looked up at him


with sleepy brown eyes. "Goodnight," she finally
whispered huskily.

Draco took a step back, sliding her arms from around


his neck and clasping her hands in both of his.
"Goodnight," he replied, and raised both of her hands
to his lips. She smiled and he forced himself to take
another step back, and then another, letting her
fingers slide through his own.

He waited until she'd unlocked the door and walked


through the lobby, stopping once to turn back and
wave at him through the glass door, before he turned
and started back to his car.

~*~

Chapter Five

In this place it seems like such a shame


Though it all looks different now
I know its still the same
Everywhere I look, you're all I see
Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be
- Something I Can Never Have, Nine Inch Nails

"Hullo," Neville said as Draco sauntered into his office


the next afternoon. "Hear you had a date last night."

Draco stopped and gave Neville a long look. "Oh?"

"Ron Weasley called me up at some ungodly hour this


morning to pump me for information. Have fun?"

Draco sighed and flopped into Neville's visitors chair.


"I didn't think he recognized me."

"From what I understand, he didn't, he coerced Jamie


into telling him. He seemed...not; exactly happy about
it, but he wasn't threatening you with dismemberment
either. I think Hermione got to him. So." Neville
propped his chin up on one hand and batted his
eyelashes at his partner. "How did it go?"
Draco gave him a death glare. "None of your damn
business."

Neville pouted at him. "Oh, come on. If you don't tell


me, I'll just get Hermione to ask Ginny. Not that I won't
do that anyway, mind you."

"And people call me a devious and evil bastard. Why


is everyone so interested in my private life all of a
sudden?" Draco demanded sulkily. "Did the Ministry
become Gossip Central while I wasn't looking?"

"You're dating a woman whose family has the


population of a small country. Everyone knows
everything about everyone in the Weasley world,"
Neville said. "Sooner or later, the truth will out."

"Can we just not talk about it and pretend we did?"

"Not a chance," Neville grinned. "Tell me, or I will go


pump Hermione for information, don't think I won't."

"We went to see a very bad play, then we went out for
dinner, then I took her home. Satisfied?" Draco glared
at Neville, clearly ruffled.

"That's it? No passionate midnight snogs? No mad


declarations of undying love? No final-hour
elopement? How am I supposed to live vicariously
through you if you don't do anything fun?"
Draco threw a pen at him. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, actually." Neville grabbed the pen out of


the air before it could hit him. "And speaking of
Hermione, I wanted to go down to the Library to talk
to her today. Want to join me?"

"What do we need to talk to her for?"

"Because she's one of the best in England at Charms,


and I think she might be able to help us out. And the
Founders know we need all the help we can get."
Clues were few and far between in the case that they
were sharing, trying to track down the pair of thieves
Draco had followed to England. They'd had a stroke
of luck at the last crime scene, having found what
looked like a small pendant. Neville could detect
some form of magical charm on it, but he couldn't
figure out what kind of charm.

Draco shrugged. "Fine. But one single crack about my


private life, Longbottom, and I won't be held
responsible for the consequences."

They paused on the steps of the Ministry building,


their breath hanging in silvery clouds around them in
the cold air, while Draco shrugged into his coat. He
should have looked terribly out of place, Neville
reflected, as the only person on Diagon Alley dressed
in a Muggle suit and winter trenchcoat, but Draco
didn't. There was an air of unconscious arrogance
about him, as though whatever he was wearing was
suitable for the occasion simply because he was
wearing it. And Draco, Neville had to admit, dressed
exceptionally well. He tended to favour various Italian
Muggle designers for casual wear, but every suit he
owned was hand-tailored, classically designed in
Saville Row. Absolutely everything about him, from
his pale hair, to the tips of his patent leather shoes,
cried "aristocrat". Neville suppressed a sigh.

Draco tugged at the sleeves of his coat and raised his


eyebrows at Neville. "Well?"

Neville blinked and shook himself. You are not


supposed to be staring at him, he told himself sharply.
"This way," he said, hoping like hell he wasn't
blushing. Draco smirked at him, which didn't
necessarily mean anything, and followed Neville up
the street toward the brick-and-glass building that
housed the Library.

One of the annoying things about Draco was that


people moved for him. On a crowded street like
Diagon Alley, where Neville would normally have had
to push his way through the throng, Draco never had
a problem. When he was with Draco all Neville had to
do was follow along in the wake of the other man,
because the crowds parted in front of him. Neville
didn't even think people noticed they were doing it;
they simply moved out of Draco's way.
It was irritating.

But then, so many things about Draco were irritating.


The way he dressed, the way he smelled, the way he
looked perfect all the time. The way he became first
snippy and sarcastic, then icy and stiff when anyone
got too close to subjects he didn't like to talk about.
The prescient way he had of making the most
tenuous connections between random facts and
coming up with a solution to a problem. His
unconscious habit of running a hand over his hair
when he was nervous. The way his ears were pointed
ever so slightly at the tips. The way his face lit up
whenever he talked about Ginny.

Neville gritted his teeth. He had sworn to himself that


he was not going to do this. He was not going to fall
for Draco like a child off his first broom, dammit.

Speaking of Ginny, it was past time he talked to her. It


was a bit ridiculous that they hadn't spoken in months.
Granted, he'd been terribly busy, and Ginny usually
had a million things on the go, but Ginny was one of
his best friends. She had been his first kiss, and the
only person in the wizarding world he'd willingly come
out to; it was his doorstep she had showed up on a
year ago with three young children in tow, to inform
him with frightening calm that she and Harry had split
up and that she needed a place to stay that was not
currently inhabited by any member of the Trio or her
family.

He'd protected her then, because she had needed


him to, as she had protected him over the years. It
was incumbent upon him to talk to Ginny, see what
her take on the Draco Situation was. And, of course,
because much as Ginny loved Hermione, she
wouldn't tell her sister-in-law everything, and Neville
wanted details.

Draco cleared his throat. Neville blinked, and realized


that they were standing on the library stairs. "When
you're ready, Longbottom."

"Sorry," Neville said sheepishly. He pulled open the


door, and they stepped into the Library. Behind him,
Neville heard Draco let out a low whistle of surprise.
"Impressive, no?"

"Indeed," Draco said mildly, looking around. The


Library was huge. The large main room was a
massive two-story space paved with marble. Windows
ran along the very tops of the walls, flooding the
whole room with light. Row upon row of bookcases,
jammed with books, created a wide aisle that lead
toward the back of the room, where a dramatic
staircase swept up and split to form a Y-shape,
leading up to the balcony that ringed the edges of the
main floor. At the top of the landing, overlooking the
room, was a large portrait of the Library's namesake,
Albus Dumbledore, who waved cheerfully at
passersby. There were even more bookshelves on
the balcony, which was surrounded by carved
wooden railings, and another staircase, slightly less
dramatic, which presumably led off to another floor of
books. Tables were spaced here and there
throughout the room, where visitors could sit and read
or write, and doors spaced along the walls between
bookshelves led off to office and research spaces.

"There's a copy of every magical book ever written in


here," Neville informed Draco quietly as they crossed
the aisle to the main desk. "There's also an
impressive collection of Muggle works, and a
separate restricted section for Dark Arts books."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is that wise?" he asked.

"Its restricted, and it takes ages to get access," Neville


told him. "They keep them as a sort of preventative
measure, Hermione says. For research, not for use.
You're not allowed to remove them from the
premises."

Draco snorted. "Up to you people, I guess."

Neville talked in hushed tones with the librarian


behind the main desk while Draco stood and admired
the hall. Finally, Neville thanked the witch and
motioned Draco to follow him. "Hermione's stepped
out, but Ms. Phillips says we can wait in her office 'til
she gets back." He led Draco down a narrow hallway
and through an archway, finally ending up at a heavy
oak door, which Neville tapped with his wand. The
door swung open to reveal a small but cheery book-
lined office.

"I think Hermione has tea-making supplies


about...care for some?" Neville asked, as Draco did a
quick circuit of the room, peering at the bookshelves
and glancing out the window. He looked over his
shoulder and nodded, then went back to poking
around.

"Why is it that you and I have crummy offices with bad


furnishing, and people like Granger - sorry, Weasley -
get cushy little places with leather armchairs and
window-seats?" Draco finally asked in disgust, sitting
on one of the window-seats in question and glaring at
the cheerful little fire blazing in a small grate in the
corner.

"Because Hermione is brilliant, so she can do


research on contract for lots of money, and you and I
aren't, so we have to chase down nasty little law-
breaking punks for no money at all." Neville had found
the teapot, and was waving his wand over the kettle
to get the water to boil faster. Draco stared moodily
out the window while Neville did this, as he usually did
when anyone worked magic around him. Neville
ignored him.

They sat in silence, sipping at their respective cups,


Draco staring out the window and Neville lost in
thought. He heard the women before they got to the
door, feminine laughter drifting down the hall as
Hermione and Lavender made their way to
Hermione's office. The two women stopped in
surprise in the doorway, blinking at Neville and Draco.

Hermione reacted first. "Why, Neville! What a


surprise! What brings you here?" She moved forward
and gave Neville a quick hug.

"Business, actually," Neville replied. "Not a social visit.


Lavender, you're looking well." Lavender nodded and
shook his hand, barely glancing at him. Her eyes
were glued to Draco, who had nodded politely at the
women and gone back to peering out the window.
Neville and Hermione exchanged glances and
grinned. Neville cleared his throat. "Lavender, you
remember Draco Malfoy, don't you?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Neville before unfolding


himself from the window seat and stepping forward to
take Lavenders hand. "Hello," he said mildly.

"Hello, Draco," Lavender giggled. "You're


looking...well."

Hermione rolled her eyes as Draco disengaged his


hand and retreated back to the window. "Lavender,
would you mind terribly if I spoke to Neville and Draco
alone?"
"Oh, not at all, luv, I'll talk to you tomorrow." Lavender
patted Hermione on the shoulder before backing
toward the door with a tiny smile on her lips, never
taking her eyes off Draco. Hermione followed her and
gave her a not-so-subtle shove before shutting the
door and locking it.

"There...now we won't have every researcher, clerk


and book-shelver in the Library wandering in to see if
we need anything. Nosy bunch of mother hens. How
can I help you gentlemen?" Hermione turned back to
her desk, dusting off her hands.

Neville grinned at her. "I have a question for you,


actually. We've found a magical item, some sort of
pendant or charm, but were not sure what its for, or
what kind of spells are on it. I was wondering if you'd
take a look at it, see if you can tell us anything."

"Of course," Hermione said, walking behind her desk


and seating herself, suddenly all business. Draco had
slumped back into the window-seat and was ignoring
the whole procedure; Hermione raised an eyebrow,
but Neville just shrugged at her. He couldn't exactly
force Draco to participate if he didn't want to.

Neville dug the pendant out of a pocket of his robe


and handed it to Hermione, who turned it over in her
hands and examined it closely. She looked at it from
every angle, pulled out her wand and muttered
several spells over it, which seemed to affect it not at
all. The last spell sent a soft cloud of blue sparks into
the air, which twinkled and drifted slowly into
nothingness, lighting the room in a soft, surreal glow.
Draco glanced over at this, interested despite himself,
the blue light reflecting off his hair and making him
look rather ghostly.

"Well, that's odd." Hermione frowned thoughtfully.


"I've done most of the simple detecting charms, and
nothing is showing up. But there's a definite aura
about it, isn't there? I don't think I've ever seen
anything like it." She looked up at Neville. "Can I keep
it for a bit? I'd like to examine it more thoroughly, do a
little more research."

Neville and Draco exchanged glances. "I don't think


that would be a problem," Neville said. "But I'd
suggest not taking it away from the Library."

"Oh, of course not," Hermione said. "Whatever it is, its


not standard magic. I'll take it down to one of the
workrooms to examine it." She glanced over at the
clock. "But not today, unfortunately. I'm due at the
Burrow in two hours, and I have to pick up the twins,
I've got to rush."

"Thanks for your help, Mione," Neville said. "Anything


you find will be useful." He stood up and picked up his
cloak from the back of the chair. Draco rose at the
same time and waited quietly while Hermione and
Neville hugged goodbye. Draco maintained a solemn
silence all the way out to the street, steadfastly
ignoring the quiet buzz of voices and curious glances
that followed him through the Library.

"Well, Lavender seemed happy to see you," Neville


remarked once they'd strode down the library steps
onto the sidewalk.

"Who?"

"Lavender."

Draco glanced at him, confused. "Lavender?"

"The Lavender you just met, in 'Mione's office?


Lavender Brown? Thomas now, she married Dean,"
Neville said, noting Draco's furrowed brow. "She was
in my class in Gryffindor."

"I hadn't noticed." Draco shrugged and looked up the


street. "Think Gringotts would be open this late?"

"She was the one who looked as if she wanted to eat


you alive." Neville shook his head. "How could you not
have noticed her? She was practically drooling on
your shoes."

Draco turned to look at his partner. "She what?"

"She looked like she wanted to make you an


afternoon snack." Neville grinned at the expression on
Draco's face. "Yes, you, Mr. Clueless."

Draco snorted. "I honestly wasn't paying that much


attention."

Neville let out a long-suffering sigh. "He has every


woman in the world falling at his feet, and he doesn't
even pay attention. Lavenders never made puppy-
eyes at me."

"Yes, but you wouldn't care even if she did. She lacks
a certain...something, doesn't she?" Draco grinned as
Neville blushed and scowled at him.

"I really am going to hit you," Neville growled. "God,


you're annoying." Draco just kept grinning, his eyes
sparkling. Neville groaned mentally. He was trying his
level best not to fall into the trap that was Draco
Malfoy, but occasionally Draco made it very, very
hard.

"Back to my original question, Mr. Longbottom. Do


you think Gringotts is still open?"

"Probably, its not that late," Neville replied. "Why?"

"I was going to go raid the family bank account before


I go out to Bath. I'm working on spending my way
through the Malfoy estate," Draco said half-mockingly.
"Or what's left of it. I cant dress this well on a
policeman's budget, believe me." He turned his
shoulder slightly to allow a woman to pass him by on
the sidewalk, still smirking at Neville. "I could give you
some money, you could buy a new cloak."

Neville opened his mouth, about to snap back at


Draco, when a voice from behind them interrupted.
"Draco Malfoy?"

Draco and Neville both stopped dead, and Draco


stiffened. He turned around slowly to look at the
woman they'd just passed. She had stopped in the
middle of the sidewalk, and raised a hand to her hood
when Draco turned around. She pushed her hood
down to reveal an elaborate arrangement of curls
piled on top of her head, which did nothing to flatter
her small, round face and decidedly pug nose.

"Pansy," Draco said flatly.

"It is you!" Pansy Parkinson gave a small gasp and


suddenly flung herself forward, wrapping her arms
around Draco's waist. Draco froze and shot Neville an
anguished look as Pansy sobbed rather
melodramatically into his chest. "I thought you were
dead!"

"Not yet," Draco replied, trying to pry her arms off him.
He mouthed help! at Neville over the top of her head,
but Neville just shrugged and grinned. Draco glared at
him and managed to writhe out of Pansy's arms. "How
have you been?"

"Oh, oh, I'm as well as can be expected," Pansy


replied, fluttering her hands at Draco. "Its been a
terrible, terrible time since...well, since..." her voice
trailed off and her lip trembled slightly as she gazed
up at Draco with huge eyes, hands wrapped around
his wrist.

Draco nodded faintly, trying to work his arm out of her


grasp. "Yes, well. Delightful as it has been to see you,
I should be going." He finally managed to twist his
wrist out of her hands, backing up a step. Pansy
followed.

"We should talk," she said in what was probably


intended as a low meaningful voice, blinking up at
Draco through her eyelashes. Neville made a noise
that might have been a cough, and covered his mouth
with one hand.

"I don't think we have anything to talk about, Pansy,"


Draco replied coolly.

Pansy threw Neville a black look, then leaned closer


to Draco and rested one hand on his forearm. She
lowered her voice, clearly assuming that Neville
wouldn't listen in. He shifted forward a few inches, to
hear her mutter, "Of course we do. There are still
some who are loyal, you know. I'm sure we could find
things to...discuss."
Draco looked at her hand, resting on his coat jacket,
then back at Pansy's face. "I really don't think so," he
said icily.

Pansy glared up at him, her mouth twisting with


anger, and Draco finally reached down and
fastidiously lifted her hand from his arm. Pansy
sucked in a quick breath and backed up a step. "What
on earth has gotten into you, Draco?"

"Common sense?"

Pansy drew herself up and tossed her head. "More


like foolishness. Your father would ha"

"My father," Draco said viciously, "is dead." He spun


on his heel and strode toward the bank, leaving
Pansy standing in the street staring after him,
bewildered. She glanced quickly at Neville, who
shrugged idly.

"So what did you want to talk to him about?" Neville


asked her, mostly to watch her stiffen up and wrinkle
her nose at him like an angry sharpei.

"I hardly think it's any business of yours!"

"It is if I choose to make it my business," Neville


replied. "And if you decide to harass him, I just might."
Pansy turned to look up at him in disgust. "I'm not
harassing anyone. I didn't know having a conversation
with an old friend was harassment. If anyone here is
doing any harassing, its you! Threatening people on
the street!"

"A friend, are you?" Neville glanced meaningfully at


Draco's retreating back, then looked down at Pansy. "I
just thought I'd mention that if someone - a friend, say
- were to try to drag Mr. Malfoy into anything he didn't
want to take part in, that friend would find themselves
extremely sorry."

"Squib!" Pansy hissed at him, which only made him


grin.

"Watch yourself, Mrs. Flint," Neville said happily. "You


do remember that you're still under surveillance, I
trust?" He pointedly brushed at the badge on the
breast of his cloak that proclaimed his Auror status
and winked.

She growled under her breath and whirled around,


flouncing down the street toward the Leaky Cauldron.
Neville shrugged and started after Draco; he caught
up to him across from Flourish and Blotts and fell into
step beside him. Draco's face was set, jaw clenched.
"It seems everyone is happy to see you today,"
Neville noted.

Draco made a disgusted noise.


"Did you know she married Marcus Flint?"

"No, I did not."

"Ah, well, she did. She's also under Ministry


surveillance for suspected dabbling in the Dark Arts.
She plea-bargained her way out of a prison sentence
after the War, but she still likes to play," Neville said
lightly. "Maybe you should have a little talk with her."

Draco shot a death glare at Neville out of the corner


of his eye. "I am not here to be some sort of spy for
your Ministry."

"Just a suggestion."

"Sod off."

"I'm just saying, if you ever do want to do a favour for


the Ministry, Cecil would love to have you. And I'm
sure Pansy would be delighted to talk to you," Neville
said, snickering.

"Longbottom, you're not nearly as funny as you think


you are," Draco scowled.

"No sense of humour, that's your problem, Malfoy."

Draco stopped dead and whirled on him. "It is not


funny! I highly doubt you'd find it quite so amusing if it
were you people accosted on the street trying to lure
you into the Dark Arts!"

Neville blinked, startled. Draco was glaring at him,


practically trembling, his face a stiff mask of anger.
"Probably not," he said slowly. Draco turned on his
heel and stalked off, leaving Neville shaking his head,
bewildered.

Draco's bad mood lasted through the rest of the


afternoon and the entire train ride to Bath, which he
spent slumped in his first-class compartment, glaring
at the darkness outside the window. And he'd been in
such a good mood when he woke up that
morning...damn Pansy fucking Parkinson anyway.
And damn Neville, for suggesting that Draco immerse
himself in the Dark Arts again, even in jest. Draco
knew he was being irrational, and he knew he was
being unfair to Neville, who really didn't deserve to be
the focus of his ire, but he didn't much care. Just the
idea of being dragged back into the whole stupid
mess set him on edge. Draco had closed the door on
that period of his life, and nothing on earth would
make him open it again.

He knew he shouldn't have come back.

It was bad enough that he had to keep coming back


to Malfoy Manor, never mind taking up Dark magic,
even for show, Draco thought as he collected his
rented car and started the long drive out to Chipping
Sodbury. He hadn't even know that he still owned the
manor until a tidy little goblin from Gringotts had sent
an owl to him care of the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement, not long after he'd started working with
Neville. The letter had informed him that the bulk of
the Malfoy estate - lands, investments and savings -
was his to dispose of as he saw fit, if Draco would be
so kind as to stop by the Diagon Alley offices at his
convenience. How the goblins had known he was
back in England, Draco didn't know, and was actually
rather afraid to ask.

The estate was quite extensive; Lucius had been


nothing if not thorough in protecting his investments,
and had secured the bulk of his finances in places the
government couldn't get to, just in case. The end
result was that now that Lucius and Narcissa were
both dead, Draco was very, very rich indeed, at least
in the wizarding world. The money itself was actually
a bit intimidating; Draco had assumed that all of it had
been confiscated after the war, and he'd long since
gotten used to being, if not poor, then at least solidly
working class during the last 10 years. Having
unlimited money was a novel experience, and one
Draco was enjoying to the fullest, mostly by spending
the money any way he could.

One of the downsides of Draco's newly rediscovered


wealth, however, was the matter of dealing with things
like Malfoy Manor. At the insistence of the fussy
goblin who had appointed himself Draco's banker,
Draco had agreed to come to the manor and
catalogue - or at least, look over - the property and
furnishings and decide what he wanted done with it.
So Draco spent several days a week at the manor,
taking the train from Bath to London and staying in a
small hotel in the city in between trips.

Draco turned the car onto the road leading up to the


Manor, steering carefully to avoid the potholes left
after twelve years of abandonment. The house itself,
looming dark and forbidding at the end of the drive,
was little more than a shell now, but it still retained an
unpleasant aura of old magic and ghosts. All the traps
and protective charms had been stripped from the
house and grounds, all the Dark Arts paraphernalia
carted away, most of the finer works of art confiscated
by God knew who. The Ministry had done a thorough
job of going over the property after the war, taking
apart curses and charms and removing anything even
remotely harmful. Or valuable, Draco thought with
disgust. Noble-minded freedom fighters they might
have been, but that didn't stop them from lifting the
silverware

He parked in the carriage yard and got out of the car,


climbing up the front steps with a sigh. The huge oak
door opened with a creak to reveal the vast entry hall,
dominated by a huge sweeping staircase. Draco had
resisted hiring any staff to look after things while he
was in London, so the house was vacant, his footfalls
echoing back from the ceiling the only sound as he
crossed the hall. Candles lit up at his approach, and
faded back into darkness as he passed, and even that
slight exhibition of magic was enough to make him
twitch. It was odd how, after years of refusing to use
magic, he'd quickly gotten almost used to the small,
homey charms that Neville and Ginny tended to use,
to open doors or dry dishes or (in Ginny's case) to tie
stray shoelaces without having to chase down small
children, yet a minor charm like the candle-lighter in
his parents house could still make him nervous.

Draco paced across the study and stood in front of


the huge fireplace, the fire lighting at his approach,
crackling sullenly and casting flickering shadows over
the heavy furniture and empty bookshelves. Lucius
Malfoy had had one of the most extensive Dark Arts
libraries in England, possibly in all of Europe, but the
books were all gone now, probably locked up in the
restricted section of the Dumbledore Library. Lucius
would have hated knowing that his precious books
were being studied and handled, catalogued and
pored over by anyone with an interest, held in a
Library named for one of the people Lucius had hated
most in the world. Draco thought it poetic justice.

The study was full of dark, heavy furniture, most of it


too heavy to move easily, which was why it was still
here and not furnishing some enterprising Ministry
officials home. The massive oak desk in the corner
was the most dominant piece, seeming to draw the
eye from everywhere in the room. Draco moved
toward it almost unconsciously, pausing in the same
place he had stood countless times during his
childhood, back straight, feet together, head bowed.

Discipline. He could almost hear his fathers clipped


voice, repeating that word over and over. Discipline,
strength, ruthlessness, mercilessness. These are
what bring rewards. These are what lead to success.
These things will required of you at all times. I expect
no less from my son.

Lucius had never raised a hand to his family. It had


never been required; his voice was as effective a lash
as he had ever needed. Draco knew that all too well.
How many times had he stood in this spot after
committing some crime or other, waiting to be
acknowledged while his father wrote letters or read
one of his ancient tomes, silent until Lucius gave him
leave to voice his apologies?

I'm sorry, Father. For breaking the window, for flying


my broom in the garden without permission, for
speaking out of turn, for not beating Potter at
Quidditch, for not making top grades on my OWLs.
For being something other than a paper cutout of you.
For wanting to get out. For wanting to have my own
life to take, or to live as I pleased. For -

Draco forced his head up, forced himself to step


forward and lean one hip against the desk defiantly.
"But I'm not," he said defiantly, his voice unexpectedly
loud in the silent room. "I'm not sorry. For any of it."
His father was dead, and his rules with him.

Barely a whisper. Discipline.

Draco whipped his head around, a faint breeze lifting


strands of pale hair to dance around his face. Was it
the dancing light cast by the candelabra on the desk
that made the curtains seem to move of their own
volition? He froze, eyes moving from shadow to
shadow. Nothing is here, he told himself sternly.
You're imagining things, he is dead, you watched him
die. There's nothing here.

He shut his eyes, only to snap them open immediately


as a breeze, light and gentle as silk, brushed against
his cheek. The sound of his breathing was harsh in
the silent, empty room. There is nothing here.

Nothing.

The very silence in the house seemed reproachful,


mocking.

Draco retreated to the door of the study, then to the


oaken front door, pausing in the entryway to stare up
the staircase that dominated the hall. He was being
ridiculous, he knew that. The house was empty, there
was nothing here, he should just climb the stairs and
find his room and go to bed. He stood immobile at the
foot of the stair for an endless moment, until the faint,
directionless wind tapped at his face again, stirring his
hair lightly. Draco jumped, spun around, yanked open
the door and all but ran down the steps. That is it. He
wasn't staying in this place another minute.

He'd go to Gringotts first thing in the morning. They


could sell the house, renovate it, tear it down, burn it
to the ground for all he cared. He was done with all of
it; all the ghosts, real or imagined, all the pain, all the
recriminations and fear and false assumptions. It
could all rot.

Like his father.

It was nearly a week before Neville managed to find


time to call Ginny and arrange to meet her for lunch.
She sent the children off to her mother in order to run
errands, dropped by the Ministry and let Neville
dragged her off to the Leaky Cauldron. They both
nodded and smiled at the other wizards and witches
in the bar room as they entered and old Tom led them
to a small table near the back, shedding their cloaks
in the warmth of the bar.

"Who knew that you were so impossible to get a hold


of?" Neville said laughing as he pulled out a chair for
Ginny then seated himself. "Ill have my usual, Tom,
and I think Ginny would like shepherds pie." Neville
raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Ginny, who nodded.

"I'm not impossible, and I'm not the one who's difficult
to get hold of. I've sent you messages, you know,"
Ginny said reproachfully as she sat down. "And got no
reply, I might add."

Neville blushed slightly. "Yes, well, you have a point.


Its as much my fault, isn't it? Past time we got
together and talked."

"I've been expecting this, actually," Ginny replied. "I


figured Hermione would talk to you about Draco, and
that it was only a matter of time before you decided to
check in."

Neville smiled sheepishly. "I should probably have got


in touch earlier than I have. I feel like a heel, waiting
'til you start dating Draco to talk to you. We don't talk
as often as we should anymore."

"I know." Ginny leaned forward and gave Neville a


quick pat on the arm. "I meant to owl you myself,
actually. I have Ron and Hermione checking in every
other day to make sure things are going well,
meaning has he dumped you and left you sobbing
and heartbroken like the evil, despicable cad he is? I
need a different perspective...any alternative to that
sort of thing is quite welcome."

Neville laughed. "Are they really?"

Ginny nodded. "Oh, yes. More Ron than Hermione. At


least Hermione is subtle...Ron all but says that sort of
thing outright. I think hell only be happy if I do come
out and say yes, he's left me flat, the horrible bastard.
The only reason he's being at all tolerant is because
Hermione's keeping him under control, and he hasn't
really come into close contact with Draco."

"And thank the Founders for that," Neville said with


feeling.

"You're telling me. How would I explain that to the


kids? "I'm sorry darlings, Uncle Ronnie killed
Mummy's boyfriend."

Neville raised an eyebrow at Gin. "Boyfriend?"

She flushed pink and ducked her head. "Well...what


else should I call him? The man who comes round
and visits sometimes and buys ice cream, with
occasional dinner dates and sometime snogs?
Though it does feel a bit odd to have a boyfriend at
my age."

"Yes, because you're so old, over there on the good


side of thirty," Neville snorted. "So...snogs?"

Ginny grinned. "Ah...I see where this is going. You


want details."

"Who, me?" Neville batted his eyelashes at her and


tried to look innocent.
"Did Hermione put you up to this?" she asked,
narrowing her eyes.

"Actually, no. I just wanted to get the other side of the


story, as it were."

Ginny's eyes widened. "He told you about it?"

"Not so much. Well, more like not at all," Neville


admitted. "But he does get this kind of goofy little
smile whenever he's seen you or is thinking about
you. And you cheer him up, which is nice because he
was in a downright foul mood all this week, until he
talked to you."

"Really?" Ginny looked pleased.

"Yes, really. Although I don't think he realizes, or he


wouldn't be so obvious about it." Neville smiled as
Ginny giggled. "Its quite disgustingly cute, actually."

"I don't know that cute is a word I'd use to describe


Draco," Ginny said, still giggling. "Handsome, yes,
gorgeous, yes, cute...not so much."

"Got a point there. He's too angular to be cute."

"But such angles!"

"Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been


ogling Mr. Malfoy." Neville shook his head and
grinned as she shook her head vigorously. "Yes, I
rather think you have been. Honestly, you're as bad
as Lavender. He's not a sex object, you know."

"Not yet, anyway." Ginny grinned wickedly.

"I'll be sure to tell him you said so."

"Oh, so you won't tell me what he thinks of me, but it's


perfectly all right for you to tell him what I say about
him?"

Neville snorted. "We don't talk about you. He doesn't


talk about anything personal."

Ginny sighed at that. "He's so..." She trailed off,


poking at the tabletop.

"So...?" Neville prompted. "So what?"

She frowned, brushing a stray curl off her face. "I


don't know how to describe it. He's so-so contained.
He's not hard to get along with, he's not mean, he's
terribly polite, he's always darling to the children, he
always answers if I ask him a direct question, yet I
always have the feeling that he's hiding things. Not
necessarily in a bad way, just that there are things he
won't tell me. Like there are things he doesn't want
me to know. Harry used to do that too, and it drove
me crazy."
"Maybe its just that he's not comfortable with sharing
some things with you yet," Neville said. "You've only
been seeing each other for 2 months or so. If that."

"That's true. It just seems like sometimes all hell give


me is superficial information. Like, I asked him when
we were out last week to tell me about Canada, and
while I did get a very interesting description of the
major exports of some place with an
incomprehensible name, he didn't tell me anything
about who he'd met, or where he stayed, or if he has
any friends there..." Ginny shrugged. "Well, you know
what I mean."

"I guess he's got a right to keep some things to


himself. You haven't told him your whole life story,
have you? I mean, have you told him about, oh, the
whole story behind how you and Harry split up?"

"Touché. No, I haven't," Ginny winced. "He got the


watered-down version I give to strangers."

Neville offered a sympathetic smile. "The we grew


apart one?"

"Well, I'd only just met him," Ginny said defensively,


twisting an auburn curl around one finger. "I wasn't
going to trot out the whole sordid tale. And its not like
the short version isn't true to an extent."

"You cant blame him for keeping things from you if


you're doing the same thing," Neville pointed out
reasonably.

"I know, and its not that, really. Its just" Ginny stopped
and sighed. "It seems strange to say it, but I really do
want this to work out. I want all the hard, awkward,
getting-to-know-you bits to be over already so we can
get to the happy bits."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "Happy bits? That


sounds...rather racy. Tell me more."

Ginny laughed. "I meant the laughing at silly things,


and kissing and goofing around and cuddling and bits.
The fun things. Not racy bits. Not that I would object
to racy bits, mind you."

"So Mr. Malfoy has been a perfect gentleman thus


far?"

Ginny blushed again. "Yes. Although I think if Ron


and 'Mione hadn't been upstairs last week, I think he
would have been somewhat less of a gentleman, and
done more than just kiss me goodnight on my front
step." She pouted a bit. "Damn Harry anyway."

"He a good kisser?" Neville asked, then clapped his


hand over his mouth in horror. "Um...never mind, I
didn't ask that."

Ginny's eyes went wide, then she whooped with


laughter and half-fell out of her chair. Neville went red
and tried to hide his face in the tablecloth. "Oh my
God! Neville, are you thinking nasty things about my
man?"

"No! Nonono! I didn't ask! I didn't mean it! No!"

"You are!"

"No!"

"You are! Oh my, that's blackmail material, that is.


Don't cross me now, or I'll tell Draco that you're lusting
after him!"

"I am not lusting after him! I'm not!" Neville groaned


and uncovered his face, propping his chin on one
hand. "At least, I'm trying not to. Though, I doubt he'd
be all that surprised. I think he knows."

Ginny blinked. "What, that you think he's gorgeous?


He doesn't know you're..." She trailed off, knowing
how uncomfortable it made Neville to talk about it.

"Um. He does, actually. He's known practically since


he got back. He guessed."

"Guessed? How?"

"I have no idea. Said he had a hunch. He's good at


that sort of thing, guessing things you'd rather have
him not know. Makes him good at being an Auror, but
he's hard to keep secrets from. You might want to
bear that in mind."

Ginny raised an eyebrow at Neville, but her response


was interrupted by the arrival of Tom, who brought
their food and shuffled off again. Ginny waited until
the old barkeep was out of earshot before replying.
"Well, its not like I have a great many secrets to keep,
so I don't think that will be a problem."

"I know, I just meant that it would be difficult to hide


anything from him. I mean, if he could guess
something about me in three weeks that Hermione
hasn't guessed in almost twenty years..."

"Yes, but you didn't even know 'til after graduation, so


its not really Hermione's fault she hasn't figured it out
yet. And while 'Mione is brilliant at most things, she
can be dreadfully unobservant." Ginny gazed at
Neville seriously. "But back to our original topic. If you
want me to spill details such as is Draco a good
kisser, then you have to give me details too, and
share what you know of his shrouded past."

Neville frowned at her. "There's not much to share. He


doesn't talk to me any more than he talks to you.
Probably less, really. He's been in Canada, he isn't a
death eater, he doesn't like to be around magic
anymore and he has absolutely no interest
whatsoever in his old friends or in the Dark Arts." He
described the meeting with Pansy the week before.
"And then he damn near bit my head off when I joked
that he should meet with her."

Ginny made a face. "I never did like Pansy Parkinson.


And besides, she's married to that awful Flint man."

Neville gave her a lopsided grin. "Jealous?"

"Not at all!" Ginny snorted. "Jealous of Pansy


Parkinson? That'll be the day."

He nodded sagely. "Jealous."

Ginny jabbed her fork at him. "I am not! What's to be


jealous of anyway? She's a nasty little piece of work
and terribly unattractive, and I am - "

"Harry Potter's ex-wife."

Ginny visibly deflated. "Please don't tell me that he's


only using me for revenge on Harry. I've already been
through it with 'Mione and with Ron, and I'd really
rather not do it again."

"I wasn't going to say that, actually, just pointing out


an obvious fact. Draco does not like Harry, and
although he likes you a great deal, I think you should
be prepared for things not to go as smoothly as you
might wish," Neville said. "And speaking of Harry,
have you told him yet?"
Ginny blanched. "No, not yet."

"Are you going to tell him sometime in the near


future?"

"I'm getting to it," she said irritably. "Ill tell him


eventually."

"You'd better or he'll find out from someone else. I'm


pretty sure Lavender knows that you and Draco are
dating, and if Lavender knows something then all of
England might as well. Or he might pull a Ron and get
it from one of the children, and then where will you
be? Harry is not exactly rational on the subject of
Draco Malfoy."

"I will tell him," Ginny repeated. "Soon." She paused.


"Ish."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Want me to do it?"

"Oh, yes, that'd go over swimmingly, wouldn't it? He's


already had his issues with you, I'm sure he'd take it
ever so well if you told him about Draco."

Neville shrugged. "Just offering."

"I know, and I know you mean well, but you know
what Harry's like when he's angry."
Neville rolled his eyes. "Do I ever."

Ginny paused and set her fork down. "I don't know if I
ever told you how grateful I was to have you after he
and I split up. Everything you went through for me...I
really appreciated it."

"'Twas nothing, really." Neville blushed and looked


down at his plate. "What friends do for each other.
You know that."

Ginny smiled. "Yes, I know. Thank you anyway."

"You can thank me by telling Harry about Draco,"


Neville said with a sly grin. "Since I don't relish the
idea of losing my partner to the wrath of Harry Potter."

"I will," Ginny said placatingly. "I promise I will."

NB: The self-lighting candles are from Robin


McKinley's Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty
and the Beast, which is an enchanting book and well
worth reading again and again.

Chapter Six

December, 2010

"Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever


solid and durable happiness there is in our lives."
- C.S. Lewis
He was running late, again.

Draco took the Library steps two at a time, sliding


neatly around the gaggle of teenage witches hovering
near the doors, and stepped inside. He paused in the
foyer to catch his breath, dust the snowflakes off the
shoulders of his jacket and run a quick hand through
his hair. He had foregone his normal suit and neat
ponytail in favour of jeans and a heavy sweater under
a leather winter jacket; he was well aware that he
didn't exactly blend in with the crowds of wizards in
woolen robes and winter-weight cloaks, but didn't
much care. Draco strode past Ms. Phillips at her desk
and up the long aisle to the staircase. Dumbledore
winked at him as he went past, and Draco couldn't
help but smile slightly at the twinkle in the old man's
painted eye. He paused at the top of the stairs and
glanced around the mezzanine, searching for a
telltale flash of red hair. He finally spotted it, tucked in
a corner near the back.

He smiled again, and headed toward the table Ginny


had taken over. She was wearing deep blue robes
today, with trim black pants underneath. Her hair was
loose over her shoulders, and shone in the light from
the windows above like fire as she bent over the
table, writing furiously. She paused occasionally to
chew on the end of her quill, tilting her head and
furrowing her forehead in concentration in a way that
Draco privately thought was adorable. He stopped
directly behind her and slid his hands up her arms
and over her shoulders, letting her curls slide over his
fingers like silk.

"Hello," he murmured, lowering his head so that his


lips were inches from her ear. Ginny jumped slightly,
then turned her head toward him and rested her
cheek against his.

"Hello," she whispered back. She pulled her head


back far enough so she could look into his eyes.
"You're late."

Draco looked sheepish. "I know, sorry." He


straightened up and sank into the chair beside her,
capturing her left hand and twining his fingers with
hers. "Got caught in traffic, and it took me longer to
get here than I thought it would."

"Excuses, excuses," Ginny grinned. "Actually, it's


alright. To be honest, I got caught up and didn't
notice."

Draco eyed the piles of books and paper with interest.


"What are you doing, anyway?"

"Research. I'm working on a story for Witch Weekly,


and this - " she waved her free hand at the mess on
the table " - is background material."

"What's the story on?" he asked, tilting one of the


books toward him.

"Recent advances in medical magic. Did you know,


they're beginning to do research on curing things like
leukemia and blood-transmitted viruses with magic?
There's a huge debate going on right now over
whether wizards have the moral obligation to share
our advances with Muggles if anything comes of the
research being done now."

Draco nodded. "Interesting."

Ginny shot him a sidelong glance and freed her hand


so that she could gather up her papers. "Yes, you
sound interested," she said wryly.

"Well, I'm a cop. I only arrest people, I don't heal


them."

"It falls into the realm of public service, doesn't it? As


a policeman or a doctor, you're still doing good for
your community. All the same sort of thing."

Draco snorted. "More or less. Bit less than more,


lately."

"Work trouble?"

"Work frustration. It's horribly disconcerting to know


I'm being constantly outsmarted by a couple of
teenage thugs."
"What are they doing, anyway?" Ginny asked with
curiosity. She began busily packing her books and
papers into her shoulder bag (It seemed to have the
same charm on it as the backpack she took grocery
shopping, because she was fitting an alarming
amount of paper in it and it didn't seem to be getting
any fuller). "You keep saying you're following people,
but not why."

"There's two of them, and they're robbing banks."

"What?" Ginny stopped to gape at Draco. "You can't


rob Gringott's! It's not possible!"

"Not wizard banks, Muggle banks," Draco said. "It'd


make my life much easier if they did take a crack at
Gringott's. No, these boys know their limits and are
sticking to people who can't fight back. They go in,
use Imperious and an amusing array of other Dark
spells on the tellers, steal the money, Memory Charm
anyone within reach and leave. Use magic to take out
the security cameras, disarm electrical security
systems, make bank guards look the other way, leave
no fingerprints, no magical traces, no real patterns...I
don't even know what the one looks like. All we've got
so far is a small pendant with a charm on it we can't
identify. They're actually rather clever about it. I'm
honestly surprised no one's thought of it before."
Draco looked at Ginny seriously. "And you don't know
any of this, by the way. I'm only telling you because I
doubt you'll try to use any of their ideas."

"Good to know you trust me," Ginny said with


asperity. "Next time I rob a bank, I'll be sure not to
mention your name."

"See that you don't, you'll ruin my reputation," Draco


smirked. Ginny rolled her eyes at him and hoisted her
bag onto her shoulder, gathering up her cloak, which
had been draped over one of the chairs.

"Well, I'd hate to do that, but if you're still willing to be


seen with me, I'll let you take me for lunch." She
smiled up at him and he grinned back and reached
out to brush a stray curl off her cheek.

"I would be delighted," Draco said softly. Then he


cleared his throat and looked around. "But not around
here, if you don't mind."

"Oh! Oh, of course not," Ginny said quickly. She


turned to make her way to the stair, talking over her
shoulder. "I even wore something I could get away
with wearing in Muggle London, because I thought
that would be where we'd go." She twirled around on
the landing, showing off her robes, which were cut like
a duster, split up the front to her hips, then buttoned
up to her throat with a mandarin collar. "It's not quite
robes, and not quite a dress, so I thought it'd do for
either."
Draco made a show of leaning back and sizing her
up. "I suppose it'll do," he said dubiously, and she hit
him lightly on the arm. "Ow!" Draco laughed as he
backed out of range. "If you hit me, I won't take you
anywhere."

Ginny laughed and winked at him. "Just trying to keep


you in line," she said. Draco made innocent noises as
he followed Ginny the rest of the way down the stairs
and out to the front door of the library.

They made their way up to the Leaky Cauldron and


out to Charing Cross Road. Draco paused, looking up
the street. "Well, we could go find my car and drive, or
just walk and see if we find an interesting place to
eat."

"Let's walk. It's not too cold to be outside, and I've


been stuck in the Library all morning," Ginny said.
"We can be leisurely and stroll around and look at
Christmas decorations. Or do you have to be
somewhere this afternoon?"

"Not really. Neville said he'd call me if he heard


anything interesting, but he's got other things to work
on this afternoon, so I'm pretty much free," Draco
replied. He took her hand as they started walking up
the road, stopping occasionally to admire the
decorations in the store windows.

"I love Christmas," Ginny sighed happily. "It's so cozy.


All trees and presents and Christmas carols and
spending time with family... Oh, and speaking of
family, I meant to ask you what you were doing for the
holidays." She looked up at Draco anxiously.
"Because if you're not going anywhere, you're
welcome to come to my parents' for dinner. They
wouldn't mind...we're all always bringing people over;
Neville's coming this year, and they'd be happy to
have you."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"

"Of course," Ginny replied. "It's Christmas, they


wouldn't mind at all. And Harry wouldn't be there, if
that's what you're worried about. He spends
Christmas Eve with Sirius."

Ah," Draco said. "Well, thank you, but actually, I'm


going home for Christmas."

"Home?" Ginny looked at him inquiringly.

"To Calgary. Well, Fort Macleod, actually."

"Oh." Ginny walked along thoughtfully for a minute.


"Where's-"

Draco laughed. "Southern Alberta, about 3 hours


south of Calgary. I really am going to buy you an atlas
for Christmas."
"Actually, I'd prefer a new cloak, if you don't mind.
Mine's getting rather ragged, you know." Ginny
grinned at him, winking to let him know she was
teasing.

"I'll bear that in mind. But yes, I am going back to


Alberta for the holidays. Not long though, just for a
few days."

"Ah." Ginny nodded, then said nothing, scuffing her


feet on the sidewalk as they strolled. She was biting
at her bottom lip, as if she were thinking about
something very hard.

Draco squeezed her hand. "You want to ask me


something, don't you?" he asked gently.

Ginny blushed. "No...it's just a bit strange to think of


you having a home anywhere but here. You never
seem to talk about it."

"It never occurs to me to bring it up, actually." Draco


shrugged uncomfortably. "I know everyone, and what
they're like, and just between you and me, they're
really rather boring." He smiled slightly.

"'They'?" Ginny asked interestedly, then stopped


awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"I don't mind, really," Draco said. "Half the time it


never even occurs to me to mention things. And I feel
sort of silly, talking about my life now. Not talking
about home, exactly, just having to explain what it
means to me. I can never think of a way to without
having it sound...trite. You know, 'this is the family I've
chosen' and all that greeting-card sap. Hate that."

Ginny laughed. "That doesn't mean you can't tell me


about them. I promise not to think of you in rhyming
couplets or two line platitudes."

Draco smiled and shook his head. "Thank you, I think.


You really want to know?"

His smile deepened as Ginny nodded enthusiastically.


"All right." He frowned thoughtfully. "It's a long story,
though."

Ginny laughed. "We do have time."

"All right then." He paused consideringly. "I suppose I


should start at the beginning. I ended up in Toronto in
June of '98, and started making my way west for lack
of anything better to do. I ran out of money in
Winnipeg, and was hitchhiking and sort of scraping
by, still heading more or less west, more because it
seemed like the thing to do than out of any desire to
see the West Coast. At the time, I knew about as
much about Canadian geography as you do." He
smiled and tugged at her hand.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. "I'll petition to have


them add it to the Hogwarts curriculum," she said.

"Hey, it would have been useful to me. Anyway,


there's not much there but grass and more grass, it
sort of feels like you have to keep moving just to be
doing something. So I kept hitching west, spent a little
while in Swift Current - which is in Saskatchewan - but
not long. By October, I'd made it as far as Lethbridge,
which is also in Southern Alberta, before you ask, and
a man named Ed MacDouglas stopped and picked
me up on the highway. He offered to take me as far
as Fort Macleod, and I fell asleep in his truck, to my
everlasting shame. It was freezing out, and he didn't
want to dump me in town in the cold in the middle of
the night, so he took me to his house instead. He and
his wife Anne have a ranch southwest of town, and
they let me stay with them for a while. They have
three sons, and they used to be foster parents."

He stopped at Ginny's confused look. "It's a Muggle


thing. They take in children whose own families can't
or won't care for them, and the government pays them
money for doing it. Anyway, they have 3 sons of their
own, although by that time, Keith had moved into his
own house, and Jay had moved to Calgary, so only
Mark was still at home, and 2 or 3 official foster kids
still around when I met them, and probably 2 or 3
kids, like me, who were there just because we didn't
have any place else to go. 'Strays', Anne used to call
us. It was usually a pretty crowded place. So I stayed
there for a while, helped out on the ranch for the first
few months, learned that I will never, ever be a
cowboy, no matter how hard I try - " Draco stopped
walking as Ginny burst out laughing. "What? It's true, I
won't."

"I'm just trying to picture you as a cowboy," she said


between giggles.

Draco tugged at her hand again. "It's not that funny,"


he grumbled. "And it was only because I'm not
actually all that good with farm animals that I am a
cop and not a ranch hand," he said, with as much
dignity as he could muster with Ginny hanging off his
hand and tittering. "Stop that. Do you want to hear this
or not?"

"I'm sorry, carry on," Ginny said, taking a deep breath.


"Though I think you'd look quite dashing in a cowboy
hat."

"I'm sure I have a picture somewhere," Draco replied,


rolling his eyes. "If it amuses you so much, I'll find one
and give it to you. Anyway..." He glared at Ginny, who
had started giggling again. "While I was there, I met
John, who was one of the official foster kids...one of
their first, in fact. He's a lawyer now, though he was
still in university at the time, and we became quite
good friends. I moved to Calgary with him the year
after I arrived there, when I finally admitted that my
career as a ranch-hand was doomed to be a short
one." He stopped to scowl at Ginny again, who was
trying to muffle her snickering. "If you don't stop, I
won't tell you the rest."

"Sorry, sorry." Ginny took several deep breaths and


managed to get her laughter under control. "Go on."

"Now I can't remember what I was going to say,"


Draco grumbled.

"Something about John," Ginny reminded him. "See?


I'm paying attention."

"Right. John." He paused again, collecting his


thoughts, then continued. "John is directly responsible
for changing a lot of the things I thought about the
world. He's a big guy, and he's native, so people tend
to see him and think, "big dumb Indian", and assume
he's not too bright. Usually to their detriment, because
he is the smartest person I have ever met," Draco
said with a laugh. "He taught me a great deal about
the dangers of stereotyping. Not overnight, mind you.
He likes to remind me constantly that I was rather
insufferable when I first arrived in Canada." He
laughed softly. "If I am a changed man, it's largely his
doing. He's a good person. And patient. And bigger
than me...he used to take great pleasure in pounding
on me if he thought I was being a git. If someone who
is six feet six and weighs 250 pounds takes exception
to your behaviour...well, I learned fast."

Ginny had to laugh at that. "He sounds like a nice


guy. Is he the one who - "

"Wanted me to join the RCMP, yes. Against Anne's


wishes; she didn't want me to. But I did anyway, in the
spring of 2000, and got transferred back to Calgary
after I did my training. John and I actually own a
house together, and he has threatened me with dire
consequences if I don't go back for Christmas. I'm his
surprise for Anne; we've been telling her I was staying
here so that we could surprise the hell out of her
when I get there."

"You own a house?" Ginny asked, wide-eyed.

Draco nodded. "I do. Not a big house, mind you, just a
little one. It's basically a little box." Draco gestured a
square with one hand. "It's got two small bedrooms
upstairs, and a little living room and a tiny kitchen,
and we developed the basement, so there's another
bedroom down there, and a sort of den. All told, it's
probably smaller than your apartment. Big yard
though."

"Oh," Ginny said softly. Draco glanced at her; she


looked pensive and vaguely worried. He stopped
suddenly and turned to her, holding onto her hand so
that she spun to face him. Ginny gasped in
astonishment as he pulled her against his chest.
"What?" she said uncertainly.

"I'll show it to you someday, if you want," Draco said


softly, smiling down at her.

"I'd like that," Ginny smiled. "So have you given any
thought to what you'll do when you finish your case?"

Draco sighed. "If we finish it...I have the sinking


feeling that the only way we're going to catch them is
if they screw up. As it is, I've done one or two things
for Scotland Yard , and I'm helping Neville with a few
other things here and there. Nothing much, but it's
work. Gives me something to do while we wait. His
boss is a bit overbearing, I must say."

Ginny had sat through Neville's ranting more than


once, when Cecil Dobbins was being particularly
demanding, and she grinned at Draco's
understatement. "He's a good Auror, though."

"Who, Neville, or Cecil?"

"Cecil."

"Yes. Loud, but good. Smart man," Draco nodded.

"Have you decided what you'll do, though? After you


finish?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Not really. Cross that


bridge when I come to it, I suppose. Neville keeps
reminding me that Cecil would love to offer me a job,
but I do already have one."
"I expect you've got lots of reasons to stay in
Canada," Ginny said quietly. "It sounds like you're
quite happy there."

"There are reasons to stay here, too," he said softly,


and leaned sideways to brush his lips against her
forehead. Then he stopped, wrapped both arms
around her waist and lifted her up a few inches, so
that she was at eye level, then spun her in a small
circle. Ginny shrieked and clutched at his shoulders,
laughing. "What are you doing?"

Draco stopped, but didn't put her down. "Nothing," he


said, still smiling, and kissed her.

She tangled her hands in his hair and melted against


him, smiling against his mouth. They stayed there, in
the middle of the sidewalk kissing, until a group of
teenage boys strode past and around them, hooting
and yelling, "Get a room!". Draco set Ginny back on
her feet as they broke apart, laughing. Ginny slipped
her arm around his waist and leaned against his side
as they started walking again.

They were halfway to Trafalger before they found a


quiet restaurant to have lunch spent a leisurely hour
over sandwiches and tea before wandering back up
the other side of the street toward the Leaky
Cauldron. They stopped on the street corner before
the entrance to the pub, and Draco took Ginny's
hands in his. "Will I see you before Christmas?"Draco
asked.

Ginny frowned. "I'm not sure. I've got the article to


finish, and Mum can't take the kids again before
Christmas, so all my free time will be spent watching
them. We can try, though. Weekend after next is
Harry's so I'll be child-free for a bit."

"All right. I'll call you, then. Have a good day." He


smiled down at her then leaned forward to brush his
lips against hers. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," she whispered back, and dropped his


hands reluctantly before turning to go into the
Cauldron and back to the Library.

Christmas Eve, 2010

Neville arrived at Ginny's flat around mid-afternoon


and let himself in. "Hullo," he called, walking into the
kitchen. William was sitting on the kitchen floor,
amusing himself by banging a wooden spoon against
the linoleum.

"Have you talked to Draco?" Neville asked as Ginny


rushed past him.

"Not since the beginning of the month...he's been


busy and I was swamped with research, and Harry
decided to leave the kids with me on his weekend
again, and it's just been too crazy," she called over
her shoulder. "And he left for Canada this morning. Be
a dear and grab Willie for me, can you?"

Neville obliged, wandering further into the kitchen and


scooping up William. "What time are we supposed to
be at your parents?"

Ginny appeared in the archway between the living


room and kitchen, Jamie in tow. "Sometime in the
afternoon, was all Mum said. Once I get the monsters
organized, we can go." She rushed over to the
refrigerator and pulled out a large casserole dish. "Will
you carry this for me? I'll take William."

They switched, Ginny collected Sarah and Jamie, and


soon they spilled into the living room of the Burrow in
a shower of ash and soot. Ginny dusted Sarah and
Jamie off and sent them in search of their myriad
cousins, and held desperately on to William as he
tried to make an escape for the floor. "Willie, stop that,
I'll put you down in a minute. Neville, get the door?"

Neville rushed to open the door to the hall, juggling


Ginny's casserole in one hand while she wrestled with
Willie. Finally she gave up and set him on the ground,
where he immediately made a beeline for the
staircase. Ginny sighed and started after him. "Willie,
get back here! God help us all when he's old enough
to fly."
George's wife Natalie, a tiny, sweet-faced woman who
had been two years behind Ginny in Gryffindor,
appeared in the hall and scooped William up before
he could make it to the stairs. "Hullo, Ginny, Neville!
I'm just helping Angelina tidy some things...the boys
are all in the kitchen. Want me to keep an eye on
Wills here?"

"If you could, Nat, that would be darling, thanks. I'll


come collect him once we get everything away."
Ginny waved gratefully as Natalie disappeared with
William, then led Neville the other way down the hall
to the kitchen.

The small kitchen hadn't got noticeably bigger over


the years; it was still too small to fit more than 8
people comfortably at the table, so most family
dinners (with all the Weasleys, wives, children, friends
and various other visitors) were usually a communal
affair, with people helping themselves to food and
finding a perch wherever they could in the living room
to eat. At Hermione's suggestion, dinner had also
become a sort of potluck as well, so that Molly and
Arthur wouldn't bear sole expense for the feeding of
anywhere from 16 to 30 mouths. The scrubbed
wooden table that dominated the low room currently
held Fred and George at chairs, and Charlie propped
against one end and chatting with the twins. They all
looked up and greeted Ginny and Neville as they
came in.
"Where is everyone?" Ginny asked, setting the
casserole dish down on the counter.

"Two of your monsters just made a mad dash through


here to the outdoors, Percy's out there too, being
Percy-ish at the rest of the ankle-biters, and Mum is
rummaging in the attic looking for Dad's old boots,"
Charlie told her. "Dad's still at work, Angelina and
Natalie are off doing some sort of cleaning thing for
Mum, and I haven't the foggiest where Penelope's
gone off to. Probably outside trying to stop Percy from
spoiling all the fun. Ron and Hermione and the young
twins are spending tonight with Harry and Sirius and
Remus over at Sirius' place, so they won't be here."

"Ah," Ginny said. She eyed her casserole dish. "I


guess I didn't need to make quite so much, then."

George craned his neck. "Is that your bean


casserole? If it is, don't worry, it'll get eaten."

Ginny beamed at him. "Well, thank you. Always nice


to see my cooking is appreciated."

Fred gasped at his twin. "Dammit, George, now she's


gonna expect us to actually eat the stuff! Good going!"

"Fred!" Ginny brandished her fist at him. "You're such


a git."

He snickered and hid behind his copy of the Daily


Prophet. "No attacking the man with the news! You'll
wreck the paper and I'm not done reading it."

"Reading the comics section that is," Charlie said.


"Never let it be said that news is your first priority."

"Hah! I am too reading the news!" Fred flipped the


paper around so he could scan the front page. "I'm
reading it right now, see? Well, would you look at
this," Fred said suddenly. He cleared his throat and
read: "From Riches to More Riches: Malfoy Manor is
Up For Sale."

"What's that?" George asked. He and Charlie moved


closer to Fred to see what he was reading. Ginny
looked inquiringly at Neville, who shook his head in
bewilderment.

"That's the headline," Fred replied, showing the paper


to his brothers. "See?"

"I thought all the Malfoys were dead," Charlie said,


craning his neck to read over Fred's shoulder.

"I thought they were too." Fred scanned the page


again. "It just says here that the lawyers aren't
commenting except to say that it's for sale. Maybe
they got sick of having to keep it up, decided to
liquidate it. Must be easier just to look after money
than look after property."
"All the Malfoys aren't dead," George interjected.
"Natalie said she was talking to Katie last week, and
Katie says that Draco Malfoy is in the Ministry all the
time. She says he works there."

"Draco Malfoy? Wasn't he the scrawny little git who


hated Harry's guts at Hogwarts? Pale, washed out
little bigot with the nasty attitude?" Fred asked.

"That was him...I thought he died after the war,


though. Oi, Neville! You work with Katie, don't you?
Have you seen Draco 'round the Ministry?" George
looked over Fred's shoulder at Neville, who gulped
and shot an agonized glance at Ginny. She was
glaring at him and trying to shake her head 'no'
without looking like she was doing it.

"I - "

"Here, Fred, let us have a read." Charlie interrupted,


as he reached over and tried to wrestle the paper
from Fred's grip. Fred yelled, distracted.

"Piss off and find your own paper, or wait 'til I'm
done," Fred said belligerently, trying to duck away
from Charlie and from George, who was leaning over
the other side of his chair. Neville shifted closer to
Ginny and watched the ensuing scuffle as George
and Charlie jumped on top of Fred.

"Argh! Get away!" Fred batted at his brothers


furiously. "I had it first!"

"Read it aloud, then!" George gave Fred's throat an


extra squeeze before unwrapping his arm from
around his brother's neck. He stepped away and sat
down in the chair next to his twin, tapping his foot
impatiently.

"I would if you'd bloody leave me alone." Fred glared


at Charlie until he went and sat down beside George,
then straightened the paper out and cleared his
throat. "Right, then. 'Malfoy Manor was listed for sale
by the law firm responsible for handling the Malfoy
estate, this reporter learned yesterday.' Who's this
reporter? Oh...Colin Creevey." Fred looked up at
Ginny. "Wasn't Colin Creevey the little runtling in your
year who worshipped the ground Harry walked on?

"Yes," Ginny said shortly. "You going to read that


thing or not?"

"I'm reading, I'm reading. 'The Gringott's


representative for the Malfoy estate refused to
comment, except to say that the home was
determined to be unsuitable for the current owner,
and that the decision was made to open the house for
sale to interested persons. The Manor, long the
ancestral home of the Malfoy family, has lain vacant
for the last twelve years. After the end of the war, it
was thoroughly examined and cleansed of magic by
the Ministry. Malfoy Manor is unplottable but is
rumoured to be set on a sizeable portion of land in the
country near Bristol. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy
fought for Voldemort in the war, and both were killed
in The Battle of Hogwarts.' Best thing Harry ever did,
next to offing Voldemort, was killing that bastard,"
Fred interjected, smiling fondly. "Anyway. 'Their son,
Draco was seen on the field at the Battle but vanished
soon afterwards and has not been seen nor heard of
since, although rumours have come to light that he
has recently been spotted at the Department of
Magical Law Enforcement. Although the younger
Malfoy was recently cleared of involvement in the
Dark Arts by the Ministry of Magic, the long history
tying the Malfoy name to the practice of Dark Magic
cannot be ignored.' And there's another article about
Lucius and Narcissa, and a big picture of the house,
and another couple of the Malfoys. Cor, but Draco's
an ugly little bugger."

Neville made a choked sound and covered his mouth


with his hand. Ginny smacked him on the shoulder
and hissed at him to shut up as Fred leaned over and
showed the pictures to Charlie, who winced
exaggeratedly and nodded. The picture of Draco was
from the start of his seventh year, and he did rather
resemble a half-starved rat, scowling ferociously at
the camera.

"What a gossip rag," George said disgustedly. "Look,


the whole front page is covered with stories about
them. Trash like that on the front page at Christmas
time. Who wants to read about dead Death Eaters at
a time like this?"

"Nothing like a little human interest story for the


holidays." Fred grinned. "Warms the cockles of your
heart to know that no matter how bad your Christmas
seems, it could always be worse. Could be spending
it with someone who looks like that." He tapped the
photo of Draco, which snarled at him.

It was Ginny's turn to be suddenly overcome with a


violent coughing fit. "I think I need some air," she
gasped, and fled for the back porch, Neville on her
heels. Charlie and the twins watched them go
bemusedly.

Ginny collapsed on the small bench outside the back


door, hands over her mouth to muffle her laughter.
Neville sat beside her and watched as she giggled,
gasping for breath. "Did you know he was selling the
Manor?" he asked once she'd got control of herself.

"No...he didn't mention it. Did he tell you?" Ginny


wiped at her eyes and glanced inquiringly at Neville.

"No, but then, he wouldn't. I didn't even know he'd


stopped going out to Bath." Neville sighed and leaned
back on the bench, watching the children tearing
around in the garden. There were currently 11
children outside, George and Natalie's daughter,
Marjorie and Ginny's William being the sole
exceptions; at 3 and 2 respectively, they were really
too young to be out in the cold for too long. The
children appeared to be gnome-hunting under Percy's
supervision, although Neville privately thought that
any gnome with sense would have fled from the
unstoppable horde of Weasley grandchildren long
ago. He watched as Calliope, Fred and Angelina's
oldest, scooped up a handful of slushy snow, lobbed it
at Percy's head and then fled to join her younger
brothers, Timothy and Zachary, behind the old
chicken coop. She had her mother's aim; the snowball
hit Percy squarely on the back of the head, and he
whipped around with a yell, slush dripping off his hair.

"I didn't even know he was staying there in the first


place," Ginny said, wiping at her eyes. She glanced at
the yard, where Percy had spun around again as
Jamie popped up from the other side of the yard and
clipped Percy's arm with another slush-ball. "Oh, for -
kids!" She stood up suddenly and pulled out her
wand, sending a shower of heated sparks toward the
third airborne snowball, launched by Timothy this
time. It melted in mid-air before it could hit Percy,
much to the children's disappointment. "You know
what will happen to you if you go dragging muck all
over the house! No snowball fights!"

A chorus of groans rose from the yard, even, Neville


was amused to notice, from Percy's own children.
Apparently picking on their dad was something of a
past-time. Ginny sighed and shook her head. "Not
that yelling at them is going to help. Pity the poor
teachers, when the rest of them are old enough for
Hogwarts."

"Who's there now?" Neville asked idly.

"Pelagia and Calliope; Calliope is in Gryffindor, of


course, and Pelagia is in Ravenclaw, which is no
surprise. She's the spitting image of Penelope.
Pembroke starts next year, and he will also be in
Ravenclaw, no question. All he ever does is read."
She leaned back and sighed. "None of which has
anything to do with our conversation. I wonder why he
didn't tell anyone he was selling the Manor."

Neville shrugged. "Maybe he didn't want anyone to


know. He's like that."

Ginny made a faint disgruntled noise. "I wish he


weren't so secretive. Why do I always go for the men
who don't talk? Do I have a hidden complex for
emotionally unavailable men? Some sort of strong,
silent type thing?"

"I talk to you," Neville protested.

"You don't count, we're not dating. And as I recall, not


long after we did date, you decided that you were
gay."

"You spoiled me for other women." Neville grinned


cheekily. "And maybe our Hogwarts romance worked
the same way for you, ruined you for anyone else.
One dose of the Longbottom mojo and you're spoilt
for life."

Ginny sputtered, but Molly appeared on the front step


before she could formulate a reply. "Children! Inside,
please, dinner is almost ready!" She bustled over to
give Neville and Ginny quick hugs. "Didn't see you
two come in. Come get washed up!"

"Longbottom mojo?" Ginny hissed at him. "Please!"


Neville grinned evilly at her and followed Molly inside
to help with dinner, while Ginny went to help a rather
relieved looking Percy herd the grandchildren into the
house to be washed.

After supper had been finished and the dishes piled in


the sink to be magicked clean later, everyone
crowded into the living room, grabbing seats wherever
they could. Charlie staked out his portion of the floor,
then took the opportunity to head out to the kitchen for
refills, collecting glasses from Neville and Angelina on
his way by.

"Alright, children...pick your presents," Arthur said,


standing by the Christmas tree. Every Christmas Eve,
everyone was allowed one present to open in front of
Molly and Arthur. The main present-opening would
happen at each of their homes on Christmas morning,
but Molly didn't want to be deprived of the excitement
of watching the children tear into wrapping paper. A
small pile of presents appeared by Arthur's chair, and
he smiled at his impatiently bouncing grandchildren.
"Who wants to go first?"

A chorus of "me, me, me!" was interrupted by Charlie.


"Ginny can," he said, coming out from the kitchen
holding a paper-wrapped package. "The biggest owl
I've ever seen just left this on the porch. Got your
name on it."

"Really?" Ginny said in surprise. "How odd. I wasn't


expecting anything." Charlie leaned across Fred's lap
to hand it to her, and the family watched with interest
(and varying degrees of disgruntlement amongst the
children) as she unwrapped it carefully. Underneath
the brown paper was a package wrapped in gold, tied
with a thin silver ribbon. Ginny slowly removed the
paper to reveal a box containing a long blue cloak and
a large book. The cloak slipped slightly, and Ginny
made a grab for it, the soft material sliding across her
lap.

"Oh!" Natalie gasped. "Oh, it's beautiful!" She caught


a corner of the cloak and held it out. The material was
a deep rich blue, made of a soft, felt-like fibre that was
smooth and warm to the touch and shone faintly in
the glow of the lamps. Ginny stood up to shake out
the full length and drape it over her shoulders. It fell to
her ankles in shimmering folds, and the hood was
lined with soft fur.
Ginny stepped to the centre of the room and spun
around, to appreciative murmurs from everyone else.
"It's gorgeous!"

"What is that fabric?" asked Angelina, leaning forward


to feel the edge of the cloak. Ginny unclasped it and
looked at the tag.

"It says it's a blend of alpaca, silk and wool, specially


charmed to repel water and store heat. There's a
warming charm in the hood, too, I can feel it." She
swung it back over her shoulders. "It's lined with silk, I
think. Oh, and there's pockets on the inside!"

Natalie sighed jealously. "That must have cost a


fortune...who's it from?"

Ginny froze suddenly. "It's...um." She stopped and


flushed as Natalie and Angelina watched her with
interest. She glanced nervously at Neville, who
blinked and shrugged at her. "I - "

"What's the book, Gin?" Fred interrupted loudly. "And


who the heck is sending you books anyway? That's
more a 'Mione thing, isn't it?"

"Oh, I forgot." Ginny shrugged the cloak off carefully


and sat back down, pulling the book from beside the
couch cushion, where it had slipped. It was a large
book, and heavy, bound in brown leather. She read
the cover quickly, then started laughing. "Oh, my God
he actually did!"

"What is it?" The whole family was craning their


heads, trying to read the cover of the book. Ginny
held it up so that they could read the gold embossed
lettering, which read Atlas of Canada in curly letters.
Neville started laughing uproariously as the rest of the
family looked bewildered.

Charlie blinked. "Somebody sent you an atlas of


Canada?"

"Is it some sort of joke?" asked George.

"Why is this funny?" Fred demanded of Neville. "I


don't get it."

Ginny wiped at her eyes. "He was threatening to get


me one, and he really did! I don't believe it!"

"Who?" came a chorus of voices.

Ginny took a deep breath and tried to stop giggling.


She glanced up and flushed. "Um...the person I'm
seeing."

There was a beat of dead silence before the room


exploded with voices.

"What?"
"You're seeing someone?"

"Who?"

"Is he rich?"

"How long has this been going on?"

"Who?"

"Is he Canadian?"

"Who is it?"

Ginny waved her hands, trying to fend off the


questions. "One at a time! One at a time! Mum..."

"Now, now, calm down," Molly said, taking charge.


She waited until everyone had more or less quieted
down before rounding on her daughter angrily.
"You're seeing someone?"

"Yes," Ginny said meekly.

"Who?"

Ginny held the book in front of her protectively and


said, very quietly, "Draco Malfoy."

There was another absolute silence, then Percy


cleared his throat and blinked owlishly. "I'm sorry,
Ginny, I could have sworn you just said you were
seeing Draco Malfoy."

"That's what I did say," Ginny replied defensively.


"We've been dating for two months or so."

There was another moment of shocked silence before


the room was engulfed in a flurry of angry voices. It
was difficult to make out anything distinct in the roars
of outrage; Molly was shaking her finger at her
daughter, the twins were on their feet, Arthur was
trying to speak over Molly about the dangers of
Malfoys in general, and Percy was in full lecture-
mode, while the children looked on with interest and
Charlie rolled his eyes. Even Angelina and Natalie
were talking loudly. Ginny sat rigidly, her book
clutched to her chest and waited, her lips pressed
tightly together.

"OI!" Neville stood up from his seat on the end of the


couch and roared at the top of his lungs, startling
everyone into silence. "Leave Ginny alone!" He glared
at the collection of Weasleys and extended family,
most of whom were red in the face from yelling.

There was a small pause while the adults got over the
shock of seeing quiet, retiring Neville shout at them.
Then Molly sank back in her chair and moaned. "My
only daughter, consorting with a Death Eater!" She
sat up straight and glared at Ginny. "Ginny, how could
you? What did I do wrong? How can I show my face
in Diagon Alley ever again? My own flesh and blood! I
can't believe -"

"Now look, Mrs. Weasley, he's not a Death Eater,"


Neville interrupted firmly. "He's working with me on a
case. He's been cleared by the Ministry and he's
helping the Department now, which they wouldn't
have let him do if they suspected he was a Death
Eater. You know that." He looked at Arthur for
confirmation, who nodded reluctantly.

"That's true, dear, very particular, are those Aurors.


Wouldn't let him in if there were the slightest doubt,"
Arthur conceded. He still didn't look happy, but he
nodded at Neville. "If the Department is willing to let
him work for them, he can't be a Death Eater. They're
very careful nowadays."

"That's not the point!" Molly wailed. "He's a Malfoy!


They're all rotten, the lot of them-"

"Now, Molly, dear, be reasonable - " Arthur attempted,


although from the occasional glance he was giving
Ginny, he didn't look as though he really wanted to be
reasonable himself.

" - probably out casting Dark spells right now in that


awful house - "

"Well, you know that's not true, right? He's selling the
house," Charlie interrupted cheerfully.

"And anyway, he's gone to Canada for the holidays,"


said Ginny sharply. "Honestly, Mother, I'm not
marrying him, we're just dating."

Molly sat up sharply. "And Harry! What does Harry


think of this whole thing, the poor boy? Have you
thought of that?"

Nine heads swiveled between Ginny, who had gone


white, and Molly as though watching a tennis match.
Charlie groaned softly. Ginny sat up a bit straighter
and glared at her mother. "Harry does not have a say
in the matter," she said stiffly. "And I don't much care
what he thinks."

"Well and that's quite obvious, now, isn't it?" Molly


shot back.

Ginny gritted her teeth. "We are not having this


argument again, Mother."

"All I'm saying is that - "

"Now, Mum, let's not go into this again, please?"


George said, leaning forward on his elbows so that he
was blocking Ginny partially from Molly's sight. "It's
Christmas, aye? We don't need to cover this again.
Angie, toss us another present."
Angelina complied, grabbing the closest one she
could find and tossing it at George, who read the tag
and lobbed it at Percy, hitting him on the forehead
and knocking his glasses askew. "Open that up, eh,
Perce?"

Percy glared and grumbled, but complied, revealing


one of Molly's now-famous jumpers. Arthur caught on
and passed a present to Perpetua, Percy and
Penelope's youngest daughter, effectively reigniting
the present-frenzy among the children. Once Molly
had been sufficiently distracted, Ginny rose quietly
and escaped to the kitchen, closely followed by
Natalie and Neville. Ginny sank into a chair and
folded her arms on the table, burying her head in
them. "Why does she have to bring that up at every
single family function?"

Natalie sat beside her and patted Ginny awkwardly on


the shoulder. "I'm sorry, love, I imagine she's just
getting used to the whole idea yet."

"What's to get used to? We've been divorced for over


a year!" Ginny moaned.

"Yes, but Molly has always felt like Harry's one of her
own, hasn't she?" Natalie said reasonably. Despite
being the newest of the Weasley daughters-in-law,
with her calm demeanor and quiet cheer, Natalie had
quickly become one of the people that everyone
seemed to confide in. She had also become, in a
family full of people with volatile tempers, a sort of
mediator by default. "I suppose she still feels that
way."

"But he's not one of her own," Ginny said, her voice
rather muffled by her arms. "And I don't care how she
thinks of him, she needn't bring it up at every single
dinner." She raised her head long enough to clap one
hand in front of her chest and lift her voice in an
uncanny impression of her mother. "'Oh, I don't know
why you left him, the poor boy'." She dropped her
hands and growled in disgust. "Not like she ever had
to live with Perfect Harry Potter."

Natalie looked at Neville, who shrugged and looked


away. He'd heard it all before. "I don't think Molly
means it that way," Natalie began tentatively.

"I don't understand why she can't just let it go. Harry
and I have managed to...it's been an amicable split,
we get along, we're perfectly civil to each other. It's
her who seems to want to make an issue of it." Ginny
leaned her elbows on the table and dropped her head
into her hands.

"I suppose she just doesn't understand why you split


up."

"Why?" Ginny lifted her head and glared at Natalie.


"Because I wasn't happy, is why. Because he's bloody
impossible to live with, is why. Because he was
driving me mad and it was either leave or kill him, is
why. Because he's Harry fucking Potter, is why.
Because he's a - " She clamped her mouth shut
suddenly, then took a deep breath. "She never had to
live with him. And it's none of her bloody business. I
had my reasons."

Natalie leaned back, surprised by Ginny's


vehemence. She started to say something, then
stopped, obviously trying to formulate some sort of
reply, when Fred and George came piling into the
room, with Angelina right behind them.

"Molly's calmed down a bit...she's playing with the


kids, so I dragged these two reprobates in here to do
cleanup," Angelina explained. The twins ignored the
dishes in favour of flopping down into chairs, George
beside Natalie, and Fred across from Ginny, who
transferred her glare to her brothers.

"What do you want now?" Ginny demanded grumpily.


"It's bad enough I've got Mum on my back, without
you two pulling anything."

"Didn't want much-" George began.

Fred leaned forward. "We were just wondering - "

"Why Malfoy?" they said in unison.

"Oh, honestly. Did it cross your mind that perhaps it's


just because I like him?" Ginny asked in exasperation.

"You like him? How can you like Malfoy? Isn't there
some sort of law against that?" George asked. "He
was a God-awful little monster in school."

"Well he's not anymore. Surprisingly enough, he's


changed a fair bit in the twelve whole years since
then," Ginny said.

"Still, Gin, you must have known it'd give Mum fits,"
George said reasonably. "I mean, honestly. Is it some
sort of mid-life crisis, sort of thing? Misplaced
rebellion you didn't get out of your system when you
were sixteen?"

"No, it is not, and I resent that the only reason I would


be dating Draco is because I'm trying to piss people
off. Believe it or not, my mother's opinion on who I
chose to spend time with is not high of my list of
considerations when deciding who I will and will not
date," Ginny said haughtily, looking down her nose at
her brothers. "We met up and he was quite pleasant,
and seemed to have changed and he invited me out
and now we're dating. All perfectly reasonable."

Fred and George glanced at each other like they


didn't quite believe this. "He's nice, is he? A reformed
character? Given up on the whole Dark Arts, Death
Eating thing?"
"Yes, he is, and yes he has and I'll thank you not to
badmouth him in front of me," Ginny said indignantly.

"But Gin, he's not even cute!" Fred protested. "If you
were going to pick a Death Eater to give Mum fits,
couldn't you at least find an attractive one?"

Ginny's eyes flickered to Neville, who was suddenly


rather red in the face. She looked back at Fred and
blinked innocently. "I'm sorry...I'll do better next time."

"Next time..." George said in mock horror. "Next time


it'll be - " he stopped. "You know, I can't think of
anyone who'd be worse than Malfoy."

"Oh, knock it off." Ginny reached over Natalie and


whacked George on the shoulder. "He's not all that
bad, you know. And don't you have dishes to do,
instead of harassing your little sister?"

"She's got a point," Angelina said. "C'mon, you. Get to


work."

"Harassment? How is protecting our little sister's


virtue harassment? I don't have to take this sort of
abuse!" Fred protested, as Angelina pulled him to his
feet and gave him a shove toward the sink. "Ange, cut
that out."

"How about you start doing what you're supposed to


be doing and leave Ginny alone?" Angelina asked, as
she drew her wand and looked meaningfully at the
sink. "Dishes. They won't do themselves."

Amidst much grumbling and prodding, the twins


attacked the mountain of dishes in the sink, tossing
plates and cups around the room with magic, while
Angelina and Natalie made tea and tried to keep
breakage to a minimum.

"Well," George finally said, whisking the last plate into


a cupboard. "On the plus side, in ten years we can
look back on this and laugh.. It'll give us a story to tell
the grandkids. The Christmas Auntie Ginny Dated A
Death Eater."

"He's not a Death Eater!" Ginny protested. "George -!"

"Say, if you include the bits about Harry and Neville,


you could call the whole story Auntie Ginny Gets
Around." Fred said, and made a frantic dash for the
door to avoid the flurry of dishtowels and crockery
aimed at his head.

Draco's plane was almost half an hour late, which was


typical of trying to travel at Christmas. He sighed and
waited as patiently as he could while the passengers
were shunted through the security systems, collected
their baggage, went through customs and through yet
another security check, before making it to the doors
leading out to the main terminal. He scanned the
crowd waiting beyond the dividers and quickly spotted
John, towering head and shoulders over most of the
other people, long black hair in braids over his
shoulders.

"Oki Ni-kso-ko-wa," John greeted him after Draco


made his way through the crowds of travelers to the
other man's side. "Long time no see, Ksik-kihk-ini.
How was the flight?"

"Long, boring, and uncomfortable. And I'd seen the


movie." Draco shifted his bag and gave John a one-
armed hug. "How're you doing, big guy?"

"Good, good. Fending Annie off at the moment. She's


called me 3 times on my cell, wondering where I am
and why I'm not at the ranch yet. I had to turn it off.
Mind if we drive straight down? I told her I'd be there
by 10, and it's almost 1."

Draco stretched and nodded. "Sure, but only if we


stop somewhere for food. I'm starving. Oh, and I have
an errand to run before we leave town."

An hour later, they were on the highway headed


south, Draco munching happily on McDonalds fries,
the heater blasting. The radio in John's car was
broken, so Draco amused himself by singing
Christmas carols at the top of his lungs all the way
from Calgary to Cardston (where John had a fit and
bought a portable stereo and batteries so he wouldn't
have to listen to him anymore.) They pulled into Fort
Macleod at five o'clock, and finally got to the ranch
house at quarter to six. "Anne is gonna kill me," John
said as he parked behind Jay's minivan and Keith's
battered pickup and shut off the engine. "I was
supposed to be here 8 hours ago."

"No she won't. I'll distract her," Draco grinned. "We'll


bury her in presents and good cheer, she'll forget all
about it."

"Not likely," John snorted as they trudged up the front


porch stairs. The front door of the ranch house was
unlocked and standing slightly ajar, so John pushed
the door open. "Stay behind me," he said to Draco,
who grinned and nodded.

Anne came around the corner from the kitchen as


soon as John opened the door; she was a short, plain
woman with light brown hair mostly gone to grey,
done up in a bun to keep it off her face. "You!" she
cried furiously, pointing one small hand at John. "You
were supposed to have been here hours ago! I have
been worried sick about you! Call if you are going to
go traipsing about before you come down, so I don't
wear myself to death wondering if you're dead in a
ditch somewhere."

"Sorry, Anne," John said sheepishly. "But I had to


stop and pick a few things up. You know, presents,
buns, salad, Draco..."
On cue, Draco stepped out from behind John and
grinned down at Anne. She gasped, torn between
amusement and anger. "You...!" Laughter won out,
and she stepped forward to give Draco a hug. "I
thought you were staying in England!"

Draco smiled and hugged her back. "I lied," he said


unrepentantly.

"I can see that, you brat. Did you two plan this?" she
demanded. She kept one arm around Draco's waist,
and poked John in the stomach with her other hand,
glaring up at him.

"We may have," John admitted. "Merry Christmas."

"Well, you could have planned it better. You're still


late, and don't think this lets you off the hook!" She
jabbed him again. "C'mon in to the kitchen, that's
where everyone is. Except Ed, he ran into town for
ice."

John and Draco followed her through the living room


and into the large kitchen, which full of people, both in
the kitchen itself and the small den that led off the left
side. A fire was roaring in the big fieldstone fireplace
in the den, and the room was full of warmth and the
smell of mincemeat pies and roast turkey. A chorus of
voices greeted Draco's appearance, and he spent
several minutes being hugged and clapped on the
back by everyone. Keith and his wife Stacy had come
up from their small house at the other end of the
property, with their three children. Mark, who was a
slight, painfully shy young man, had driven in from
Fort Macleod, where he worked as a mechanic.
Where Mark took after Keith and Jay were both the
spitting image of Ed, tall and barrel-chested, although
Jay had put on weight and didn't have the same
weather-beaten look as his father and older brother.
Jay was a production engineer for Shell Canada, and
tried not to come home, or even go outside the city, if
he could possibly avoid it.

Jay's wife, Rhonda, was standing in the archway to


the den, wineglass in hand, looking bored and over-
dressed in a tailored black suit. She was a tall, stick-
thin blonde who worked as an executive assistant for
the CEO of one of the larger oil companies in Calgary;
she hated coming to the ranch, and didn't bother to
hide it, turning her nose up at the food, at the house,
at what the other women were wearing, at the quality
of the wine. She was currently looking down her nose
at Stacy, who was wearing an old plaid shirt and
faded blue jeans, bustling around the kitchen helping
Anne with the cooking. Rhonda sniffed and nodded
slightly at Draco when he glanced at her; she loathed
Draco with intensity, and he hated her right back.

John's friend Deloraine was there too, sitting at the


kitchen table chopping carrots, her light auburn hair
tucked behind her ears. "How did you get here?" John
asked her, and she pointed her paring knife at Mark
with a grin.

"I took the Greyhound down to Fort Macleod and


made him pick me up," she said. "Hey, Dray, c'mere
and tell me about England."

"You can ask him about his girlfriend," John grinned,


slapping Draco on the shoulder.

"Ooooh! You have a girlfriend?" Del asked gleefully.


"What's her name?"

Draco groaned and glared at John. "You're a big help,


you know that?"

"I try."

Draco leaned over to steal a carrot slice from Del's


pile of veggies. "Would it be futile to try and change
the subject by asking what's for dinner?"

"Probably." Del pushed a chair out for him with her


foot, and Draco flopped into it. "Wanna help me make
salad?"

Keith leaned over and tapped John on the shoulder.


"We're going to go take a look at the new horses. You
comin?" He raised his eyebrows inquiringly at both
John and Draco. Draco shook his head, but John
nodded and stood up.
"Sure," he said, following Keith out the back door to
the covered porch. Jay and Mark followed them out,
and Rhonda vanished off into the back of the house in
a cloud of perfume.

Del raised her eyebrows at Draco. "You're not going?"

"Nah." Draco reached over and stole another carrot


before Del could stop him. "Too bloody cold out. I'll
just stay here, thank you."

"Trust him to stay where all the girls are," Stacy said
over her shoulder, provoking a shout of laughter from
Del.

"Hey, speaking of girls..." she began.

Draco stood up rapidly. "You know, maybe I will go


out and see the horses - "

"Not so fast!" Anne reached over and tapped him on


the shoulder with her wooden spoon, leaving a smear
of flour on his shirt. Draco dusted at it, glaring at her.
"Sit down, you, and tell us all about her."

Draco sighed and sank back down. "Damn."

"Curses, foiled again," Del said with a grin. "You're


getting slow and feeble in your old age."

"Look who's talking. Least I don't have gray hair,"


Draco retorted.

Del let out an angry yell and tossed a carrot at him.


"Bastard!" In truth, Del was two years younger than he
was, although she did have gray hair. She had started
going grey before she'd met John, in university, and
Draco privately suspected that she'd been dying it so
long she didn't remember what colour it really was.
Del and John had been friends ever since they'd
shared a class on the history of English civil law, in
the summer of 1999, John for his law degree, and Del
for her major in Medieval history. Draco had hated her
with a passion when they first met, although his
dislike had faded over the years; now she was like the
obnoxious little sister Draco had never had.

Anne sighed. "Would you two cut that out? Del, stop
teasing him. Dray, leave her alone. I swear, they
never grow up," she said to Stacy. Draco obligingly
moved his chair farther away from Del, and she went
back to slicing her vegetables. "C'mon, honey, you
were gonna tell us about your girlfriend."

"I was?" Draco said wryly.

"You sure were," Stacy said with a grin, brushing a


strand of hair out of her eyes with one damp hand.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. What do you want to


know?"
"Everything," Del said promptly. "What's she look like,
is she nice, what does she do, where'd you meet her,
is she good in bed..."

"Del!" Stacy straightened up from where she'd been


rummaging in the fridge and glared at the other
woman. "You can't ask him things like that!"

"Sure I can. I just did." Del paused thoughtfully. "Of


course, I can't make you tell me, but I can ask."

"I hadn't planned to." Draco folded his arms and


scowled at Del.

"That's alright, if you don't want Anne to know, you


can just tell me later. So what's she like?" She slid the
pile of sliced carrots into the bowl Anne handed to
her, and passed it across the table to Draco, who took
it and handed it to Stacy.

"She's tall, she's got red hair, she's divorced and has
three children - do you mind?" he glared at Del, who
was making retching noises. "Just because you don't
like them, doesn't mean other people can't have them.
I went to school with her, way back when. Met her in a
supermarket last September, and we started seeing
each other."

"Is she pretty?" Anne asked.

Draco chuckled. "Yes, she's pretty. Of course she's


pretty."

Anne shrugged. "Thought I'd ask. You gonna marry


her?"

"Anne!" he protested. "I've only been seeing her for 3


months. If that."

"So? That's enough time to know" Anne peered at


him, and Draco coughed slightly and looked away.
"Time you got married, anyway. You've been alone for
far too long."

"Anne, don't," he said warningly.

"I mean it. You've moped around without ever having


a serious relationship since Laura died. It's time and
past time you got over her, found a nice girl and
settled down." Anne reached over and patted his
shoulder. "I don't like seeing you unhappy dear, and
she's been gone for nearly ten years now. Not that it's
any use talking to you about it," she said with a sigh
as he stood up, scowling. "Sit back down."

"I don't want to talk about it," Draco said shortly.

"You never do," said Del in annoyance. "Anyone so


much as mentions Laura's name and you're off like a
shot. C'mon and sit down."

Draco folded his arms and glared at both Del and


Anne. "I have had this conversation before, and I
would really rather not have it again."

Anne matched him glare for glare. "I said sit. You
haven't had this conversation with me yet, and if you
think you are leaving this room before you do, you've
got another thing coming." She waited until he sank
back into his chair, looking mutinous. Stacy was
standing in front of the oven, worriedly clutching a
thermometer, and even Del was looking serious for
once. Anne leaned casually against the back of one of
the other chairs. "Now. Tell me about her. What was
her name again?"

"Ginny," Draco said grouchily, poking at the tabletop.


The problem with having people you considered
family, he thought to himself, was that they always
seemed to feel like they had the right to pry into
things.

"And she's got three kids? Boys or girls?"

"One girl, two boys."

"How old are they?"

"Six, four and two."

Anne let out a low whistle. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-eight."
"Poor girl. And she's divorced?"

"Yes."

"You planning on giving me better than one word


answers any time soon?"

"No."

Anne sighed. "Have I ever told you how incredibly


frustrating you are?"

"Yes."

Anne sighed again and started to drum her fingers on


the edge of the chair. Del had quietly gone back to
making salad, having clearly decided to let Anne
handle him. Draco scowled again. He hated being
handled as much as he hated having his life pried
into. And it was ten times worse when he knew they
were doing it. Stacy and Del were working quietly,
unwilling to interrupt, and Anne was just standing
there, not doing anything, just...waiting. She could
have given Voldemort tips on extracting information
from people.

"It's not going to work," Draco finally said in irritation.

"What's that, dear?" Anne said idly, glancing at him.


"Mind you watch how big you make those pieces of
lettuce, dear," she said to Del.

He waved his hand at her. "What you're doing.


Standing around and waiting for me to talk. It won't
work."

"What makes you think that's what I'm doing?" Anne


asked innocently.

"I am a trained police officer. I can recognize an


interrogation technique when I see one."

Anne pursed her lips and looked at the ceiling. "Right.


So, when do you go back to England?" she asked
casually.

Draco groaned. "You're going to bug me about this all


week, aren't you?"

Del grinned. "Better you than me," she said.

"Don't tell me you've found a boyfriend?" Draco


looked over at Del, who cleared her throat and
studiously avoided looking at him. "Have you?"

She was saved from having to reply by the arrival of


the men back from the barn. "Just in time to set the
table," Stacy said happily, and sent them off to wash
their hands.

Ed arrived back from the store, and the topic of


conversation mercifully changed from Draco's love life
to other things as they settled down to eat. After
dinner was over and the dishes cleared away from the
dining room table, everyone retired to the den for
coffee and dessert. Draco was sitting on the edge of
the couch, close to the kitchen door, with Del on the
floor in front of him and John beside her, watching as
the children played card games and the adults
chattered. After an hour or so of watching Rhonda
sneer and the brothers argue, Del leaned over and
elbowed John in the ribs. "I'm gonna go crazy if I have
to deal with this any longer. Let's go for a walk."

"Sure," John nodded and looked up inquiringly at


Draco. "You coming?"

Draco winced as one of the children shrieked


particularly loud. "Right behind you."

One by one, they slipped out to the kitchen and


managed to make it out to the enclosed part of the
back porch without being seen by Anne. They paused
to bundle up against the cold, piling on sweaters and
scarves against the chill. Once outside, the three of
them made their way across the yard and through the
gate in the back fence, following the path that lead
into the small ravine where the creek flowed in
summer, footsteps crunching on the faint dusting of
snow. It was bone dry, and almost unbearably cold,
and the air was like crystal, marred only by the
ghostly clouds of their breath.
They walked in silence down the ravine, until it
flattened out and snaked around one of the long
foothills. The path bent and followed the creek, but
the three of them veered off to climb to the top of the
hill, the brittle grass snapping and rustling underfoot.
An almost-full moon bathed the prairie in eerie blue
light as it stretched out all around them. They stood in
silence for a long time, the wind whispering through
the grass the only sound.

"I forgot how cold it gets," Draco said finally, his voice
so soft it was almost a whisper.

"It warmer in England?" Del asked, equally quiet.

"Yes. Damp, so it feels cold...but not this cold." He


curled his fingers into his gloves and pulled his coat
sleeves down over his hands. His hands were starting
to go numb. "It's got to be minus 40 out here."

"It was chinooking just last week. We saved up the


weather special, just for you." Del shuffled her feet in
the grass and huffed against her hands. "We knew
you was comin'"

"Figures."

"So how is England, anyway?" John asked.

"English," Draco snorted. "Same as always." He could


feel Del and John exchanging glances behind his
back

"So?" Del asked.

"So?" Draco repeated, sounding amused.

"So...what's the story behind your new girlfriend?" Del


huffed again, her breath billowing in silvery clouds on
the still air.

"You've already heard it all." Draco hid his smile and


winked at John over Del's head. John grinned back;
Draco had told him all about Ginny in the car on the
way down.

"Oh, bullshit. There is more to the story than what you


told Anne earlier." Del glared from one man to the
other. "And if you two are pulling some guy thing and
holding out on me there will be hell to pay in so many
words. Don't try be all inscrutable with me, Dray. It's
not mysterious, it's just annoying."

Draco laughed at that, and turned around in a circle,


staring up at the stars. "I'm serious. There's nothing
else to tell."

"She's just pretty and has kids? Does she have


potential?"

"Potential?" Draco asked.


"You know, long term relationship potential. Or are
you just stringing this pretty single mother along?" Del
stamped her feet in the grass, blowing on her hands
again.

Draco sighed. "No, I am not stringing her along...but


as for potential, I don't know. It depends, I guess."

"On what?"

"On if he decides to stay in England and make the


attempt, despite everything he'd have to face up to
and doesn't want to, or if he decides to not bother and
just moves back here after his case finishes up," John
said quietly. "Or so I'd assume."

Draco shot him a wry grin and nodded faintly. Del


raised an eyebrow. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Stay in England for this woman?"

Draco thought about it for a long, long moment. "I


don't know. Maybe. I think...I just don't know yet."

They stood in silence, looking up at the stars. Finally,


Draco shifted his feet and shivered. "We should head
back, before we freeze out here."
He and Del turned to go but John held up a hand.
"Wait," he said softly. "Listen."

They paused, looking out across the prairie. The first


howl sounded from the south, so faint it was almost
drowned out by the wind in the grass. The lonely
sound was picked up, closer, then again from the
southwest and west; wailing yips and cries echoing
through the clear air in wave after wave, spreading
from south to west to north until finally fading back
into stillness.

"I'taamomahkat Oyiiksistsikomi," John whispered


softly, after the last echoes had died. "Merry
Christmas."

They turned and walked silently back to the house.

NB: A Chinook is a warm, dry wind that descends


from the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains and
flows across the prairie, causing a rapid rise in
temperature, and usually resulting in snowmelt, lots of
slush, terrible roads, and migraines for the lucky few
from the pressure changes. 'Chinooking' is a local
term used to describe the weather when a Chinook is
occurring (as in "I've got a splitting headache; it must
be chinooking"). They occur frequently throughout the
winter in Southern Alberta.

The language being spoken by John is Blackfoot, and


a rough translation of the phrases follows. (But don't
expect a pronunciation guide, because I have no
idea!):

Ksik-kihk-ini - bald eagle (literally, white head, which


is why John calls Draco this)

Oki Ni-kso-ko-wa - Hello, my relative

I'taamomahkat Oyiiksistsikomi - Merry Christmas


(literally, happy big holy day)

I made use of The Blackfoot Dictionary of Stems,


Roots, and Affixes by D. G. Frantz and N. J. Russell
(University of Toronto Press, 1989, ISBN 0-8020-
2691-5), and some Blackfoot phrases can be found
online at .com Any mistakes in spelling, grammar and
syntax are my own.

Chapter Seven

Sweet like candy to my soul


Sweet you rock and sweet you roll
Lost for you, I'm so lost for you
When you come crash into me
Crash Into Me, Dave Matthews Band

January, 2011

"Hullo," Neville said idly to Draco, who sauntered into


his office and flopped into the visitor's chair. "Have a
good holiday?"
Considering that Draco looked irrepressibly cheerful
and extremely well rested, Neville guessed that he
had. Draco nodded and smiled, confirming his
assumption. "I did. It was bloody cold, though."

"Isn't it always cold in Canada?"

Draco snorted. "No, sometimes it warms up. Right


pain when it does...melts the igloos."

"Well, with all the money you'll make from selling


Malfoy Manor, you can buy a new igloo, I imagine."

"What?" Draco looked at him in surprise. "How did


you know I was selling the Manor?"

"It was in the paper over Christmas," Neville said,


rummaging around in his desk. "There was a front-
page story on it, with a picture of you and everything.
You're famous." Neville pulled out the copy of the
Daily Prophet he was saving and tossed it at Draco.

"Eugh," Draco said, picking it up. "They could have


found a better picture."

"Not to mention they've blown your cover. What with


that bit about you being seen 'round the Ministry,
there've been reporters lurking around here for the
last three days, assaulting everyone they can find.
Even me." Neville grunted in disgust. "I was in the
same bloody house as Colin Creevey, and the little
punter had the gall to corner me and demand to know
if I were you. Not if I'd seen you, if I were you. The
twit."

"Should have told him that you were and made him go
away," Draco replied absently, scanning the article.
"God, that's a really bad picture. Where did they find
it?"

Neville shrugged. "Probably an old one Colin took. He


was always snap happy with his damn camera. At
least you can be sure no one will recognise you."

Draco folded up the paper in disgust. "Remind me to


get you to point him out to me so I can avoid him at all
costs." He tossed it back on Neville's desk and put his
feet up on the edge, tilting the visitor's chair back on
its rear legs.

Neville sighed. "One day you are going to topple over


backwards and break your neck, doing that."

"Yes, Mother," Draco smirked. "How was your


holiday?"

"It was fine. Went to the Weasleys, so it was crowded


and noisy and hectic. So why are you - " he was
interrupted by a brisk knock on the door, which
immediately swung open to admit a sea of redheads.
"Neville, old son! Long time no see!"

"Nice office you've got here!"

"How's the Auroring going?"

"Staying out of trouble?"

Draco swung his feet off Neville's desk and sat up


straight. He glanced at Neville, who gave a long-
suffering sigh. "Speaking of Weasleys...Ron, Fred,
George, Percy, Charlie. Bit of a surprise, seeing you
all here. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Actually we're not here to talk to you," Fred said,


coming around Draco's chair to lean against the edge
of Neville's desk, as the rest of the Weasley brothers
arranged themselves about the small office. He
grinned down at Draco. "Hello, Malfoy."

"Oh, for..." Neville stood up, but was effectively


blocked behind his desk by Percy and Ron.

"Hello." Draco nodded at Fred and began to stand up,


but George pressed him back into his seat.

"No, no...have a seat, Malfoy. We just stopped by for


a friendly chat!" George remained standing behind
Draco, one hand resting heavily on his shoulder.
"Ginny mentioned you were back in town, so we
thought we'd come by, renew our acquaintanceship,
that sort of thing."

Charlie leaned back against Neville's desk and made


a show of cracking his knuckles.

"Indeed," Draco said mildly. "I'm touched."

"Aye, well. Always nice to keep in touch with the old


crowd, you know. All sorts of people, I think to myself,
wonder whatever happened to them? And since
you're here, and we haven't seen you in an age, we
all thought we'd drop by, say hello, that sort of thing."
Fred waved a hand airily.

"Undoubtedly because we were such close friends


before," Draco said wryly. Ron coughed behind his
hand and started examining the ceiling.

Fred shrugged and ignored that. "Yes, well. Gin's a


good girl, you know. Friendly, kind, loving, easy-
going..."

"Yes, she's a real sweetheart," George said, taking up


the gauntlet. "Very special to us all."

Charlie nodded. "Would be a terrible shame if


anything were to happen that would hurt her feelings."

"I see," said Draco, in the same mild tone.

"Exactly," Fred said, curling his right hand into a fist


and rubbing it in the palm of his left. "We're good men,
you know, and we'd all hate to see anyone get hurt."

"Not to mention that hurting someone would be


against the law and would no doubt get people in
serious trouble," Percy said pompously. Fred rolled
his eyes and Charlie sighed, shaking his head. Draco
looked at Neville and quickly looked away, a corner of
his mouth twitching.

Ron reached over and poked Percy in the ribs. "I


thought you agreed to keep your mouth shut!"

Percy glared at him and straightened his glasses. "I'm


only saying - "

"Shut up, Percy!"

Neville could see Draco's shoulders trembling out of


the corner of his eye and busied himself with shuffling
papers around on his desk, studiously not looking at
his partner.

"As I was saying," Fred continued, glancing quellingly


at Percy, "we'd all hate to see anything bad happen to
Ginny, what with her being our only sister, and a dear,
sweet, wonderful person at that. I'm sure you feel the
same way, don't you, Malfoy?" He stopped and
looked at Draco meaningfully. Draco blinked
guilelessly back at him, poker-faced, and didn't reply.
Fred glared at him. "Right. But since we all agree, I'm
sure nothing bad will happen, will it?" He nodded
firmly and straightened up, dusting off his hands. "Will
you look at the time. We do have places to be so we
can't stay. Good to see you again Malfoy, Neville." He
motioned to the others. "Let's go, boys."

Neville nodded faintly at Ron as the Weasleys filed


out the door. Charlie hung back and stopped with one
hand on the doorknob. He turned to Draco and
cleared his throat. "I just want to make this perfectly
clear, Malfoy. There's five of us, and only one of you.
If you do anything to hurt her, we'll kill you."

"I had gathered that, actually," Draco said, and


stepped back as Charlie nodded at Neville and
stepped quietly out the door.

Neville and Draco looked at each other. "So," Draco


said. "I take it Ginny told her family?"

"What gave it away?" Neville grinned and shook his


head. "Charming, aren't they?"

"Something like that."

"If it makes you feel better, they've done it to me, too.


I'm pretty sure they didn't really mean it," Neville said.
"They're a bit overprotective, but you needn't feel
threatened."
"Threatened?" Draco snorted. "Bit hard to feel
threatened by a bunch of people with freckles all over
their noses. Makes them all look twelve." He sighed
and sat back down in his chair. "Are they always like
that?"

Neville thought about it. "Pretty much. And just


think...you get to see them all again at Jamie's
birthday party in two weeks."

"Actually, I'm not going to the party," Draco shrugged.


"I promised Ginny that I'd come by in the morning and
drop something off for him, but I'm skipping the party
itself."

"Oh," Neville said. "How come?"

"Partly because I'd rather not have to fend off a horde


of Weasleys repeating the scene we just got to
experience, and partly because I don't really want to
go." Draco shrugged again and leaned the chair back
again. "Besides, I've got some things to look into at
the Yard, so I'll very likely be busy."

Neville eyed him. "And you think Harry will be there."

Draco shrugged and looked at the ceiling.

"You do, don't you?"

"Actually, it just so happens that I will be busy, and I


simply can't make it." Draco crossed his arms over his
chest, frowning up at the ceiling and not looking at
Neville.

"And if I told you Harry wouldn't be there, would you


go?"

"But he is going to be there. It's his son's birthday, of


course he'll be there."

"And you just happen to be conveniently busy."


Neville grinned and sipped at his coffee. "You just
don't want to run into Harry. I knew it!" His grin
widened as Draco scowled at him. "You're going to
have to eventually, you know."

"Eventually is not now," Draco grumbled. "Are you


going?"

"No...I gave Ginny Jamie's present already." Neville


coughed and shuffled some scrolls around on his
desk. "As it happens, I'll be busy that day as well."

"Well isn't that convenient." Draco sat up straight and


smirked at him. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm genuinely busy?" Neville shrugged and refused to


look at him. "And I generally try to stay out of Harry's
way for the most part."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "And why is that?"


"Long story."

Draco tilted his head at Neville and grinned. "I have


time. Why do you avoid the illustrious Mr. Potter?"

"No reason."

"Oh, come on. Just tell me."

Neville ran one hand through his hair. "Would you


leave me alone if I told you it's none of your
business?"

"Nope." Draco smirked. "And you have the nerve to


needle me about avoiding Potter. How's that for the
pot calling the kettle black? Tell me why."

"God, you're annoying." Neville finally looked up, and


met Draco's eyes. "How much do you know about
Ginny and Harry's breakup?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at the switch in subject.


"Just that they split up and that they're still friendly.
Why?"

"It wasn't always..." Neville stopped. "They weren't..."


he stopped again, and leaned back in his chair,
gathering his thoughts. "They're on friendly terms
now, but for a few months there, they really weren't. I
helped Ginny out when she and Harry split up; she
stayed at my place and sort of didn't tell Harry where
she was. It was about 2 weeks before Harry found
out. He...wasn't very happy with me, for letting Ginny
stay there without telling him. And there are some
things that Harry knows that I would have been
happier having him not know, and it makes life easier
if we don't see much of each other."

"Ah," Draco nodded impassively.

"What?" Neville jerked his head irritably.

"That was...vague as all hell."

"You didn't specify a good explanation. Take what you


get." Neville glared at Draco and leaned forward to
grab his coffee cup. "Why don't you ask Ginny, if you
want to know? Not my place to tell you."

"Because I'd feel like a horrible, prying git, trying to


pump her for information on her failed marriage?"

"Draco Malfoy has developed a conscience?" Neville


grinned again as Draco scowled fiercely at him. "Will
wonders never cease?"

"Thank your lucky stars that I have, and I am not


saying half of the nasty things I'm thinking about you
right now, Longbottom," he said grumpily.

"Well, if you really want to know about their breakup


and don't want to ask her, you can go to the Library
and look at back issues of the Daily Prophet. It was
huge news when it hit the press."

Draco snorted. "Of course it was. Poor Perfect Potter


gets dumped. Why wouldn't it make news?"

Neville frowned at him. "Whether you like him or not,


Harry is who he is. Decorated war hero, world-class
Seeker, and the best coach the league has seen in
years. Of course his divorce made news." Neville
shrugged. "It was a zoo...that was actually why they
started talking again, because once the press got
wind of what was going on, it was making the whole
situation worse. Printing all sorts of stuff, hounding
everyone even remotely related to Harry or to Ginny.
The whole Weasley clan sort of closed ranks around
the two of them, and they worked out the split as
privately as possible, so they could avoid the publicity
hounds. Surprising, really, how vicious the press was,
especially against Harry...guess he was due for a
backlash."

Draco didn't say anything, but he looked decidedly


smug.

Neville sighed. "Look, you can ask Ginny, or go to the


Daily Prophet, or the Library for back issues of the
newspaper, but I'm not going to tell you."

"I'll think about that."


"Well, in the meantime, you can tell me why you're
selling the Manor."

Draco narrowed his eyes at his partner. "Because I


don't need it."

"No? Not going to keep it as...oh, I don't know, a sort


of family keepsake? You know, some families pass
down silverware, or ugly heirlooms, others do real
estate." Neville leaned back in his chair. "I've got a
truly hideous vase I inherited when Gran died. It's a
sort of bilious lavender colour. I hide it in a cupboard
and only bring it out when Aunt Muriel comes to visit,
because she wanted it and was furious when Gran
left it to me."

"A manor house is not something I can stuff in the


back of a drawer and only pull out when I want to
irritate people," Draco snorted. "I don't need it, and it's
a pain having to go out there all the time, and upkeep
on the thing costs a fortune, so I'm getting rid of it."

"It's a manor. Owning an estate is a crowning


achievement...most people our age would kill to be
able to drop 'oh yes, my country house' into
conversations in a sort of airy manner, just to prove
how well off they are."

"I'll sell you mine for a dollar," said Draco. "It's huge,
and drafty, and ugly, and dark, and I hate it. Be
damned if I set foot in the thing again."

Neville was a bit taken aback by Draco's vehemence.


"All right. Was just saying, most normal people would
want one." He shrugged. "Not that you're normal,
mind..."

"Now why does that sound like an insult?"

"Take it or leave it. Now if you're finished with the idle


chitchat, we have work to do." Neville rummaged in a
file drawer while Draco scowled at him. He found the
file he was looking for and sat up straight, smirking at
his partner. He shoved a piece of paper at Draco.
"Hermione sent that pendant back, but she didn't find
anything on it. She says the magical aura you feel
when you touch it is a residual field left over by a
strong charm being placed on an object and then
removed, but there's no way of knowing what sort of
charm it was."

"Damn," Draco said softly, scanning the paper Neville


handed him. "What sort of charm would you be able
to put on something that small, that would leave that
strong an aura?"

"No idea." Neville shrugged. "Portkey, maybe? Some


sort of locator spell? Could be anything."

"On something that small, and that particular shape..."


Draco trailed off, brow furrowed. "Couldn't be a
portkey, if they were wearing it as a pendant, or even
keeping it in a pocket. Too easy to touch it
accidentally and get whisked off somewhere you
didn't necessarily want to go. And if it were a locator
charm, why'd they take it off?"

Neville shook his head, watching Draco carefully.


"Didn't need it anymore?"

"That doesn't make sense."

"None of this makes sense, so that's hardly a


roadblock," Neville pointed out. "We don't even know
why they're doing this at this point. It's not even like
they get that much money from the
robberies...Muggle banks never seem to keep much
cash on hand nowadays. It's all electronic."

"Boredom would be my guess. What I want to know,"


Draco mused, leaning forward to rest his elbows on
the edge of Neville's desk, "is what they plan to do
when they get tired of banks."

"With any luck, we'll catch them before that happens,"


Neville said fervently.

Draco snorted. "Not at this rate."

It took Draco the better part of a week to find what he


wanted, tucked away in a toyshop off Charing Cross,
and another two days before he could bring himself to
make a foray into Diagon Alley to Ollivander's Wand
Shop to replace his old wand. He didn't bother to tell
Neville about that little trip, on the grounds that it was
none of Neville's business anyway. Thankfully, he
hadn't run into anyone he knew, and Ollivander,
although he looked at Draco sharply, hadn't asked
any difficult questions, like what had happened to his
old wand. Which was just as well, because Draco
wouldn't have answered them. All in a good cause,
Draco told himself that evening, sitting cross-legged
on the floor of his room, surrounded by tiny plastic
cowboys and Indians. There were 30 of each in the
box, and he was in the process of painstakingly
magicking each of them to move. He was halfway
through, and the small crowd of toys he'd already
done were staging a small war across the lid of the
box, with much whooping and yelling and little cracks
of mock-gunfire like popping bubbles. Draco grinned
as several more enthusiastic toys fell off the edge of
the box and rolled across the carpet. Ginny was going
to hate him for this.

It was nearly 3 am when he finally finished, although


most of the last hour was spent trying to get the little
plastic men back in the box, since both groups
insisted that they couldn't be expected to share a
container with the other. He finally resorted to a sleep
spell, dumped the cowboys in one plastic bag and the
Indians in another, then stuffed them in the box. He'd
found some jaunty wrapping paper in a shop near the
toy store, also decorated with small cowboys and
Indians, which he used to wrap the present up, then
left it near the door where he could pick it up on his
way out.

When Draco finally stumbled out of bed, it was


nearing 10:30, and he had to rush in order to make it
up to Ginny's flat by 11. She was taking the children
to her parents at noon for Jamie's party, but he
wanted to drop off his gift before they left. She
answered his knock at the door looking flustered and
holding onto William, who was wearing Chudley
Cannons underwear and nothing else.

"'Lo, hon, c'mon in," she said, stepping back so he


could enter. Draco leaned forward to kiss her on the
cheek, but she turned her head to catch his lips. He
smiled against her mouth and deepened the kiss, only
to be distracted as Will grabbed his hair and chortled.

"Ow! Little monster," he grumbled as Ginny, giggling,


tried to detach Draco's hair from Will's fists. "He's got
a grip like a lobster."

"He doesn't get it from me," Ginny protested,


laughing. "Jamie's in the living room, if that's for him.
Want to be a dear and go entertain him while I get
Sarah and Willie ready? 'Mione and Ron will be here
in half an hour, and I'm running horribly late as it is."

At Draco's nod, she carried Will off down the hallway


toward the bedroom. Draco paused for a moment to
admire the sway of her hips before passing through
the kitchen and leaning against the archway into the
living room. Jamie and Sarah were sitting on the living
room floor, playing with what looked like a terribly old
model of a Hungarian Horntail dragon, which seemed
to be halfheartedly threatening a flock of Sarah's
dolls.

"I've heard a rumour," Draco said, "that someone here


is having a birthday."

Jamie and Sarah both looked up, Jamie grinning at


the sight of the present under Draco's arm. "Hullo
Draco," he said happily, jumping up. Sarah waved
shyly and flashed him a quick smile.

Draco grinned back and handed the box over. "There


you go. Don't get paper all over, your mother will kill
me."

Jamie ripped into the wrapping paper with


enthusiasm, scattering bits everywhere. He crowed in
delight when he saw the box. "Is it a real Muggle toy?"
he asked excitedly.

"Sort of," Draco said. "Open the box and see."

Jamie did just that, pulling out the bags full of little
plastic men. The sleep spell Draco had cast on them
last night was wearing off, and mutterings could be
heard from within each plastic sack. Jamie ripped
them both open, unceremoniously dumping cowboys
and Indians into one large pile on the floor. Sarah
squeaked and backed away as the little toys began to
brawl enthusiastically. Jamie whooped. "Brilliant!"

"If you separate them, you can build a little fort, and
they'll have gun battles and things," Draco said,
coming forward to crouch on his heels beside Jamie.
He carefully reached into the pile to pick up toys one
by one and place them on opposite sides of the box
lid, where they couldn't see each other.

By the time Ginny had finished with William and came


to collect Sarah, Draco and Jamie were stretched out
on the carpet hard at work. Sarah had retreated to the
couch, clutching her dolls, and was watching the
proceedings with an expression of interested horror.
The box had been dismantled to form a small fort, and
after some careful work with toothpicks and wrapping
paper, a reasonable Indian village had been
constructed. Several Indian braves were dancing
around a mock fire in the centre of the village, yipping
and waving little toy tomahawks, while the cowboys
paced the walls of their makeshift fort and looked
worried.

Ginny eyed the scene dubiously as she set Will down


on the couch. "What, exactly, are those things?"

"Toys," Draco said laconically, at the same time Jamie


said, "Indians!" Neither of them looked up.
Ginny watched them for a moment, red and blond
heads bent together industriously, then shook her
head and took Sarah's hand. "All I can say is, I'd
better not step on any of them."

"You won't," Draco replied. "I charmed them to move


out of the way when they're not being played with."

"You charmed them?" Ginny asked. Draco nodded


without looking up. She opened her mouth to say
something, then closed it, staring at him for a long
moment. Then she shrugged and ushered Sarah
across the kitchen and down the hall.

William bounced around on the couch while Draco


and Jamie played, doing an impression of a human
cannonball by climbing up on the arms of the couch
and jumping onto the cushions, giggling madly. Draco
watched him in alarm a time or two, until he realized
the couch was charmed so that William couldn't fall
off. Obviously this kind of thing was a regular
occurrence. Draco explained to Jamie how to make
the toys stage little mock-battles, and when Ron and
Hermione arrived at noon, twins in tow, a fierce war
was taking place on the living room floor.

Draco sat up from where he'd been lying on the


carpet and watched with veiled amusement as the
twins came barreling through the kitchen to check out
Jamie's new toy, flopping down on the carpet and
peppering Jamie with questions. He stood up
gracefully, in one fluid movement, and wandered into
the kitchen, dusting off his trousers. Ron nodded
stiffly, and Hermione smiled at him. "Hello, Draco, we
didn't expect to see you here."

"I just stopped by to drop off a present for Jamie,


actually. I have to work this afternoon, so I stopped by
early."

"Present?" Hermione asked, a little too brightly. Draco


nodded, but was saved from replying as Ron looked
down with a small frown. One of the tiny cowboys had
wandered away from the battle in the living room, and
was sitting on the bottom shelf of the tea trolley,
singing a wistful little song about buffalo and antelope
in a tinny voice. Ron leaned over and picked it up.
"Cute," he said. "Is this what you got Jamie?"

Draco nodded, and Hermione looked at him in


surprise. "Wherever did you find them?" she asked,
leaning over to look at the tiny cowboy cupped in
Ron's palm. "They really are adorable."

Draco shrugged. "One of my nephews has something


very similar, only his don't move. He loves them, so I
though Jamie might like them as well."

Ron peered at him. "Nephews?"

Draco smiled faintly and nodded.


"I thought you were an only child," Ron said
suspiciously.

"Hmmm." Draco nodded again, crossing his arms


over his chest and staring at the ceiling.

Ron narrowed his eyes at Draco, brows beetling, and


opened his mouth to retort. Hermione caught the look
on his face and quickly stepped between the two
men. "Ron, dear, why don't you take that back to the
living room?"

He started to protest, but Hermione kicked him in the


ankle, and he glowered and went, grumbling all the
way. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to
Draco. "Terribly sorry, he's so nosy." She cleared her
throat delicately. "So...I didn't know you had any
nephews."

Draco sighed faintly and resisted the urge to roll his


eyes. "I don't. Son of a friend of mine. It's less
confusing to the kids if I let them call me Uncle
Draco."

Hermione smiled. "That's so sweet."

"Thank you," Draco said, looking pained.

Ginny came back from the bedroom, a neatly pressed


Sarah in tow. "I think we're about ready to go, if we
can drag Jamie away from his new toy." She beamed
at Draco, who smiled back, and poked her head into
the living room. "All right, boys, we're ready to go. Put
the toys away please - Ron, what are you doing?
They're Jamie's! Come along, please, you can play
when we get home." A chorus of groans and
grumbling echoed into the kitchen, and Hermione
rolled her eyes and chuckled.

"Men," Hermione said. "Thank goodness we have at


least one girl in the family." She held out her hand to
Sarah, who put one small hand in hers obediently.
"Are we going by Floo?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes, I thought it'd be easier. If you'll


give me a minute, I'll just see Draco out."

"Well, it was a pleasure to see you again, Draco,"


Hermione said, and looked like she would have dearly
loved to say more, but Draco just nodded and picked
up his coat, not meeting her eyes. Ginny followed him
to the door as Ron herded the boys into the kitchen,
and returned a minute later looking breathless, slightly
flushed and quite pleased with herself. Hermione
raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't say anything as
Ginny fetched the Floo powder from the pot on the
refrigerator and they made their way to the Burrow for
Jamie's party.

"And Jamie got a whole pile of little cowboys and


Indians from Draco...Gin, d'you know where he got
them? They're really very sweet." Hermione looked at
Ginny inquiringly from over the rim of her teacup.
They were sitting with Angelina and Natalie at the
Burrow's kitchen table, enjoying a quiet cup of tea
while the children amused themselves in the living
room. Penelope was there with Molly, making sure
that nothing got too damaged as the Weasley
grandchildren pounded around.

Harry had arrived shortly after Ginny, Ron and


Hermione, and the twins with their wives soon after
him; the men had taken over the living room floor and
were putting together one of Jamie's new toys, a
rather spectacular Hogwarts Express train set with a
track that moved itself at random. Hermione had
sighed at the sight of Ron, Harry, Fred and George
stretched out on the carpet fiddling with the train cars
and, muttering something about boys never growing
up, had collected the other women and retired to the
kitchen.

"I'm not sure," Ginny said hesitantly, toying with her


cup. "I think...I think he made them."

"Made them?" Hermione repeated. "How? Neville said


he refuses to do magic anymore. And when they were
in my office that time on business, he looked ready to
bolt every time I cast a spell."

"I know...but I don't think they sell anything like that on


Diagon Alley or in Hogsmeade, and he said that he
charmed them." Ginny shrugged. "Whether he meant
that he added a spell to the ones already on them, or
if he found a Muggle toy and spelled them all to move,
I don't know."

Angelina raised her eyebrows. "He refuses to do


magic anymore?"

Ginny nodded. "He gave it up when he moved to


Canada."

"Draco Malfoy gave up magic?" Angelina asked.


"What for? I mean, leave the country, I could see,
since I can't imagine that England was the most
comfortable place for him after the war, but magic?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know...I haven't asked. He


just says that he didn't want to be a wizard anymore,
and gave it up. Doesn't even have a wand anymore,
as far as I know."

Angelina and Natalie shook their heads, but Hermione


looked thoughtful. "I bet Harry knows why."

"Why would Harry know?" Ginny asked in disgust.


"He doesn't know everything."

"No, but there's always been things that he wouldn't


talk about, even to Ron and I, and one of those things
was what happened when Malfoy disappeared. And
there was that whole thing with the Ministry wanting to
issue a warrant for his arrest, and Harry stopping
them...something happened there, and it must have
had something to do with why Malfoy left."

"Don't you ask him!" Ginny's eyes widened in alarm.


"He goes all wobbly whenever anyone mentions
Draco, and the last thing I need is for you to go
working him up before I have a chance to talk to him."

"You haven't told him yet?" Hermione stared at Ginny,


aghast. "I thought you were going to!"

"I am," Ginny said. "Eventually."

"When? Ginny, you've been dating Malfoy for months!


You have to tell him!"

"And I am going to tell him. Soon." Ginny cleared her


throat and stood up hurriedly, avoiding Hermione's
appalled stare. "I'm going to go check on the kids."

The three women watched her go, Angelina and


Natalie exchanging confused glances. Hermione
sighed. "I don't like that she's avoiding that...if Harry
finds out from anyone but her, it's going to go badly.
Not that it won't go badly anyway, mind you. Harry
loathes Malfoy."

"Still?" Natalie asked.

Hermione laughed ruefully. "Oh yes. They were sworn


enemies at Hogwarts. You were a few years back, so
you may not remember, but Malfoy tried to get us in
trouble so many times, the first few years. He got us
all into so many detentions, he tried to have Hagrid
fired, his father tried to get Professor Dumbledore
removed as Hogwarts head...he was such a little
bastard. After fifth year, he stopped being quite so
obviously antagonistic, but he and Harry were never
on good terms, or even neutral terms." She sighed
again and reached for the teapot, refilling her teacup.
"He kind of retreated in sixth year, but we always
knew he was on Voldemort's side in the war."
Hermione blithely ignored the reflexive shudder that
went through Angelina and Natalie at the mention of
the name. "And then after the war, when Voldemort
died, we learned that both Narcissa and Lucius were
dead and that Malfoy had vanished, and Harry
clammed up, refused to talk about it, and that was the
last we heard. But Ron and I always thought that
Malfoy must have left because the Death Eaters lost.
It would fit."

"And Ginny is dating him?" Angelina shook her head.


"Doesn't she know?"

"You know what she's like. She's decided he's


changed, and once she gets an idea into her head,
she won't let go. Stubborn girl. I can understand why
she'd be disposed to be kinder to him than Harry is;
she was always on the outside of everything that was
going on during the war. Molly and Arthur wanted to
protect her as much as they could, so she didn't really
see everything that happened." Hermione shrugged
and sipped at her cup. "Though to be fair, he really
does seem to be nicer. Neville claims he's changed
too, and he hasn't been as nasty as he used to, the
few times I've seen him around. And I can't really
blame her, honestly. If he looked at me the way that
he looks at her...well." She looked at her sisters-in-law
meaningfully.

Angelina's eyebrows threatened to disappear into her


hairline. "Oh? And how does he look at her, exactly?"

"Like...oh, like he'd like to eat her alive." Hermione


grinned. "There's all this intensity, and he looks all
smoulder-y. Like he wants her."

Natalie giggled. "Somehow I don't think you mean the


patented 'Weasley Look'."

All three of them burst into laughter; the Weasley


Look, as the sisters-in-law had dubbed it, was
something that all the brothers used - even Percy,
although Penelope had to have drunk a great deal of
wine to admit it. They liked to think made them appear
sexy and alluring, though in reality it tended to make
them look rather constipated.

Hermione laughed. "No, most decidedly not the


Weasley Look. He does look good enough to eat
most of the time, though."
"Oh, really?" Angelina said with interest. "Fred said he
looks different, but you know men...what's he really
look like?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to make sure


Ginny - and possibly Ron - was still safely away, and
lowered her voice. "He is drop dead gorgeous."

Natalie blinked in disbelief. "Malfoy? He looks like a


drowned rat in all his pictures."

"All the pictures you've seen are of when he was a


teenager though. He doesn't look like that anymore,"
Hermione said. "He's put on weight, and he's got
cheekbones to die for, and he always dresses
impeccably. Overall, he's grown into quite the nice-
looking man."

"Well, well." Angelina sat back and set down her cup.
"Fred left that bit out. I wonder why."

"Probably didn't want the competition," Natalie said


with a giggle.

"Did Ron tell you what they did?" Angelina continued.


"Descended on Neville's office en masse last week to
threaten to pound Malfoy's head in if he did anything
to Ginny. Charlie even came up from Romania for it."
She rolled her eyes. "Men."
"What's this?" Ron demanded, appearing in the
doorway. All three women jumped. "What are you lot
gossiping about now?"

"We're not gossiping!" Hermione protested. "How


much did you hear?"

Ron smirked. "That's for me to know and for you to


wish you knew. Just came to grab some drinks.
Building railroads is thirsty work."

Ginny appeared in the doorway behind him, with


Harry right behind her, one hand resting lightly on the
small of her back. "The birthday boy has demanded
pumpkin juice, so we are here to see to his majesty's
wishes," Harry said, laughing. Ginny smiled faintly
and stepped away from him, toward the cupboard
where the glasses were kept. Hermione caught
Ginny's eye and raised her eyebrows at her, glancing
pointedly at Harry. Tell him! she mouthed.

I will, Ginny mouthed back with a strained look, but


she didn't say anything, only gathered up cups and
left the room, avoiding everyone's eyes.

Valentine's Day, 2011

Draco was on time for once, and considerably less


nervous than he had been the first time he stood in
the hall outside this door and shuffled on the
horrendous carpet. He knocked, and then stepped
back and waited for Ginny to answer the door.

She opened it quickly, and smiled up at him. She was


wearing a long satin dress in a deep shade of plum
that made her skin glow, and her hair was pulled up in
a loose bun that looked as though it might fall apart at
any moment, with tendrils escaping at her temples.
"Sorry...I'm almost ready, I'll just be a minute." She
stepped back to let him come into the flat, then
stopped in surprise as he held out a large, flat box.
"What's this?"

"It's a present. For you," Draco said.

Ginny looked at him quizzically as he handed it to her.


"You didn't have to get me anything...what is it?"

Draco smiled. "That's sort of the point of it being a


present. I'm not supposed to tell you, you open it and
find out." She shook her head and laughed, setting
the box on the table and pulling on the ribbon. Inside
the box, nestled in swaths of white tissue paper, were
five red roses. "One for each month," he said.

She gasped softly and lifted them out, burying her


nose in the flowers and inhaling deeply. "They're
lovely!" She shifted them to her left hand and reached
up to touch his cheek with her right. "Thank you."

"The box isn't empty yet."


"There's more?" Ginny poked around in the tissue
paper. At the bottom of the box she found a small net
bag full of teardrop shaped, foil wrapped candies.
"What are these?"

"Muggle candy," Draco replied. "Hershey's Kisses, to


be precise. They're chocolates."

"Chocolate kisses?" She arched an eyebrow at him as


he tried to look innocent. She looked at them
speculatively, then handed the bag to Draco. "Hold
them for a moment while I put the roses in water."
She rummaged through the cupboards until she found
a vase, and arranged the roses quickly. "So to what
do I owe this embarrassment of riches?"

"I thought it was a rule," Draco replied, setting the


small bag down on the table. "Flowers and chocolate
for Valentine's. It's supposed to be romantic."

"Oh, it is," Ginny said. She returned to the table and


set the roses down, then stepped closer to him and
wrapped one arm around his waist. "Terribly romantic.
Thank you so much." She leaned up and kissed him,
lifting her other hand to rest lightly against his jaw. He
slid one hand around her waist and pulled her closer,
running his other hand up along her spine fingers
sliding easily over the fabric.

It wasn't until she had got his tie completely undone


and begun working on his shirt buttons that Draco
realized what she was about, and pulled back
reluctantly. "Dinner," he said to Ginny's disappointed
frown, and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. "We
have reservations."

She widened her eyes imploringly. "We could order


pizza..."

Draco shook his head at her. "Then what was the


point of you getting all dressed up to go somewhere
special, if we were just going to do something we can
do any time?"

"There's no rule saying we can't dress up for pizza."

"We have reservations," Draco said again. Ginny


pouted, but began to refasten his tie. "Although I'm
not quite sure why I'm arguing..."

Ginny arched an eyebrow at him. "Too late now," she


said, patting him on the chest. "You missed your
chance." She tugged lightly on his tie, then stepped
away from him and started down the hallway. "Just let
me get my purse, and we can go."

Draco watched her go, shaking his head ruefully.


There would be time enough for that later; he had a
surprise for her and didn't want to spoil it. They had
planned to have dinner together on Valentine's Day -
Ginny had herded the children off to one of her
siblings, so they'd have the night to themselves - but
Draco had decided to do something special. He
smiled to himself and checked his pocket to be sure
the small box he'd picked up from Neville was still
there.

Ginny re-appeared, purse in hand. "So, do I need to


bring a Muggle coat, or can I wear my new cloak?"

"You can wear the cloak," Draco said, leaning over to


look at her feet. "Can you walk far in those shoes?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him and held out one


foot, clad in a low-heeled dress shoe. "Yes...they're
spelled to be comfortable. Why?"

He looked up and smiled at her. "There's a small walk


involved in where we're going, is all, and I don't want
you to get blisters."

"Oh. And where are we going, again?" Ginny inquired.

"It's a surprise."

Ginny pouted at him and got her cloak out of the


closet, which she twirled around her shoulders. She
came back to Draco and took the hand he extended
to her. He twined his fingers with hers and reached
into the pocket of his coat, pulling out the box Neville
had given him. Ginny's eyebrows rose again. "Isn't
that one of the Ministry's portkey boxes?"
Draco just smiled and flipped the lid of the box, tipping
the small charmed ball into his palm. There was a
familiar jerk, and Draco felt Ginny's hand tighten on
his reflexively. She stumbled slightly as they arrived,
and he steadied her with one hand.

The change was drastic and immediate - instead of


the wintry chill of Britain, it was pleasantly cool. There
was a light breeze and the air was redolent with the
scent of olive trees and the tang of the sea. Ginny
blinked and gasped, peering into the shadows around
them. They seemed to be on the side of a badly
paved road that sloped down toward a town, the lights
of which were twinkling at the bottom of the hill. The
sun had set, but there was still a faint glow in the
west, and pinpricks of stars were beginning to appear
in the sky above them. "Where are we?"

"If Neville set it up right," Draco smiled and slid his


arm around her waist, "we are just outside of
Kissamos."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "We're where?"

"Kissamos. In Greece. On the island of Crete, in point


of fact." Draco beamed at her, pleased that his
surprise had gone so well. "If you look off to the north,
you can actually see the lights of Athens." He
squinted in that direction. "Sort of. Maybe not."

Ginny stared at him blankly. "You portkeyed us to


Greece for supper?"

Draco nodded, still smiling. "I did say we were going


out for Greek."

"I thought you meant in London!" Ginny shook her


head incredulously. "This is...I don't believe you
portkeyed me to Greece! How long did you plan this?"

Draco shrugged. "Couple of weeks. You said to take


you somewhere different...I though this would fit the
bill."

"It certainly does. This is..." Her voice trailed off and
she moved away from him suddenly, taking several
steps down the road toward the town. Her shoulders
moved sharply as she took a deep breath.

"Ginny?" Draco came up behind her, and reached out


to touch her shoulder gently. She turned slightly
toward him, and he was shocked to see tears on her
cheeks. "I just thought you might enjoy it. If you don't
want to stay, we can go back."

"No...oh no! This is amazing! I just...no one has ever


done anything like this for me before." Ginny ducked
her head and wiped at her face with her hand. Draco
wordlessly reached into his pocket and handed her a
handkerchief, which she took gratefully. "I'm not upset
at all, I don't know why I'm crying. This is wonderful.
I've never been to Greece."
Draco stepped behind her and rested his hands on
her shoulders, smoothing the material of her cloak
gently. "I've only been here once, when I was very
little. We went to Athens and Mother took me on a
cruise of some of the Islands while my father
did...business in the city. I was only six or seven, but it
was fun. I went swimming in the ocean, and ran
around in old Greek ruins, was horribly sunburnt, got
lost on a regular basis, and was generally a huge
nuisance to everyone." He felt her shoulders relax
slightly under his hands, and slid his hands down her
arms and around her waist, pulling her back against
him.

"Did you come here?" Ginny asked, leaning back and


resting her head against his.

"No...we stayed in the northern part, up in the islands


near Athens. Went to Troy, which I found fascinating.
Mother complained about all the Muggles, and we
didn't stay there long."

"I've been to France and Germany, and to Egypt,


when we went to visit Bill just before second year."
Ginny sighed deeply and stepped away from him,
taking his hand again. "Which was interesting,
although Fred and George were impossible on that
trip. Not that they aren't usually. I wanted to become a
curse breaker too, when I graduated, but Mum
wouldn't have it after what happened, so I started
writing instead."

"Bill?" Draco asked. The name sounded familiar, but


he didn't think he knew who she was referring to.

"My oldest brother," Ginny said quietly. "He was a


curse-breaker for Gringotts, and he died during the
war. He was called back to England just after the war
broke out in earnest, and was flying here by broom.
He was attacked by Dementors over the Channel and
was overwhelmed. He fell into the ocean and
drowned."

"Ah." Draco nodded and mentally kicked himself for


asking. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "That
must have been terrible for you."

Ginny nodded solemnly. "I don't think I realized, until


then, how serious it really was. That it was really a
war, and people would die. We kept thinking that we
were safe, that nothing really bad would happen as
long as we had Harry, as if he would be able to
protect us all, and then Bill..." She closed her eyes,
then shook her head sharply and turned to smile at
him apologetically. "I'm sorry, this is a terribly
depressing topic."

"Not at all," Draco said. "If you want to talk about it,
then we can."

Ginny took a deep breath. "No, I don't. It's Valentine's


Day, and we are here to have a good time and not
worry about the past." She straightened her shoulders
and stepped away from him again, taking his hand.
"So where is this restaurant you're taking me to?"

Draco gestured down the road with their joined hands.


"Down there...Kissamos is not a very big town, and it'll
probably be fairly quiet, since it's not the summer
season." They started ambling down the road, a
companionable silence between them. The walk was
a short one, and they soon arrived at the restaurant,
on a small side street just off the beach. They were
seated on a covered patio by the smiling owner, a
swarthy, grinning man almost as wide as he was tall,
who ushered them to a small table next to a low stone
wall. The wall overlooked a small garden, a small
oasis of green and brown that opened out to the
beach at the far end. It was shadowed, dark and
intimate, each table lit by a single small candle. Ginny
arranged her purse and cloak while Draco spoke to
the owner in flawless Greek. She raised her eyebrows
at him in surprise as he sat down. "I didn't know you
spoke Greek."

Draco nodded. "One of the few side benefits of a


classical education; my father wanted me to learn, so
I studied it in the summers during school. My Greek is
a bit over-formal, but I can usually make myself
understood."

"Your father made you take summer school?" Ginny


shook her head sympathetically. "That's awful."

"Actually it wasn't so bad," Draco said with a shrug.


"Gave me something to do, since there weren't any
children near the Manor for me to play with, and
everyone I knew lived too far away to meet frequently
during the summer. I learned to speak French too,
and he made me learn to apparate, the summer
before seventh year. And I can play the piano."

"All we ever did was play Quidditch in the yard and


tease the ghoul and de-gnome the garden," Ginny
said. "Never had to have lessons, but Mum was
always trying to come up with ways to trick us into
working while thinking we weren't."

"De-gnoming the garden?" Draco raised his


eyebrows. "You had gnomes in your garden?"

"Didn't you? Dad was always too nice and refused to


kill them, so we had to go toss them out every few
weeks."

"We never had gnomes," Draco said. "At least, not


that I'd ever seen. Of course, we had a fleet of
gardeners, so it's entirely possible we did and I simply
never knew. How does one de-gnome a garden?"

"You pick them up and whirl them around 'til they get
dizzy, then toss them over the fence. If you ever come
to the Burrow, I'll teach you how."
Draco wrinkled his nose at her. "As fun as that
sounds, I think I'll skip the practical application."

Ginny grinned. "You're missing out."

"I'll take your word for it." He looked up as the owner


made his way back to their table and chatted with him
at length in Greek while Ginny looked on in
amusement.

"Do I want to know what that was all about?" she


asked, when the other man had disappeared into the
bowels of the kitchen, after grinning expansively at
Ginny and shaking Draco's hand.

"That was me ordering food. I ordered for both of


us...I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. I wouldn't know where to begin." Ginny


smiled and then inhaled deeply. "It's so warm! I wish it
were like this in England all the time."

Draco laughed. "Antonis - he's the owner - was just


telling me he thought we were crazy to want to sit
outside. It's reasonably warm, but still cool by Island
standards, apparently."

They chatted about inconsequentials until the food


came, an bewildering array of dishes delivered by
Antonis and a smiling young woman who was
obviously his daughter. Draco pointed out different
foods, laughed as she made faces at the raw tuna,
and let her eat most of the mussels. They lingered
over the wine, and finally took their leave, thanking
the owner profusely, who beamed at them, extolling
Ginny's beauty in halting English. He winked at Draco
and said something in Greek that made Draco turn
faintly pink and shake his head.

"What did he say?" Ginny demanded once they were


out of earshot, but Draco refused to tell her.

"It wouldn't translate," he said dismissively, his cheeks


still tinged with colour.

They wandered down to the beach and walked along


the waterline hand in hand, watching the waves creep
in. The lights from the small restaurants and hotels
along the beachfront, along with the light from the
half-moon in the sky gave off enough light that they
could see where they were going, reflecting off the
wet sand and gleaming on the waves. Ginny sighed
happily, swinging their joined hands. "You know, this
is absurdly romantic. Flowers and chocolate, a
wonderful dinner, moonlit walk along the beach...it's
practically cheesy."

"Cheesy?" Draco sounded affronted. "You're not


supposed to think it's cheesy, you're supposed to be
swept away by my sensitivity and charm."
"Oh, I am?" Ginny laughed.

"Yes. I'm awing you with my ability to be strong, yet


vulnerable, virile, yet generous, manly, yet kind..."
Draco stopped and drew her to him, wrapping his
arms around her waist and grinning down at her.
"Impressed yet?"

"Oh, terribly," Ginny nodded. "But I warn you, if you


start reciting poetry, I shall smack you."

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art


more lovely and - ow!" He laughed as she thumped
him on the chest, and grabbed her hand before she
could hit him again. " Well, you're certainly not
temperate. Just as well, I don't remember the rest of
that one."

"Did you write that?"

"God, no. That's Shakespeare. I'm not quite at the


point where I'm writing my own." Draco shook his
head. "And never will be, I hope."

"Thank goodness," Ginny said fervently. "I'm not


much of a poetry girl, lest you be harbouring any
desire to become a poet in order to impress me. I
didn't know Shakespeare wrote poetry."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Draco. "You know who


Shakespeare is?"
Ginny laughed. "I took Muggle Studies at Hogwarts,
and then a creative writing course through a Muggle
college not long after I graduated. We studied a few of
his plays, but I didn't care much for him. Had the
silliest ideas about witches."

"True. He does have some nice poetry, though. Del


took a bunch of upper-level English courses in
University, and liked to spontaneously recite them at
John and I. His were the only ones I liked."

"Del would be...John's friend, right?" Ginny smiled at


Draco's nod. "Bet you thought I wasn't paying
attention. How come you brought me to Greece and
not to Canada, anyway? Not that I'm complaining,
mind you, but I wouldn't mind seeing somewhere
outside of Europe."

Draco made a face. "Are you kidding? It's cold in


Canada this time of year. February's the worst month
to spend winter on the prairies. It's bloody freezing,
Christmas is over, spring nowhere in sight, nothing to
look forward to, everything's a sort of dull grey
colour...it's awful. Not at all romantic."

"Colder than England?"

"Much colder." Draco nestled her against his chest.


"And, as I said, dreary and nasty and not a very nice
place to be until, say, April. I'll take you in the
summer, when it's warm."

"All right," she said with a smile, then tilted her head
at him. "Do you miss it?" she asked quietly.

Draco paused thoughtfully. "Some things," he finally


said. "I miss my house...living in hotels suck, no
matter how nice they are. I miss John, and the rest of
my friends. And dumb things, like soap and American
TV shows and Canadian beer."

Ginny laughed. "You miss beer?"

"What? They make good beer." Draco grinned back


and kissed the tip of her nose. "Not that I don't like
English beer, of course, but there's a local brewery in
Alberta that makes a really good wheat ale. I miss it."

"I actually would not have pegged you as a beer


drinker, to be honest," Ginny said. "You seem more a
wine sort of person. Beer is so...unrefined."

"I'm not that refined."

Ginny snorted. "No, of course not."

"Well, you can think whatever you wish, but I stand by


my statement." He looked down at her, a smile
playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'm depressingly
uncouth."
"Of course you are," she said, laughing. She sighed
and snuggled against his shoulder, smiling
contentedly.

They stood in silence for long moments, arms


wrapped around each other, the sound of the sea in
their ears. Draco closed his eyes and rested his
cheek against her hair, one hand tracing lazy circles
on her back. When he noticed her begin to shiver
slightly, he brought his mouth to her ear. "Time to go
home?" he whispered softly.

She turned her head and smiled up at him. "I think so.
I'm getting cold."

The portkey took them directly back to Ginny's


apartment, which made her raise her eyebrows a bit,
but she didn't comment. Draco relinquished his coat
to her, and she hung it up with her own cloak in the
closet beside the front door as he wandered to the
kitchen counter and leaned casually against it.

"Can I get you anything?" Ginny asked, coming to


stand beside him.

"No thank you," Draco said softly, looking down at her


with unreadable grey eyes. He reached out and
touched her cheek gently with one hand, and she
tilted her head toward it and smiled.

"Thank you," she said softly. "Tonight was wonderful."


"You're welcome. I'm glad you had a good time."

"I did. I've never had anyone do something like that


for me. It was really the nicest surprise I've ever had."

"I'll keep that in mind for future surprises." He slid his


hand down to her neck, his fingers curling in the loose
strands of hair at the base of her skull. She swayed
toward him slightly and he stepped forward to catch
her, his other arm wrapping around her waist, and
lowered his mouth to hers. He sighed slightly, holding
her tightly, giving in to the desire he always felt
around her but kept tightly in check. She murmured
softly against his mouth and leaned into the kiss,
resting her hands on the counter on either side of him.

Draco pulled away slightly and raised one hand to her


cheek, tracing her cheekbone lightly with his
fingertips. "Are you..." Draco stopped and cupped her
face in his hands.

"Am I what?" Ginny asked huskily, blinking up at him


through cinnamon lashes.

"Are you sure you want this?"

She stopped, eyes searching his face for a long


moment, then she leaned forward and brushed her
lips softly against his in answer. "Yes," she whispered.
"I'm sure."
Draco smiled slowly and slid his hands down her
neck, kissing her deeply. He could taste wine on her
tongue as he explored her mouth with his own, sliding
his hands over her shoulders and down her back
before drawing them forward so he could rest them
against the fullness of her hips, feeling the heat of her
skin through her satin dress. He rubbed his thumbs
against her hipbones and she moaned, leaning into
him. She brought her hands down across his chest
and stomach, pulling his shirt out of the waistband of
his pants so she could slide them underneath and
across his bare skin, her lips curling against his mouth
as he gasped at the feel of her hands.

She had worked all of the buttons undone and was


sliding it off his arms when Draco managed to lift his
mouth from hers and whisper, "Wait."

Ginny frowned and stopped. "What?"

Draco smiled at the look on her face. "I was just


thinking that I hadn't really intended to make love to
you on your kitchen floor. At least, not the first time."

Ginny spluttered with laughter. "What, no sense of


adventure?"

"All in good time," he said, leaning forward to nip


softly at her neck. She swayed toward him with a
breathy moan, and he slid one hand around her
shoulders, then bent and scooped her off her feet.
She let out a small squeak of surprise, and he
grinned. He started down the hall and nudged her
bedroom door open with one shoulder, setting her
down on her feet near the bed. "Much better," he said
with satisfaction, kissing her again.

"Hmmm," she said absently, drifting her fingertips


over the contours of his chest, sliding her hands up
and over his shoulders, pushing his shirt off. He let go
of her for a moment to let it drop to the floor, then
repeated the motion with her dress, gliding the
delicate straps off her arms, bending his head to
place small kisses along the curve of her shoulders
and along her neck. She hummed softly with
pleasure, curving her neck toward him and tracing the
muscles of his abdomen with her fingers. Draco
groaned softly and covered her mouth with his, sliding
his hands down her back and around her waist, then
up again to cup her breasts, half-lost in the
indescribable sensation of her skin against his. Ginny
stepped back once, and then again, until she reached
the edge of the bed and sank down on it, pulling him
with her, then reached out and turned out the light.

Draco woke the next morning to the sound of his cell


phone ringing. He lay with his eyes closed for a
moment; he felt comfortable and warm and sated, and
quite possibly the last thing he wanted to do at this
moment was to get up and find his telephone. Sod it,
he thought sleepily. Whoever it is can bloody well
leave a message. As if on cue, the ringing stopped as
the voice mail picked up. Draco sighed contentedly
and started to drift back to sleep.

The phone started ringing again almost immediately.


Draco groaned and cracked an eyelid. The sun was
up, streaming through the blinds and drawing striped
lines of yellow across the ceiling. He blinked slowly,
trying to remember when he'd had blinds installed in
his bedroom. After another moment, he remembered
that he hadn't had blinds installed in his bedroom,
leading to the obvious conclusion that this must not
be his bedroom. That conclusion was borne out on
further examination by the unfamiliar wardrobe in the
corner, and the decidedly feminine clothing it
contained. There also happened to be another person
in the bed, who seemed to have an arm wrapped
around his chest and a leg draped over both of his. A
stray curl of red hair was tangled around his neck.
Draco smiled happily. "Good morning," he whispered
softly against her temple.

The only response was an irritable grumble.

Note to self. Ginny is not a morning person, he


thought, amused. The ringing stopped again.

"Finally," she muttered grouchily against his chest.


"Call 'm back later an' tell whoever that was to sod
off."
"I'll do that," he murmured, eyes drifting closed again.
Later. He really didn't want to go anywhere right at the
moment.

There was a soft pop from the corner of the room.

"Dammit, Malfoy, why the hell aren't you answering


your - oh. Oh. Oh, shit. Sorry. I'm sorry!" Ginny
shrieked and dived under the covers. Neville
squeezed his eyes shut and turned around quickly,
but not before Draco saw him turn several rather
alarming shades of red.

"Morning, Longbottom."

"Good morning. Oh, hell."

Ginny unburied her head, clutching the sheets to her


chest, and glared at Neville's back. "Neville, what are
you doing in my bedroom?"

"Sorry...I'm sorry. I've just - I'm looking for Malfoy,


we've got a lead, and he wasn't answering his phone,
there's a charm on it so we can trace him magically, I
have one too, I just apparated when he didn't
answer...I didn't think he was here. Sorry. Sorry!"
Neville hunched his shoulders and shuffled his feet,
still facing the wall. "I didn't think - um, hell. Look, how
about I just go wait in the kitchen?"

Draco was shaking with suppressed laughter as


Neville managed to sidle out of the room without once
glancing in the direction of the bed.

"This is not funny!" Ginny hissed. She sat up, sheets


clutched to her chest as she glared with equal venom
at the door and at Draco, who gave up trying to be
quiet and was practically crying, he was laughing so
hard. "It's not! Shut up!"

"The look on his face..." he gasped. "Oh God!"

"Neville Longbottom just Apparated into my bedroom!


I fail to see the humour in this situation! I'm going to
kill him! NEVILLE, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

A faint "I'm sorry!" drifted from the direction of the


kitchen, which only served to set Draco off again.

"Stop laughing!"

Under Ginny's decidedly unimpressed glare, Draco


finally managed to calm down and get dressed,
although he had a bad moment or two when he got to
the kitchen and Neville blushed to the roots of his
hair. He bid a disgruntled Ginny goodbye and
followed Neville out the door, as subdued as possible
under the circumstances.

Neville maintained an icy silence all the way down to


Draco's car and halfway through the trip to Diagon
Alley. Finally he cleared his throat stiffly and growled,
"Well, I'd ask if you had a good evening, but it seems
a bit of a pointless question."

Draco snorted and glanced at his partner. Neville was


slouched in his seat, glaring out the window with his
arms folded across his chest. "I did, actually," he said,
and smirked as Neville's glare got a little fiercer and
he muttered something under his breath. "What was
that?"

"I said I didn't think you'd...that you would..." Neville


blushed again and shut up.

"Who said it was my idea?" Draco smirked, shooting


an amused glance at his partner out of the corner of
his eye.

Neville squirmed but pressed on. "You couldn't have


waited before you decided to haul her into bed?" he
demanded, a hint of outrage in his voice.

"Oh, for crying out loud, we've been dating for


months," Draco said testily. "It's not like she's a virgin,
Christ, she has three kids! I think she's figured out the
sex thing by now."

Neville flushed again. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point? Besides the fact that you're


embarrassed because you ended up somewhere you
weren't supposed to be?" Draco grinned slyly. "Just
be glad you didn't show up about 6 hours earlier...I
would have been a lot less amused."

Neville groaned. "Thank you Malfoy, for that. Because


I needed to know, really."

"You're the gossip...sure you don't want all the gritty


details?"

"I am not a gossip. And no, I do not want details,


thank you very much," Neville huffed, and shifted in
his seat to glare out the window. Draco just rolled his
eyes and concentrated on the road.

"Who's Laura?" Neville said finally. He felt more than


saw Draco's jump.

"Don't do that!" Draco said irritably.

"Do what?"

"Spring questions like that on me out of the blue.


Jesus." Draco shot Neville a glare before turning his
attention back to the road.

"Who is she?"

"None of your - "

"Don't tell me it's none of my business. If you are


going to carry on some sort of affair with one of my
best friends, I want to be sure that you're not screwing
around with her. Now tell me who Laura is. You've got
a picture of her in your office, she must be important."

Draco's lips thinned, and his hands tensed on the


steering wheel. "She was."

Neville raised an eyebrow at the past tense. "And?"

"And she is dead, Longbottom."

That shut Neville up. They drove on, an intimidating,


heavy silence sitting between them. When Draco
spoke again, his voice was quiet and measured and
very, very calm. "We dated for a year and a half, we
lived together, we'd discussed marriage. And then she
died. End of story."

"Oh." Neville cleared his throat nervously and fiddled


with the edge of his coat. "I'm sorry."

Draco gave a short, sharp laugh. "What for? Wasn't


your fault."

"I just meant..." Neville trailed off.

"I know what you meant." Draco shifted and sighed.


"It just bothers me that people always say they're
sorry. You didn't have anything to do with it, you didn't
know her, and you're not really. It's a stupid thing to
say."
"I know what you mean." Neville shifted to look at
Draco. "My parents...people used to say that all the
time, and I hated it."

Draco nodded, staring out at the road.

"You loved her." It wasn't a question. Draco nodded


again, his jaw tensing. Neville glanced over at him
and then away. "What happened?"

Draco's hands tightened on the wheel. "Car accident."

"Oh." Neville cleared his throat again. "What - "

"Look, Longbottom, I do not want to talk about it,"


Draco snapped. "It was a long time ago and I don't
want to discuss it."

Neville bit his lip and nodded slightly. "All right." He


examined Draco's profile for a long moment, but
Draco wouldn't look at him, and Neville finally gave it
up with a sigh.

Several hours later, Neville groaned and tilted his


chair back, scrubbing at his face with his hands.
Draco had left an hour earlier, which was almost a
relief, as he'd been either imposingly silent or short
with people all day, and had driven half the office
crazy. Neville felt vaguely guilty about that, since the
underlying reason for Draco's bad mood was largely
his fault - the fact that the lead he had hauled Draco
out of bed for had turned out to be useless hadn't
improved matters. All the same, though, he didn't
have to be so pissy about Neville asking questions.
Draco tended to take the whole privacy thing entirely
too far.

Neville shook his head sadly. It would be easier if


there weren't so much about Draco - about the person
that Draco was now, that Neville didn't know; things
like Laura, whoever she was, that had affected Draco
enough that he wouldn't - or couldn't - talk about
them. They'd been partners for almost a year, he
realized with a shock. Almost a year, and he felt no
closer to knowing Draco than he had before Draco
had left. And he wanted to, Neville admitted, not only
out of curiosity, or for Ginny's sake, but because he
actually liked Draco. And not just in a pots-of-
chocolate sort of way, as Hermione would say, but as
a...a friend, however absurd that might sound. Neville
trusted him. But as much has he had changed, there
were some things about Draco that hadn't; it was, for
instance, next to impossible to be easy with him
sometimes, and he still had an unerring sense for
weakness. And he was still secretive, and proud, and
arrogant - as Neville had told Hermione, Draco was
very good at what he did, and he knew it.

Neville groaned again and looked at the pile of scrolls


and parchments on his desk - unfinished paperwork,
for the most part, and reports he needed to get caught
up on. "I want to go home," he told his paperwork
quietly.

"So go." Neville nearly jumped out of his skin, looking


around wildly. Cecil Dobbins was standing in the door
of his office, arms folded. "No sense staying
here...paperwork will still be here in the morning."

"That sounds like a grand idea," Neville said with a


sigh. "Been a hell of a day."

"I'm not surprised, with that albino partner of yours


hanging about like the wrath of doom. What's got into
him?" Cecil asked. It seemed like an idle question, but
Neville knew better.

He shrugged at his boss. "Personal issues."

Cecil nodded thoughtfully. "Huh. He leave?"

Neville nodded faintly. "I made him go home, he was


getting on my nerves."

Cecil chewed on the ends of his moustache


thoughtfully."How's the case going?"

"Well as can be expected, considering we have no


clues and nothing to go on." Neville shook his head
and gazed morosely at his desk. "Bit draining, to tell
the truth."
"We can always declare it dead," Cecil pointed out.

"Not while it's still happening."

"Huh. Good point." Cecil straightened up. "Well, keep


me posted. Go home, get some rest, order some
take-out or something. And tell that partner of yours
that if he bullies my secretary again like he did today
I'll boot his ass back to Canada myself." He spun on
his heel and left, swinging the door shut behind him,
leaving Neville laughing silently to himself.

When Neville arrived at his office the next morning,


Draco was sitting in his visitor's chair, leaning forward
with his elbows on the edge of Neville's desk and his
head in his hands. He didn't even look up as the door
opened. "Maybe you can explain to me why, exactly,
the two of us seem to be completely incapable of
tracking down two irritating little street punks with
porridge for brains."

"Because we're both so good at our jobs?" Neville


sighed, coming around the corner of his desk to sit in
his chair. "Because we're the best and brightest the
wizarding world has to offer?"

"Apparently," Draco said with some disgust. "There's


been another one."

"Fantastic."
Draco sighed deeply and raised his head long enough
to shove a piece of paper at Neville. "Here, read it
yourself."

Neville read, and groaned when he was done, leaning


forward to imitate Draco's pose, head in hands. "Oh,
bloody hell."

"Could this day possibly get any better?" Draco asked


conversationally.

The door to Neville's office opened, and Harry Potter


walked in.

NB: I can't take credit for the toy cowboys and


Indians, I outright stole the idea from Lynne Reid
Banks, author of The Indian in the Cupboard, and full
credit should go to her.

Chapter Eight

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we


would find in each man's life a sorrow and a suffering
enough to disarm all hostility.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so


much.
- Oscar Wilde

Draco and Neville both jumped, and Harry froze,


staring at Draco. Neville cleared his throat nervously.
"Hullo, Harry." He heard Draco mutter something that
sounded a lot like rhetorical question, but decided to
ignore him.

Harry didn't even glance at Neville. He was staring at


Draco with a twisted expression, his body rigid. Unlike
the rest of the wizarding world, it seemed, Harry had
no trouble recognizing Draco straight off. "You."

"Hello, Potter," Draco sneered. "What a pleasant


surprise."

Harry glared at Draco, but spoke to Neville. "What's


he doing here?"

"He's my partner for a case I'm working on," Neville


said, licking his lips nervously. He had the sinking
feeling that this was going to be bad. "Did you need
something, Harry?"

"I stopped by to ask if I could borrow a portkey to


Hogwarts," Harry replied, still glaring at Draco, who
was sneering right back.

"Can't make one yourself, Potty?" Draco jeered.


Neville sighed and closed his eyes briefly. This was
going to be bad. Whatever latent nice-ness Draco had
picked up seemed to have vanished the minute Harry
walked in the door. Neville rose to his feet and moved
around the edge of his desk, so that he was more or
less between Harry and Draco. He wondered if it
would be too obvious if he tried to move some of the
more breakable objects.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Malfoy," Harry


growled. "What's he doing here?" he demanded of
Neville again.

"I told you, he's working with me on a case. Um...look,


I actually don't have a portkey handy, but you could
go ask Katie, she's usually - "

"Yes, Potter, why don't you run along and get


someone else to do for you what you can't do
yourself?" Draco said, his voice dripping with malice.
Harry took a menacing step forward, which was all the
invitation Draco needed; he shoved his chair back
and stood, pulling himself to his full six feet and
glaring haughtily down his nose at Harry. Harry hadn't
really grown since his brief growth spurt in seventh
year, and he realized - belatedly - that Draco had a
good four inches on him. He stopped advancing
suddenly, and didn't protest as Neville stepped in front
of him and backed him toward the door a bit.

Neville took a deep breath and turned back to Draco,


who was still looking daggers at Harry. "Look, Malfoy,
I know there's bad blood between you two - what with
the whole um, incident and all - but can you please try
to be polite?" Neville tried not to sound too
exasperated. Why did he always end up in the middle
of these sorts of things?

Draco raised an eyebrow at Neville, distracted.


"Incident? What incident?"

Neville looked a little wild-eyed. "Um...I think you


know, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked


from Neville to Harry and back. "Actually," he said, in
the soft, precise voice that meant he was very angry
indeed, "no. I don't believe I do."

Neville gaped at Draco. "I think you were there,


Draco. When Harry killed Lucius."

Draco gave him an utterly blank look. After a long


moment, understanding dawned, and his face twisted
with disgust. He wheeled on Harry, who looked
somewhat embarrassed. "You bastard." Harry took a
small step back. Draco sucked in a long breath and
held it, clenching and unclenching his hands, fighting
for a semblance of self-control. "You. Utter. Bastard.
What happened, your spotlight started dimming?
Decided to make yourself look a little better?"

Harry snarled. "No one in their right minds would have


believed the truth and you know it. "

"No, of course not. So you took it upon yourself to


craft a lie that you thought people would believe, and
it just coincidentally made you out to be some sort of
champion?" Draco hissed.

"That wasn't what happened!" Harry shouted,


stepping forward and bumping into Neville, his green
eyes burning.

"What am I missing here?" Neville asked, bewildered.

Draco laughed shortly, sliding a glance toward his


partner. "Oh, nothing much. Just that Potter here has
been lying to his adoring public for the last decade or
so."

Neville looked from Draco to Harry, who was red-


faced with anger and...shame? "How about providing
me with a real explanation?"

Harry set his jaw and averted his eyes, quite clearly
refusing to say anything. Draco glared at him, angrier
than Neville had ever seen him. "Fine," Draco said
tightly. "How's this? He didn't kill Lucius Malfoy, I did."

Neville's mouth dropped open. "You what?"

"I know you're not as stupid as you look, Longbottom.


Do try to keep up."

Neville ignored that, looking over at Harry. "But...I


thought - "
"That Mr. Potter over there, hero of the wizarding
world, managed to rid us of You-Know-Who and his
best Death Eater all on his own? Oh, no," Draco said
harshly. "He had help."

"Harry?"

He shuffled his feet. "I - "

"Putting the best face on the situation, Potter? That


why?" Draco's face was flushed, two spots of crimson
high on his cheekbones, his whole body stiff as he
tried to keep a leash on what looked like utter, killing
rage.

"I was trying to protect you, you stupid git!" Harry


shouted. "So that you wouldn't have to go through the
rest of your life with people pointing at you and saying
'he killed his own father'! I sure as hell didn't expect
you to turn tail and run. Though I wasn't all that
surprised that you did. Coward."

"Trying to protect me? Now that's rich," Draco


snarled. "Protect me how? By pretending to be a
bigger hero than you actually are? By preventing
anyone from knowing that it wasn't you who did it? I
don't even know why I'm surprised. You certainly
haven't changed. Attention-seeking, fame-grubbing,
spotlight-hogging - "

Harry lunged at Draco, only to be stopped by Neville


grabbing him about the waist and dragging him back.
"That is ENOUGH!" Neville unceremoniously shoved
Harry behind him, standing between him and Draco,
who turned his back on the both of them and was
staring at the far wall, clenching and unclenching his
fists.

Neville rounded on Harry. "How about you just explain


to me exactly what this is about?"

Harry looked mutinous. "Ask him."

Neville closed his eyes briefly and prayed to whoever


might be listening for patience. "I am not asking
Malfoy, I am asking you."

Harry stuck out his chin and leaned back against the
door. "Ask him what happened, if you want to know.
Not for me to tell you."

"Harry - " Neville stopped suddenly and turned away


from Harry before he could give in to the urge to
smack the other man silly. "Fine. Malfoy?"

Draco didn't turn around, staring silently at the


uninspiring plaster wall with his arms crossed. When
he finally spoke, his voice was totally uninflected, like
he was commentating on something happening very
far away. "When Voldemort attacked Hogwarts, he
transported Harry away from the main fighting, onto
the Quidditch field. Lucius decided that he wasn't
going to miss the real battle, and followed them. Harry
and Voldemort were in some kind of protective
sphere. Nothing could get in or out, but when Harry
defeated Voldemort, the sphere came down. Lucius
tried to cast a spell that would reverse Voldemort's
death, and I killed him before he could. That is what
happened."

Neville gaped at his partner's back, then looked over


his shoulder at Harry. "Is that true?"

"More or less," Harry muttered, like it killed him to


admit it.

Neville shut his eyes, took several deep breaths, then


opened them, spun around and grabbed Harry by the
arm. He opened the door with his other hand and
dragged Harry outside with him, shutting the door
firmly behind him. "Why would you lie about
something like that?" he asked in a low, intense voice,
giving Harry's arm a slight shake.

Harry slumped slightly in Neville's grip, some of the


anger draining out of him. "It - I don't know. I was
exhausted, and it was such a mess, everyone was so
confused, and by the time things were mostly sorted
out and I was recovering, the story was already going
round that I'd killed him. And Malfoy was nowhere to
be found, and I didn't want to talk about it. So I
just...didn't." He lowered his eyes from Neville's
searching gaze.
"So you just let people think it. Even though..." Neville
stopped and closed his eyes again. Lucius Malfoy had
been one of the most powerful of Voldemort's
supporters, and with his death, the fight went out of
the entire organization, which all but collapsed without
leadership. It was that, as much as the death of
Voldemort, that had caused the downfall of the Death
Eaters. "And that's why you had him taken off the
Ministry's Death Eater list. Because after...that, you
knew that he really wasn't one."

Harry nodded, staring at the floor. Neville pressed his


lips together and huffed. "He saved your life. Lucius
would have killed you if Draco hadn't stopped him."

Harry nodded again, still not meeting Neville's eyes.


Neville just shook his head, and tugged on Harry's
arm. Harry allowed himself to be dragged across the
Owlpen and into Katie Bell's small office, where a
startled Katie dug through her filing cabinet for one of
her Hogwarts portkeys. Neville ushered Harry back
outside and across the Pen again, to the empty space
near the back that was used as the Apparition point
and shoved the key at him.

"Go," he said abruptly.

"Look, Neville, I - "

"Harry," Neville said. "Just go."


He didn't wait to see if Harry obeyed him, just turned
around and walked slowly back to his office. Neville
shut the door and leaned against it, looking at Draco,
who had moved from the corner of the room back to
the chair. Draco was staring blankly at the wall behind
Neville's desk, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well," Neville said finally, "that could have gone


better."

"Could have been worse," Draco said laconically.

"Do tell me how."

"Could have told him I was sleeping with his wife,"


Draco replied with a twisted smile. Neville shot him a
horrified look. Draco sighed again and lowered his
head onto his hands. "Now I have a headache."

"Join the club." Neville pushed himself off the door


and walked heavily over to his desk, where he sank
into his chair. He regarded the top of Draco's head for
several moments, but Draco didn't move. "You killed
your father?"

Draco made a muffled noise. "Would you believe me


if I said it was an accident?"

"Actually...I would," Neville said quietly.


"It was," Draco said after a long moment. Neville
remained silent, hands folded in front of him, watching
the top of Draco's head. Draco's voice was quiet and
steady, and it still had the same faraway note as
earlier. "He'd carry a special belt knife with him all the
time. It was silver, carved with the family crest, really
old. I was never allowed to touch it, and he usually
never took it off. He forgot to put it on that morning,
and I stole it. He would normally never let me touch
anything sharper than a butter knife, said he couldn't
trust my 'destructive tendencies'. I'd meant to - " He
stopped, and sighed again. "It doesn't matter what I'd
meant to do. During the battle, Voldemort had gone
off to the Quidditch pitch after Harry. He followed, I
assume to help if he could, or to kill Harry, or
something...I don't know, but he made me go with
him. I was trying to stay out of it, I didn't want to fight
anyone, but he caught me, and dragged me off with
him to Voldemort."

Neville could see Draco's fingers tighten against his


scalp, his shoulders hunching slightly, but his voice
never wavered. "So he and I were there when Harry
killed Voldemort. After Harry did, he went to cast a
reversing-spell, some sort of thing they'd planned on, I
think. That was why he wanted to be where
Voldemort was in the first place, on the off chance
that Harry might actually win. And he was standing
over Voldemort's body, and Harry was kneeling there
staring at him, and at me, like he wanted to blast us to
pieces but was too tired to do anything, and I
wasn't...I just wanted it all to be over. I didn't want
Voldemort back. And I thought, if I could just stop him
from casting the spell, it would buy everyone a little
time to regroup, and I could get out of there and it
would all be finished. So I pulled out the knife, and cut
his arm - his wand arm. Not deep, really, just enough
so that he would be distracted and not be able to use
it and hopefully Harry would do something and the
moment would pass."

Draco stopped, and drew a long, shuddering breath


before he continued, his voice still steady, but barely
above a whisper. "And he turned around, and looked
at me, and I was standing there with his knife in my
hand, with his blood dripping off the blade, and he
started laughing. He'd charmed the knife, a long time
ago, with a putrifacus charm." He seemed to sense
Neville's confused look without looking up. "It's an old
Dark spell. If you cast it on an object, like a knife, then
the knife will create a wound that festers and goes
bad within minutes, and becomes fatal. Anyone or
anything he cut with that knife would die, slowly and in
pain, rotting from the inside out."

Neville inhaled sharply, then swallowed, suddenly


unsure if he really wanted to hear the rest of this.

"Typical of him, to put that kind of thing on what was


basically a decorative toy. It took - it seemed like a
long time. And he said a great many things before he
died. My father was not the most pleasant of men.
And Harry sat there the whole time, and just watched,
and I didn't know what to do, so...so I ran. And kept
running. I was trying to put as much distance between
myself and the wizarding world as I could...I half
expected, the first year, for someone to come and
drag me off to Azkaban for murder." Draco made a
muffled noise, halfway between a sigh and a weary
laugh. "I am a coward. Should have known that Potter
wouldn't do that."

"You couldn't have known," Neville said softly.

"I should have. All this time here, and no one even
mentioned it. I had assumed that people were merely
being polite. Of course he wouldn't have said
anything. The old Gryffindor nobility at work," Draco
spat venomously, and raised his head. He was white,
lips drawn in a thin line. Draco shoved his chair back
and stood up abruptly, straightening his shoulders
and not looking at Neville. "I have to go."

Neville watched him walk out of the office helplessly,


then leaned forward and buried his face in his hands,
and sighed.

"What do you mean, he's gone?"

"I'm sorry, Gin, I thought you knew. I was hoping you


did, actually, because I need to talk to him" Neville
sighed and rubbed at his forehead, shifting the
telephone from his right ear to his left. He leaned back
against the wall wearily. "I haven't seen him in days,
and I'd hoped he'd be talking to you."

"I haven't heard from him at all...I was actually starting


to get worried. I called and left a message, but he
hasn't called me back. Why isn't he talking to you?"
Ginny's voice was a bit tinny on the other end of the
line, a side effect of the fact that the only phone in the
Ministry offices was a 30-year-old relic of someone's
misguided attempt to Muggle-ize the Owlpen, but her
concern came through clearly.

"It's not technically me...oh, hell, you're going to find


out anyway. Harry came to my office the day before
yesterday, and he and Draco had a fight, and Draco
took off somewhere, and now I don't know where he
is." There was a long silence at the other end of the
line, then a soft click. "Gin?" Neville stared at the dead
receiver. "Oh, hell."

He heaved a long-suffering sigh and retreated to his


office. Sure enough, roughly 15 minutes later, a
disheveled Ginny appeared in his doorway, three
children in tow. She marched in, shut the door and
arranged the children in a corner with a selection of
toys. "Now be quiet while me and Uncle Neville have
a talk," she instructed them, then sat down in Neville's
visitor's chair and glared at him. "Alright, explain."

"Ginny..."
"Tell me what happened."

Neville knew when he was beaten. "Harry came by


looking for a portkey to Hogwarts - "

"What for? Why didn't he just apparate like any


normal person?"

"I don't know," Neville said irritably. "You can't


apparate directly onto the grounds, so maybe he was
in too much of a hurry to walk up from Hogsmeade. I
didn't ask."

"Why would he come to you?" Ginny demanded. "It's


not like you talk to him on a regular basis."

"Ginny, I don't know. Maybe he couldn't get hold of


anyone else."

"Hermione could have made him one...or Ron might


have had one, or Lavender, or something. He
wouldn't have come to you first."

"Do you want to hear this or not?" Neville asked


sharply. Ginny snapped her mouth shut and scowled.
"He came by for a portkey, and Draco was in my
office, and they had a fight, and then I shipped Harry
off, and Draco left, and I haven't seen him since."

The colour slowly drained from Ginny's face "They


had a fight? About what?"
Neville bit his lip and hesitated. Ginny raised her
eyebrows at him, and he sighed in resignation. "Not
about you, if that's what you're worried about. It was
about...about something that happened, during the
War. Harry lost his temper, and Draco was sniping at
him - he always used to do that in school - and then I
got Harry to leave, and Draco took off and I don't
know where he went."

Ginny leaned back and sighed."He's not at the


Manor?"

"I've already said, I don't know where he is. I highly


doubt he'd be at the manor, and I don't think he's
even in England, to be honest. Canada, would be my
guess."

"Why would he go back to Canada?"

"Because he was upset? I don't know." Neville ran a


hand through his hair in frustration, making it stand on
end. "I don't suppose he ever gave you a phone
number to reach him there? Like when he was gone
over Christmas?"

Ginny let out a long breath. "No, he didn't." She


slumped slightly in her chair, closing her eyes. "I know
a little about the people he knows, but I'd have no
idea how to find him if he didn't want to be found. Oh,
God, I hope this wasn't because of me somehow."
"No, it's a lot more likely to be my fault than yours,"
Neville said quietly. "I was...worried, about you, and I
was rather tactless about it to him, and he was
already upset. I think seeing Harry just made it worse.
But it didn't have anything to do with you."

"What did you say to him?" Ginny demanded, sitting


up in alarm.

Neville raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.


"Nothing serious...I just - " He paused, and sighed.
"When I met him the first time, I went to his office in
Scotland Yard, and he's got a picture of himself and
this girl. And I thought - " he stopped and held one
hand out toward Ginny. "Don't look like that, just let
me explain. I asked him about it, and he told me she'd
died. A long time ago, from what I can gather. And he
got upset that I'd asked him, and I think seeing Harry
just made his bad mood worse than it already was.
And he took off, and I haven't seen him since." Neville
slumped forward and leaned on his elbows on the
edge of the desk.

Ginny leaned back in the chair again and looked at


him. "So who was she." She said it flatly, but Neville
knew that she was hiding some intense emotion
behind the mask of calmness she was wearing. He
couldn't tell if it were anger or something else.

"All I know is that her name was Laura, and that she
died in a car accident. And that he cared about her.
He wouldn't tell me more."

Ginny looked at him thoughtfully. "He's never


mentioned her to me."

"Yes, but he doesn't often mention things that he feels


strongly about, does he?" Neville said. "If it makes
you feel better, he won't talk about you at all."

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "Not if he doesn't


come back, he won't."

"He will," Neville said, more firmly than he felt. "I don't
think he'd leave for good."

"He's done it before," Ginny pointed out, and Neville


nodded ruefully. "I just..." she sighed, her shoulders
slumping, and the calm mask slipped a bit. "I hope he
comes back."

Draco walked slowly up the front steps of the house


he shared with John and propped the screen door
open with one shoulder while he dug around in the
pocket of his coat for his house-keys. His keys,
however, weren't in his pockets. Because, Draco
thought wearily, they are sitting on the top of the
cabinet in my hotel room. In England. He groaned
softly, leaning forward heavily, his forehead
connecting with the door with an audible thunk. "God
dammit," he said with feeling.
"Having trouble?" said a faintly amused voice from
behind him.

"I left my keys in England," Draco replied with a sigh,


and shoved himself away from the door to cast a
sidelong glance down the stairs. "Which puts a fine
cap on what has been an altogether wonderful day."

John chuckled and walked up the stairs, digging in the


pocket of his parka for his house keys. "Is that
sarcasm I detect?"

Draco just scowled at him. John laughed again and


unlocked the front door, leading the way into the
narrow entryway. John hung up his parka quickly,
while Draco peered over his shoulder, waiting for him
to move out of the way. "This place is a mess," Draco
sniffed, eyeing the living room. An unfolded blanket
was bunched on the end of the worn leather couch,
and an empty bowl and cup sat on the coffee table
with a pile of law books beside them. It was actually
rather tidy, all things considered. John was an
indifferent housekeeper at best - he and Draco had
vastly different opinions on what constituted "clean".

"Mmmm-hmmm," John shrugged, quite clearly


ignoring him, and went into the kitchen. Draco huffed
unhappily and hung his coat up in the closet, then
strode the other way down the narrow hall to his
room. Like everything else in the house, it was small,
with room enough for a bed and dresser and not
much more. It was unbearably neat, almost sterile -
there was a navy blue throw rug on the hardwood
floor beside the bed, and the bed itself was covered
with a blue duvet in the same shade. A small
amethyst crystal on the windowsill, a print of Matisse's
Blue Nude on one wall, and a couple of framed
photos on the edge of the dresser were the only signs
that someone actually lived there.

Draco barely glanced around as he shrugged out of


his suit jacket and hung it in the closet. He changed
quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and a worn
sweatshirt, grey with age, with "World Police and
Firefighter Games - Quebec City 2005" emblazoned
across the front. He folded his slacks and shirt and
left them neatly on the foot of the bed, and went back
out to the kitchen.

The kitchen was as small as the rest of the house,


with barely enough room to maneuver from stove to
fridge to sink without bumping into something. There
was a small table and three chairs under the window,
and a sad looking fern on the windowsill. John and
Del had spent one weekend several years ago blithely
painting the walls lemon yellow - over Draco's
protests - which made the room blindingly bright first
thing in the morning, and simply cheerful the rest of
the time. Some of the tension left his shoulders as he
flopped down at the table with a sigh. John was
standing in front of the fridge, rummaging around, and
he raised an eyebrow at Draco, handing him a beer
over the fridge door. Draco accepted it with a slight
nod.

John leaned back against the fridge and crossed his


arms over his chest. "So?"

Draco rubbed at his forehead with one hand. "So."

"So...what are you doing here?"

"What, aren't you happy to see me?"

"Oh, I'm delighted. I'm just wondering what I owe the


honour of your presence to. Everything ok?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?"

John sighed and tilted his head back. "Are you trying
to make this as difficult as possible, or what?" He
tossed one long braid over his shoulder. "I assume
that something out of the ordinary happened to make
you show up here when you are supposed to be in
England."

"Not really out of the ordinary. I just...needed to get


out of there," Draco said, picking at the label on his
beer bottle without looking up.

John waited. Draco didn't say anything. "So what's the


problem?"
Draco shrugged.

John heaved a sigh. "Dray, do I look like Anne?"

Draco finally looked at him, startled. "What?"

John let out an exasperated breath. "You can just tell


me what's wrong. You don't have to make me fish for
every single piece of information. You'll lose,
anyway...I am a lawyer, remember?"

Draco gave him a half-hearted smile. "I just needed to


take off. Ran into someone I didn't want to talk to." He
paused again, but continued before John could yell at
him. "D'you remember me telling you about Harry
Potter?"

"The guy you used to fight with when you were in


school, who always used to try and get you in
trouble?"

Draco nodded. "Ran into him."

"Ah," John said. "I see. And?"

"I'm just...bothered, I guess. More than I should be - it


was a bit of a shock."

"Why was it a shock?" John asked. "I mean, I thought


you were expecting to run into him at some point."
"I was, and I thought I was more or less prepared. I
just forgot how much he gets under my skin." Draco's
voice trailed off, and he went back to peeling the label
off his beer.

John pulled out the chair on the other side of the table
and sat down, hooking an ankle around the third chair
and dragging it away from the table so he could prop
his feet up on it. "And he got under your skin so badly
you decided to run away?"

Draco's head snapped up. "I did not run away!"

"'Course not. That's not why you're here."

"It isn't," Draco protested.

"Didn't I just say so? So what happened?" John


asked, before Draco could respond.

Draco glowered at him, but allowed himself to be


distracted. "He showed up at Neville's office when I
happened to be there. And we had a fight, and I found
out..." he stopped for a moment, staring hard at the
table. "D'you remember what I told you about my
father?" Draco finally said hesitantly.

John nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said quietly, "I


remember."
"I found out that he'd been letting people think, all this
time, that it was him that...that did it. And he's been
going about being lauded as this wonderful hero for
offing Lucius Malfoy, and it wasn't even him. "

"I see," John said slowly. "And you've decided to


come back here because...?"

"Because I didn't feel like watching him nance about


acting as if he's some great huge hero, and lying to
everyone about how wonderful he is, when it isn't
true." Draco scowled at the tabletop. "Or at least, part
of it isn't."

"Ah." John leaned back and cocked his head,


examining Draco with knowing black eyes. "And it's
got nothing to do with the fact that you just generally
don't like him." Draco transferred his scowl from the
table to his friend. "You're not mad because of that
whole thing about your dad, you're mad because you
don't like him, and he got you off the hook for
something you might have got in serious trouble for,
so you feel obligated to be grateful and you don't want
to. And you're rattled, finding something like that out
so suddenly, and finding out that even though you
hate him, and he hates you, he helped you out
anyway."

"That's not - " Draco stopped, then nodded


grudgingly. "Well, maybe."
John laughed at him. Draco glared back and threw his
bottle-cap at him. "Stop still could get me into serious
trouble," Draco said sullenly. "And God knows he's
got reason enough."

"Doesn't mean he will."

Draco snorted and shook his head. "When he finds


out that I'm sleeping with his wife, he very well might.
It would be the proper thing to do, after all. Finally tell
the truth."

John choked on his beer. "You're sleeping with his


wife?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Well, ex-wife, really. I


thought I mentioned that."

John coughed and pounded on his chest with one


hand. "No, actually, you didn't," he said after he'd got
his breath back. "Jesus. What the hell kind of drugs
are you on?"

Draco frowned at him. "I think this is the part where


you're supposed to say 'Well, you can work past that'
in a supportive manner."

"No, this is the part where I'm supposed to choke on


my beer and say 'what the hell kind of drugs are you
on?'" John sighed and rested his elbows on the table.
"You're just a glutton for punishment, aren't you?"
"It's not like I planned it, you know," Draco huffed. "It
wasn't as if I moved to England expressly to look up
Harry Potter's ex and try to get her into bed, in order
to cause him maximum discomfort. I'd have been
quite happy to have avoided him and anything to do
with him entirely."

"The discomfort was just a bonus, is that it?" John


smirked as Draco made unconvincing noises of
denial. "God. And I thought Del was the master of the
screwed-up relationship. Does he know that you're
dating Ginny?"

"Well, he didn't try to kill me straight away, so I'm


assuming not. I think Ginny is afraid to tell him."

"Is this guy really such an ogre?" John asked. "If you
want to avoid him like the plague, and Ginny is afraid
of him..." He trailed off as Draco burst out laughing.

"No, he's not an ogre. In fact, he's a hero and an all-


around wonderful individual. He's very nice." Draco
managed to make it sound like an insult.

John raised his eyebrows. "So why are you here? If


he's not a total jerk, and he actually helped you out,
albeit with a possible ulterior motive, what have you
got against him?"

"Do twenty years of history count for nothing? I made


a childhood career out of hating Harry Potter, and he
hated me right back. Why should it stop now? It's
practically a tradition."

"Maybe because you're adults?" John said in disgust.


"And too old for this sort of thing, in theory at least."

"If you're going to tell me that I should be the bigger


person and try to get along with him, I will smack
you," Draco grumbled.

"Why don't you?" John asked reasonably. "You'd


come off looking better, and he'd have no idea what
was going on. It'd probably confuse the heck out of
him, especially if he's expecting you to be a jerk."

Draco smiled slightly at that. "You are a devious


bastard, you know that?"

John grinned. "I learned from the best. C'mon, ksik-


kihk-ini . You want my advice, the best thing to do
would be to get your shit together, get on a plane and
go back to England."

"I'll take that under advisement."

John sighed and shook his head. "C'mon, Dray, don't


do this to yourself," he said firmly. "The people whose
opinions matter won't care, and the people who would
care, don't count. You can't make people change, bro,
and you can't force them to change their opinions of
you. Only thing you can do is be the person you know
you are. And if people can't accept that, then they
don't really matter, right?" When he didn't get a
response, he poked Draco in the elbow. "Right?"

"Right," Draco said grudgingly.

"So, go back, finish what you went out there to do,


hang out with the people you like, and screw the rest
of 'em. They don't matter."

Draco leaned his elbows on the table and rested his


chin on top of his folded hands. "Want to come with
me?" he asked with a half-smile.

"What, to England?" John looked surprised. "What


for?"

"Moral support?" Draco shook his head and gave a


half-hearted chuckle. "You could meet Ginny," he said
entreatingly.

"Wish I had time, bro. I'd love to," John said, smiling
back. "Just don't let 'em get to you, is all." He pushed
his chair back and stood up. "I gotta go, I promised
Del I'd meet her. You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Draco said. John gave his shoulder


a pat on his way to the door. "Hey."

John stopped in the doorway and turned to look at


him. "What's up?"

Draco gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded


once. "Thanks."

"Any time, ksik-kihk-ini."

Draco sat in the kitchen for a long time after John left,
as the weak winter sunlight faded outside the window.
He hadn't come back because he was running away,
although privately he had to admit that was part of it.
But the larger part was because this was his
sanctuary; it was home, in a way that England never
had been. Except...except.

Except he kept half-expecting to see Ginny around


the corner, to hear her voice, kept thinking of things
he could tell her, of things he wanted to share with
her. And she wasn't here, of course. "Dammit," Draco
said softly, running his hands through his hair. He
would go back, he knew he would, and it was a bit
pointless to pretend that he wasn't going to, no matter
how badly he might want to stay. Not just because
running away a second time because he was afraid of
Potter would be letting him win - again - but because
he was reluctant to give up his relationship with
Ginny. Draco shoved his chair back and stood up.
"But not right now," he told the kitchen at large. He
grabbed another beer and headed to the living room
to watch TV.
Neville was up to his eyebrows in paperwork when
Draco came into his office the following morning and
sat down quietly in the visitor's chair. Neville didn't
look up, not even when Draco, a faintly amused smile
on his face, leaned the chair back and propped his
feet up on the edge of Neville's desk. He waited
patiently while Neville worked his way through one
scroll, set it aside and reached for the next one on his
pile. Draco coughed discretely.

Neville yelped and jumped almost a foot, clutching at


the armrests of his chair. He stared at Draco in horror,
breathing heavily. "What the hell?"

"Hello, Longbottom."

"Don't do that!" Neville pressed his eyes closed, then


opened them to glare at his partner. "I nearly had a
heart attack. God."

"Sorry," Draco said, although he didn't sound the least


bit contrite. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"Bullshit." Neville grumbled. "Welcome back."

Draco had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed,


but he didn't explain. "So what's happened?"

"Oh, nothing much. Paperwork, a major lead, that sort


of thing," Neville said airily.
"Major lead?" Draco repeated, raising one eyebrow.
"What sort of major lead?"

"The one that I've been hunting all over for you to tell
you about." Neville reached into a drawer and pulled
out a small digital cassette - the kind that Muggle
security cameras used, wrapped up in what looked
like plastic film - and held it up. "This is a security tape
from the bank that was robbed earlier this week. One
of the Aurors from London South found a camera our
little friends neglected to wipe."

Draco sat up straight. "Have you looked at it?"

"Not yet. We don't have the equipment here, and I


didn't want to risk the damn thing getting wiped by
fiddling with it around so much magic, so I've been
waiting for you to get back," Neville said. "If you're
feeling up to a trip to Scotland Yard..."

Draco glared at him. "Whenever you're ready,


Longbottom."

Neville grinned and stood up, pulling his cloak off the
coat rack behind his chair and waving Draco toward
the door. "After you, Malfoy."

They arrived at New Scotland Yard quickly, and after


a few inquiries managed to find someone who could
play back the tape for them. They were taken to a
small screening room, where the eager young man
who was in charge of the police force's electronic
equipment set up the digital cassette for playback.

The recording began with a normal picture of the


bank, customers coming and going. After a minute or
so, there was a jump in the playback, and the screen
went fuzzy briefly before coming back online. "That
must be where they disabled the other cameras,"
Neville said, and Draco nodded. The recording
continued to play, showing a small man with bright
red hair, who looked barely out of his teens, standing
near the doors with a wand in one hand and a gun in
the other. He seemed to be pointing to the bank
customers and casting spells on them, for one after
the other, the customers dropped to the floor.

Another man came to stand beside the first, also


carrying a gun. He was taller and stockier, with long
dirty-blond hair. They seemed to confer briefly, then
the blond man headed over to the counter. Draco
paused the tape. "That's the Muggle one," he said,
tapping the screen. "His name's Brad Straker, and
he's quite the little delinquent. He had a juvenile
record as long as my arm, but he didn't serve any
time in custody - his parents, as I understand, are
quite well off, and managed to hire one of the better
defense lawyers in the province for him. He kept
getting off the hook, the little bastard." He sounded
personally offended, and Neville hid a smile. Not quite
well enough, because Draco caught it and glared at
him. "What?"
"Just you, of all people, complaining about someone
having rich parents who'll buy them out of trouble."
Neville smirked at his partner. "Bit ironic, don't you
think?"

"My parents never had to buy me out of trouble,"


Draco retorted. Neville just shrugged, amused.
"Anyway," Draco continued quellingly, "he's the
Muggle, and if his previous track record is any
indication, likely the brains of the outfit. This other
one," - he tapped the slight, redheaded man - "must
be Chris Nesbitt, the wizard."

"He's got hair like a Weasley," Neville commented. "I


wonder if any of their family ever moved to Canada."

"There are red-headed people in the world who are


not related to the Weasleys, you know."

"I know, I was just saying. It's not that common."


Neville shrugged irritably. "At least we know what he
looks like. Is there a way to print out a picture off that
thing? I can send it over to the MoM in Canada and
see if I can get a bit more information. Long shot, but
it's worth a try. If the stuck-up bastards will even talk
to me," he grumbled.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Trouble?"

"The people over at the Department of Magical Inquiry


in Canada are astoundingly unhelpful, is all. Took me
an age just to find a contact over there, and they're
bloody tight with information." Neville brushed
absently at his rumpled trousers. "Surprising, really.
You'd think they'd be a bit more open-minded, but
they're the most insular wizards I've ever seen. Worse
than those American blokes."

"Well, doesn't hurt to ask, I suppose," said Draco.


"Though I can't say I'm holding out much hope either
way. I've already tried seeing if they're registered as
being in the country - which they're not - looked for
any activity for either name, we've tipped off most of
the police forces in the London area, hell, most of
Southern England...I don't know what more we can
really do." He sat back and ran both hands over his
hair in frustration. "Dammit."

"Even if they're not using their real names, they have


to be staying somewhere. They've got to sleep, right?"
Neville sighed heavily. "There's got to be places that
they go to regularly. If we had more information..."

"If we had more information, the damned case would


be over by now." Draco crossed his arms and
scowled. "If there weren't a thousand places in
London for them to hide, if they were slightly less
careful, if there were a way to track them..."

"Well, there's not much we can do on that score. I'll


talk to the Canadian Ministry and see what I can find
out." Neville stood up, brushing at his trousers.

Draco nodded. "I'm going to see if we can get clear


pictures of these two off that tape. At the very least,
we can circulate their pictures to the force and see if
anyone spots them."

"Better than nothing."

Draco snorted. "I guess."

Ginny spent the day following her conversation with


Neville fretting and trying to pretend she wasn't. She
was more worried than she really wanted to admit,
and it made her snappish and grouchy, a mood not
really improved by Jamie and Sarah deciding to play
"who can make the bigger mess" with their toys. She
was ready to scream with frustration when the phone
rang, which she had to hunt for, since one of the
children had decided to bury it. She finally found it
under a pile of clothes in Jamie's room and snapped
into the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello."

Ginny slumped slightly, pressing one hand to her


forehead. "Draco."

"You sound busy."

Ginny looked around at the mess in Jamie's room and


sighed. "Sort of. Not exactly."

"Bad day?"

"Oh, God." She picked her way across the room and
into the hall. "You have no id - William, no! How many
times have I told you not to do that? Hold on," she
said into the phone, then went to pull Will off the back
of the couch. "Stay off there." She sighed and raised
the receiver to her ear again. "Sorry."

"It's no trouble. If you're busy, I can call back," Draco


said. He sounded like he was trying to be
accommodating, which for some reason served to
irritate Ginny even more.

"No, that's fine." She took a deep breath and held it


for a second before letting it out in a whoosh. "I'm just
irritated. I'm this close to declaring it to be naptime for
the rest of the afternoon, only that'd just make them
impossible to put to bed."

Draco laughed. "Want a hand?"

"I want a break," Ginny grumbled. "Care to buy some


children? I'll sell them to you cheap"

Draco laughed again. "Sure...how much for the lot?"

Ginny chuckled weakly. "Fifteen galleons? Or fifty


quid, whatever's more convenient."
"Fifty? I can buy 'em on the black market for ten
apiece," Draco said. "Tell you what, how 'bout thirty-
five for the lot? I'll throw in dinner for you."

Ginny sighed with pleasure. "Oh, that sounds grand."

"Just give me an hour."

True to his word, the doorbell rang an hour later.


Ginny pushed the hair off her forehead with the back
of one hand and went to answer the door. "Hello," she
said to Draco, who smiled.

"Hello." He shifted one of the bags he was carrying to


his other hand and reached out to tuck a strand of
hair behind her ear. He was wearing blue jeans and a
deep blue knitted sweater, his hair pulled back in an
elastic, and Ginny caught her breath as he smiled
down at her. He was so handsome, it was hard to
believe sometimes.

She collected herself and gestured at the plastic bags


he was carrying. "What's all that?"

"Dinner," he said. "Or rather, dinner supplies. Just


remember, you owe me thirty-five for the kids."

Ginny giggled. "So long as you're sure you won't


renege on the deal and bring them back in two days
complaining about the merchandise."
"Wouldn't dream of it. I'm sure they're in perfect
condition." Draco grinned and kissed her lightly. "Just
like their mother."

Ginny snorted and pushed at his chest. "Shove off.


I'm a mess."

"Nonsense. You look beautiful." Draco kissed her


again, and then again when she swayed against him,
then nudged her toward the kitchen. He set the bags
down on the counter, and gave her a gentle push
toward the living room. "Go sit down...I'll handle
supper."

"A man who cooks...I'm in heaven."

"I wouldn't call it cooking. I can make pizza, and pasta


if the sauce comes in a jar, and that's about the extent
of my culinary skills," Draco laughed. "Pizza is what
we're having, in fact. You can send me your children
and I'll put them to work. Make them earn their keep."

Ginny did, ushering Sarah and Jamie into the kitchen,


where Draco set them to grating cheese and
spreading pizza sauce on the uncooked crusts while
he chopped vegetables. Will was engrossed in his
building blocks, which were charmed to change shape
and colour at random. This usually happened when
the block was at the bottom of a pile, causing all the
blocks to fall over, much to his delight. Ginny lay
down on the couch with her eyes closed, listening to
Willie chortle and Draco direct the children in the
kitchen. She marveled again at how well he dealt with
them - she would never have expected Draco to get
along well with children as well as he did. He treated
them like small adults, listening to their questions with
seemingly endless patience. She could tell he was
enjoying himself, his voice slipping in and out of a
faint American accent as he laughed.

It was quite nice, Ginny decided, to be able to lie on


her couch and let someone else do all the work for
once. She smiled slightly and relaxed into the
cushions. Sarah was bossing Jamie around,
imperiously directing him how to put the pepperoni
slices on his pizza crust. She'd gotten over her
reserve around Draco, having decided he wasn't a
threat, and treated him like she did the rest of the
family, which meant that he needed to be told what to
do all the time. Draco was giving them tips as well; for
all his insistence on not being able to cook, he did
seem to know a fair bit about making pizza.

It took very little time to get the pizzas ready to cook,


and Draco made a little show of not knowing how to
work the stove so that Sarah could give him
instructions. Ginny grinned and propped herself up on
her elbows to watch. "You shouldn't encourage her,"
she said. "If you let her boss you around, she'll think
it's her right."
Draco looked up at her and smiled, while Sarah
frowned. "But he doesn't know how, Mummy."

"I'm sure he could figure it out," Ginny said firmly,


getting up from the couch and coming to lean against
the wall between the kitchen and living room. "It's only
an oven, after all, and not even a magical one."

Sarah gave an exaggerated sigh and tossed her


hands in the air, a gesture she'd picked up from Molly.
"Well, then it's not my fault if supper is ruined," she
said. Ginny could see Draco's shoulders shaking, and
his eyes danced as he tried not to laugh. Sarah
frowned at the both of them and sniffed. "I'm going to
play," she said haughtily, and swept into the living
room.

Draco watched her go with amusement. "I pity the


man who marries her," he said quietly.

"It's just a phase," Ginny replied. "Mum says I was like


that when I was four too."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "So you'll grow out of


it?" he asked innocently. Ginny sputtered, then
thwacked him on the arm. He laughed and caught her
in his arms, kissing her on the forehead. "Go sit down,
the pizza will take a while to cook."

Draco followed her out to the living room, and they


chatted until the pizza was ready, then herded the
kids back into the kitchen to set the table. Jamie and
Sarah made a bid for eating in the living room, which
was shot down by Ginny ("Absolutely not! We have a
kitchen table for a reason."). Supper was not ruined,
despite Sarah's dire pronouncements, and Draco
herded Ginny back into the living once they were
finished eating, ignoring her protests. He corralled
Jamie and Sarah into helping him do the dishes, while
Ginny sat down on the couch and watched with
amusement. William was on the floor with his blocks,
banging them together half-heartedly and yawning
periodically. "Bed for you, young man," she said to
him, bending down to scoop him up.

"Bed," Will mumbled quietly and rested his head


sleepily against her neck. "Bedbed. Bedbedbed."

"Poor tired baby. You had a long day, didn't you?"


Ginny kissed his temple and carried him through the
kitchen, William mumbling under his breath all the
way. When she returned from putting him to bed, the
dishes were mostly cleared away, and Draco had sent
Jamie and Sarah into the living room. Ginny leaned
against the countertop and watched as he finished
putting away the last of the cutlery.

"There." Draco closed the drawer and turned to face


her.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I appreciate this."


"Ah," said Draco, and ran one hand over his hair. "It's
actually an apology, of sorts. For not talking to you
earlier."

Ginny nodded. "Neville told me you'd run into Harry."

"I thought he might have."

"Where did you go?"

Draco shrugged. "Home." He prodded at the linoleum


with one foot. "Talked to John, hung out for a bit, let
him talk me into coming back."

Ginny bit her lip and looked at him sidelong. His head
was bent and he was staring intently at the floor, a
small worry line between his brows. "Would you have
stayed there?"

He shifted his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug.


"Probably not. John would have convinced me to
come back whether I wanted to or not - he's made
talking sense into me his life's work." He chuckled
faintly.

Ginny stared at his profile, unable to resist the


question. "Did you want to?" She hated herself for
asking him things like that - she didn't like seeming so
needy, but at the same time, she didn't want them to
gnaw at her, unasked.
Draco raised his head swiftly, his eyes meeting hers.
"Yes," he said intently. "I did." He reached out and
traced her cheekbone lightly, and she suppressed a
shiver at his touch. "The pros in regards to being here
still outweigh the cons, and I do have work to finish
before I make any sort of decision in the staying or
going department."

Ginny half-smiled. "Harry being one of the cons."

Draco laughed. "Yes, well, we've never exactly been


on the best of terms, and that really hasn't changed."

"Why?" Ginny asked. "I mean, I know that you didn't


get along in school, but after...after the war ended,
and you went away, Harry seemed a lot less...I don't
know, hostile, I suppose. I thought some things might
have changed, whatever happened."

Draco blinked and looked away, an unreadable


expression on his face. "He never told you?"

She shook her head. "I - no. Harry never talks about
it. I know something happened, and I know - well. I
know you were there, and that it wasn't..." Ginny
stopped. "I know he regretted it."And she did know -
Harry was a restless sleeper and she'd woken more
than once to him crying out in his sleep, from
nightmares he never spoke of when he woke up.

That made Draco laugh again, but it wasn't a happy


sound. "I'm sure he did." He sighed and rolled his
shoulders, as if trying to relieve tension.

"What...?" Ginny stopped, then started again. "What


did happen, then? That you went back to Canada to
talk to John about?"

"He's been telling people that he killed my father, and


he didn't." He looked at her with guarded eyes. "I did."

Ginny nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "Ah."

"You don't sound surprised," Draco remarked. He


sounded surprised by that.

"I thought it might have been something like that,"


Ginny said. "I always knew there was something, he
just never told me what."

"And now you know," Draco said softly. He looked


drawn and tense, as uncomfortable as she'd ever
seen him, but unwilling to simply let it slide. "I killed
my father. Unintentionally, but that doesn't change
anything." He looked down at the floor again, and
closed his eyes.

Ginny stepped forward and slid her hands over his,


drawing his attention. His eyes were clouded, his face
drawn. She spoke hesitantly, choosing her words
carefully. "I don't think anyone would blame you for
what happened, if they knew. Maybe 12 years ago,
but not anymore. There was a lot of talk by some
people, saying that the Ministry should find you and
make you stand trial for what Lucius did during the
war, and Harry worked very hard to make sure that
didn't happen. He spent a fair bit of time making sure
that your name was cleared," she said softly. "I don't
know the details - whatever happened is between you
and Harry. I know he felt badly then, though, and I
think he still does."

"Noble of him," Draco said bitterly, searching her face.


"I'm rather surprised you didn't know, to be honest. I
would have thought he'd have told you the truth."

Ginny laughed faintly. "Should he have? I don't even


think he told Ron or Hermione. He never talked about
the war, not to anyone."

"Which doesn't change the fact that he did lie about


what happened."

"No," Ginny said slowly, "but...it was a hard time, after


the battle. Harry was under enormous pressure, and
when He Who - when Voldemort was killed, when
they found Harry, he didn't really get the chance to
explain about anything - people simply assumed that
since both Voldemort and your father were dead, then
it must have been him. He's never actually said it
outright. And he refused to talk about it to reporters,
or with anyone else...and I think by the time he got to
a place where he could talk about it, he felt it was too
late to really matter. And you were gone, and
everyone assumed you must be dead because no
one could find you." She paused, then took a deep
breath and continued. "I'm not trying to apologize for
him, I just...if he says he didn't do it to hurt you, then
that's what he meant. He wouldn't do that
deliberately."

Draco sighed and disentangled one of his hands from


hers to run it absently over his hair. "No, I'm sure he
wouldn't." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I don't
even know why I'm angry, really. It's not something
I'm particularly proud of, and I'm just as happy that it
isn't common knowledge." He laughed faintly. "John
says it's just because I'm torn between feeling grateful
toward Harry for hiding my secret, and wanting to
pound him for taking credit for it."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "You told John?"

Draco gave an amused snort. "There is very little that


I don't tell John. I trust him," he said simply. "It is nice
to be able to talk about the war without having to give
a treatise on the history of the wizarding world every
time I do, though."

Ginny smiled. "Poor John."

"Poor me. History was never my best subject, and he


always wants the most obscure details." Draco
smiled, some of the tension leaving his face, then
reached out with one hand to cup her cheek. "Thank
you."

Ginny smiled back, and squeezed his other hand.


"You're welcome." She glanced at the clock and
sighed. "Oh dear...bedtime."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Anticipating


difficulties?"

"Have you ever tried to put those two to bed?" Ginny


demanded. "Watch and learn."

Draco just laughed.

Twenty minutes later, he was no longer laughing. He


flopped back on the couch with an exaggerated
groan. "Good Lord."

Ginny laughed, sitting down beside him and nestling


against his shoulder when he put his arm around her.
"I did warn you."

Draco smiled and rested his chin on the top of her


head. "They don't get that from you."

"No, actually, they get it from the twins. Fred and


George, I mean, not Ron and Hermione's," said
Ginny. "They were always terrors at bedtime. And all
the rest of the time, come to think of it. The first thing
they did when they graduated from Hogwarts was
stay up all night just to do it. And eat chocolate cake
for breakfast, and not make their beds. Their first flat,
after they started up the company and moved out,
was a disaster. Poor Mum nearly had a heart
attack...she stopped going over there after a while."

"Company?" Draco asked. He vaguely remembered


the twins saying something about a joke shop, but
they hadn't established it before he'd left.

"Yes, they started up Weasley's Wizard Wheezes as


a mail order company in my fifth year, but they didn't
move out until after the war. They rented a tiny shop
off Diagon Alley, and were living above it for about a
year. It was horrible. I wonder that Angelina ever
married Fred at all, knowing what a shoddy
housekeeper he was." Ginny laughed to herself.
"Although maybe that's why...she couldn't bear the
thought of him living in squalor for the rest of his
days."

"Isn't that why all men get married? Either they decide
they need housekeepers, or women take pity on them
and decide to help them clean up their acts," Draco
said, amused.

"That's rather cynical of you. You don't believe in true


love?" Ginny asked, craning her neck to look up at
him. "Undying passion and all that?"

Draco pretended to think about it, then shook his


head. "Nah...it's probably mostly pity."

"Nonsense!" Ginny insisted. "Look at...look at Ron


and Hermione. They married for love."

Draco grinned. "Are you sure? Anyone willing to


marry Weasel boy would have to be doing it out of
pity."

Ginny glared and poked him. "That's not nice."

"I'm not nice," he retorted, and made a face at her,


which made Ginny giggle. "Did you marry for love?"

Ginny sobered. "Yes. Well, I did, but Harry didn't."


She frowned and fell silent, absently tracing a faint
pattern on Draco's leg. Draco didn't say anything;
finally Ginny sighed and shifted slightly. "That's
not...well. I don't know. Maybe he did, but I don't think
so."

"How did you and he begin seeing each other?" Draco


asked softly.

"It was just before Christmas, my seventh year,"


Ginny said. "He'd got time off from playing with the
Wasps, in theory so that he could spend time with
Ron before the wedding, doing whatever it is that best
men are supposed to do for weddings, and in the
middle of it, he came to Hogwarts to pick me up for
the holiday. Made all the little girls go wild, of course,
and surprised the hell out of Ron." She laughed. "I
remember thinking that it was strange, because
Harry'd never really paid any attention to me before
then. After that, we started dating, and the next
summer, we got married."

"Just like that," Draco said.

"Just like that." Ginny shook her head ruefully. "Like a


neat little package; he became part of the family, I got
what I'd always wanted, Ron was happy once he got
over the initial shock, and Mum was thrilled, because
it meant that Harry was truly a part of the family.
Looking back now, I think he was lonely, being on his
own after Hogwarts, and with Ron and Hermione a
couple. He wanted a real family. And someone to be
with, someone who would care about him. I loved him
so much - I mean, I always had, and it was like a
dream, to be with him."

She paused and shook her head. "I knew he didn't


love me back, not the same way I loved him. I've
always known that. When I was 17, it didn't matter - I
was willing to settle for being second in his heart, next
to Ron and Hermione and Sirius and my own mother.
But after the children, and he was doing the same
thing to them, it just got to be too much. Not that he
doesn't love them," Ginny said quickly, noticing
Draco's raised eyebrows. "Because he does. It's
just...we're none of us first for him. And when it was
just me he was putting second, I didn't mind so much.
But his children should come first - anyone's children
should come first. And they don't. He loves them but
they're not his first priority. I actually think he was
afraid of them when they were babies. Now that
Jamie and Sarah are grown up enough to be talking,
he's more comfortable with them, but I always get the
feeling he dreads having to take them, rather than
looks forward to spending time with them."

Draco frowned. "That's terrible."

"Well, yes and no. I mean, he's not going to win any
prizes as world's best father, but I can't really be
surprised. It's not like he ever really had a good
example to follow off - his own family used to lock him
in a cupboard." Ginny sighed. "I think he'll get better
as the children get older, and it's easier to relate to
them as something other than things that do nothing
but eat."

"So why didn't you wait?" Draco asked quietly. "You'd


been married for ten years, which is a long time, and
you loved him, and you think he'll get better at being a
father...why didn't you stick it out?"

Ginny shrugged, shaking her head "Part of it was


because I knew he didn't care as much for me as I did
for him, part of it was that he'd never talk to me...I
always had to guess what he was thinking, guess how
he felt. I'd talk to Hermione, and she'd tell me things
as if I knew about them, and they'd be things Harry
never told me. Like when he was thinking of taking
the coaching job, he talked it over with Ron and
Hermione, before he talked to me about it. And
then..." She stopped again, taking a deep breath. "He
was supposed to watch over the children one night.
I'd gone out with friends, and he was supposed to
stay home and look after them - Will was about 11
months old. And I came home, about 9 or so, and the
children were all in their beds, and the lights were
out...and he was gone."

She shook her head, almost disbelievingly. "He'd


gone out, I'm not sure where, and just left the
children, I suppose because he was just stepping out
for a few minutes and didn't want to be bothered
having to take them with him. He arrived back shortly
after I got there, and I don't think he'd been gone long.
If I'd been 10 minutes later, I'd never have known he'd
done it. As it was, I don't think I've ever been so
angry. I couldn't believe he'd do something so
irresponsible. We had a huge row, and he stormed
out, and I lost my temper and packed up the children
and went to Neville's. And once I'd left, I couldn't
make myself go back. I just couldn't do it, not without
hating myself for it, and hating him. Everyone kept
asking 'why didn't you stay with him if you loved him?'
and the fact was, no matter how much I loved him, it
didn't change that he didn't love me back. And I was
tired of it, and tired of being taken for granted, not just
by him, but by everyone. Tired of being the family joke
- faithful little Ginny, who hung onto her crush until
she finally got what she wanted. I'd been swallowing
my pride for so long, and I just couldn't do it anymore.
And it wasn't as though leaving was easy...it was the
hardest thing I've ever done. If I hadn't been so angry
I could spit, I don't think I could have done it at all."
She was silent for a long time, then she laughed.
"Poor Neville. Harry was so furious when he found out
I'd been staying with him - I thought Harry was going
to kill him."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Whatever for?"

"Harry thought that Neville and I were having an


affair." Ginny stopped and glared at Draco. "Don't
laugh!"

"Harry thought you were having an affair with


Neville?" Draco chortled. "Neville's gay."

"Harry didn't know that," Ginny said. "Neville doesn't


tell people because he's too shy, and you know what
the world thinks of gay wizards, so no one actually
knows he's gay except me. And Harry. And it's not
that far-fetched an idea. I dated Neville when we were
still at Hogwarts, and it wasn't until after he'd
graduated and we split up that he started...well, he
wasn't sure before that if it were boys or girls he was
interested in. And we've always been quite good
friends, and after the kids were born I was spending a
fair bit of time with Neville, mostly bemoaning the
state of my marriage, and Harry drew conclusions
from our friendship that weren't right."

"You dated Neville?" Draco said in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes...during my sixth year, his seventh. Before he'd


really come to terms with his sexuality and realized
that he was more attracted to men than women and
all that. Nev is actually...well." She cleared her throat.
"He was my first."

Draco blinked. "First what?" Then he stared at Ginny's


reddening face and his jaw dropped. "Neville?"

"Don't look like that," Ginny said, poking him on the


arm.

"You slept with Neville?"

"Stop it!"

"Neville?"

"I mean it, cut that out!" Ginny scowled at Draco, who
looked torn between laughter and horror. "He was
very sweet."

"I'm sure he was." Draco took a deep breath and


collected himself. "My God. I will never look at him the
same way again. Any other past lovers you've had
that I should know about? I'd like to get all the shocks
over with at once, if you don't mind."
"Well, there was that sordid night of passion with
Cornelius Fudge several years back, but we don't like
to talk about it." Ginny snickered as Draco turned a bit
green. "We like to think the video speaks for itself."

Draco choked. "Oh, God. God.You evil, evil woman!"

Ginny giggled, one hand clapped over her mouth to


keep the noise down. "I'm joking...there's only just
been Harry and Neville."

"Thank God for that...Cornelius Fudge - I think I'm


going to have nightmares." Draco grinned and
tightened his arm around her shoulders. "You're a
cruel woman."

"I know. See what you're getting yourself into?" Ginny


laughed.

"I do," Draco smiled and bent down to kiss her gently.
"And I won't regret a moment."

Draco and Neville met up in Neville's office two weeks


later to compare notes. Draco settled himself in
Neville's visitor's chair and rested his forearms on the
edge of his desk. "So what have you found out?"

Neville sat back in his chair. "Not much, unfortunately.


Told you the Canadian Ministry was impossible to get
information out of." He picked up a thin parchment
and handed it to Draco. "As you already know, his
name is Chris Nesbitt, and he's 19. He dropped out of
the Canadian version of Hogwarts - the Laurentian
Academy, they call it - in his 6th year and apparently
they haven't heard tale of him since. Said he never
got into any trouble before he dropped out, but wasn't
much of a wizard, and didn't have much of a work
ethic. Lazy and not too bright, was the impression the
Ministry gave me."

Draco nodded absently. "And I do know he hasn't got


a Muggle police record. It's likely he's not the brains of
the outfit - it seems a bit like he's just following along
behind whatever Straker is doing. Anything else?"

Neville shook his head. "Not really. Since he wasn't


doing anything illegal until they hit England, the
Ministry lost track of him, which apparently isn't
unusual with the younger witches and wizards out
there. They're a close bunch, but a lot of wizards will
sort of vanish into Muggle society, or head down to
the States. I don't know much about the culture, but I
gather there's fewer wizards in Canada, and they're
much more spread out so they don't have a unified
community like we do here."

"Doesn't surprise me," Draco said. "I met a wizard out


there once - or at least, he could have been a wizard,
but wasn't. He got a letter to their wizarding school,
but never went. It was too far away, he said, and he
didn't want to leave his family that long."
"Well, the upshot is that they couldn't really tell me
anything beyond the fact that he dropped out of
school and then met this Straker person, whenever
that happened."

"And then came here and embarked on a life of


crime," Draco said. He sighed and leaned back in his
chair. "Heard anything from the aurors about the
pictures?" Draco had got the tech people at Scotland
Yard to print images of the two thieves so he could
hand them out, and Neville had got copies to give to
the rest of the Aurors.

Neville shook his head. "Not yet. Makes me wonder if


they even know about Diagon Alley, or have tried to
get in contact with anyone from wizarding London. I'm
guessing not...not even the people we have on
regular watch have been noticed having contact with
either of them."

Draco nodded. "Which would imply that they don't


know about us. I imagine there are several people
who'd be interested to know that these two are
capable of what they're doing."

"You're right about that...your good friend Pansy, for


one," Neville replied. "I wonder that no one's done it
before, actually."

"Because Pansy and her friends are too worried about


the Muggle taint to dirty their hands themselves,"
Draco said sardonically. "It wouldn't occur to them to
do it themselves, though they wouldn't mind taking
advantage of those who would be."

"Good point. That reminds me...sold the house yet?"


Neville asked idly.

Draco snorted. "No. Surprisingly enough, no one


wants to buy it. Can't imagine why...who wouldn't
want a huge, ugly old mansion in the middle of
nowhere?"

"No idea," Neville said, then grinned. "Maybe you


could turn it into a B&B or something. Renovate, fix
up the grounds, that sort of thing."

Draco looked at him like he was mad. "Right." He


shook his head briefly and turned his attention back to
the sheet of information. "Anyway, once again, we
seem to be at an impasse."

Neville sighed. "It does look like it. Not much we can
do but wait and see. God, I'm getting tired of waiting."

Draco leaned back and shook his head. "Join the


club."

~*~ March, 2011

Dinner at Ginny's became something of a regular


occurrence for Draco over the next few weeks; after
he'd made her supper, she invited him over to return
the favour, and they fell into something of a routine.
He didn't always cook for her, but tried to bring
something with him, knowing that it wasn't fair to
Ginny to make her feed him all the time. Draco was
actually surprised how much he enjoyed being there,
listening to Jamie and Sarah bicker and Will babble
about nonsense and occasionally sharing his new
favourite word (which was currently "broom") at top
volume. It was chaotic at times, and loud, and
exasperating as well, but Draco found he missed it,
on the nights he didn't come.

The evenings usually ended up the same - dinner,


then playing with the children for an hour or so, then
putting them to bed. Draco and Ginny would stay up a
bit longer chatting, and then he'd head home,
because Ginny didn't like the idea of having him stay
overnight if the children were there. Draco could
understand her reasoning, but he didn't exactly like it -
he much preferred being able to spend the night, and
not simply for the obvious reasons. He occasionally
thought he'd stay forever if she'd let him, although he
didn't let himself dwell on that. As it was, he was
beginning to hate his hotel room.

"I've been thinking of buying or renting a flat," he told


Ginny as she put the last of the dishes into the sink, to
be washed later. "If only to be able to sleep in a
decent bed for a change."
Ginny shrugged. "It's up to you. I'm surprised you
haven't before...I don't think I could live in a hotel for
so long. How long has it been? 10 months?"

Draco thought about it. "A year, actually. I came here


in March of last year. It doesn't seem like it's been
that long." He shook his head and sighed. "It was only
supposed to be a few months, but at this rate, I might
as well just buy a place."

"What about the mansion?" Ginny asked. "Have you


sold it yet?"

"Not yet. The goblins think it might take a while,


because there aren't many who can actually afford a
mansion." Draco shrugged and followed her into the
living room, sitting down on the couch beside her and
resting his arm around her shoulders. "And Bath is too
far away to be commuting from London and back
every day. I did that the first 6 months, and that's part
of why I want to sell the damn thing in the first place."

"You never did say why you were selling it," Ginny
remarked. "It's the sort of thing you'd want to keep,
isn't it? A great old house like that?"

Draco laughed. "Neville said basically the same thing,


that it's the middle-aged, middle-class dream to have
a country house. But honestly, I really don't want it."
He shivered slightly, and Ginny rested a hand gently
on his knee. He smiled down at her ruefully. "The
place is creepy. Always was, but it's worse now.
There's no furniture, and it's empty and echoic and
just...uncomfortable."

"Is it haunted?" Ginny asked. "Like Hogwarts was?"

Draco cleared his throat. "No more than usual," he


said carefully. After all, he didn't know that there was
anything there beyond the usual ghosts.

He was about to say more, but a knock sounded from


the door. They both turned to look. "Well, that's
strange," Ginny said, and got up to answer it. Draco
stood too, walking around the coffee table to stand in
the centre of the living room as Ginny walked to the
door and opened it. He saw her start and back up a
step, her hand tightening on the door handle, and
almost on instinct he stepped toward the opposite
wall, so that he was hidden from sight of the door.
"Harry," Ginny said with surprise. "I wasn't expecting
you."

Draco groaned silently and shut his eyes. Wonderful,


he thought to himself. Just wonderful.

"I was in the neighbourhood, and thought I'd drop by.


Are the kids in bed already?" Draco heard the rustle
of a jacket and footsteps, which stopped.

"They are, actually," Ginny said. She sounded


strained. "It's long past their bedtime, Harry, you know
that."

"I guess I did," Harry said sheepishly, and Draco


could picture his shoulders shifting in a careless,
boyish shrug. "I just thought I might stop by to say
hello." There was a pause, then Harry said, "What is
it?"

Ginny didn't answer.

"Ginny?"

Draco took a deep breath, and straightened his


shoulders, then casually tucked his hands in his
pockets and walked slowly around the corner and
leaned nonchalantly against the archway to the
kitchen. Ginny was standing beside the table, and
Harry was beside the half-wall that separated the front
door from the kitchen nook, one hand resting casually
on the ledge. He stiffened with shock as Draco
appeared, his face going carefully blank.

Ginny froze and glanced quickly over her shoulder at


Draco. "Ah...um, Harry, you remember Draco, don't
you?"

Harry didn't look at her, still staring at Draco with


implacable green eyes. "Yes," he said flatly. "What
are you doing here, Malfoy?"
"Having dinner." Draco said softly. Harry's eyes
flickered over to the sink, where the dishes were
piled, then back to Draco.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked again, his


right hand tightening against the ledge and his other
curling slowly into a fist.

Ginny took a deep breath and straightened her


shoulders, answering before Draco had a chance to
reply. "He's here because I asked him to be here."

"You asked him to be here," Harry repeated softly, still


staring at Draco. "And why would you do that?"

"Because we're dating."

Harry's eyes widened at that, and he jerked his gaze


back to Ginny. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Ginny said quickly. Draco could see her


move one hand slightly toward Harry, as if to reach
out to him, then stop. "I meant to tell you sooner, but I
didn't know how."

"How..."Harry stopped, and swallowed, staring at


Ginny now like she was the only thing that existed.
"For how long?"

"Since September," Ginny said softly, and Harry


flinched. "Harry, I'm sorry - " Ginny took a step toward
him, but he backed away sharply and she stopped. "I
should have told you sooner, but I wasn't sure...I'm
sorry."

"September." Harry shifted his gaze back to Draco,


and Draco clenched his jaw at the hopeless look in
the other man's eyes, concentrating on keeping his
face expressionless,set against a grin of triumph.
"You - " He stopped, blinked, and tried again, his
voice rough. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Harry - "

Draco didn't move except to raise one shoulder in an


insolent shrug. "I don't think that's any of your
business, Potter."

"No?" Harry said sharply. "You come hanging around


my wife - "

"Ex," Draco interrupted softly, "wife."

Harry jerked back at that, his eyes going wide, then


closing tightly. He spun around quickly, breathing in
sharp bursts, and yanked the door open. He looked
back at Ginny again finally, a muscle jumping in his
jaw. "I'll be by Saturday for the children," he said, his
voice strained. Ginny nodded, and Harry turned and
walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.
Ginny's shoulders sagged slightly, and she reached
out a hand to steady herself against the back of a
chair. Draco stood up straight and walked over to her,
sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her close.
She let him gather her up, and rested her head
wearily on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's all right," he whispered back, stroking her hair


gently. and finally let himself smile, knowing it was
mean, knowing that it was petty, but unable to help
himself. Ginny might have convinced herself that
Harry had never really loved her, but Draco knew
better now. Harry had always been crap at burying his
emotions, it was one of the things that had made him
so wonderfully easy to pick on - and Draco could see
that he still loved Ginny. Harry loved her, and was
finally realizing he couldn't have her...that it was too
late. He had finally beaten Harry, where it really
mattered.

Draco Malfoy had finally won.

~*~

Chapter Nine

"May your service of love be a beautiful thing; want


nothing else, fear nothing else and let love be free to
become what love truly is."
- Hadewijch of Antwerp

Early April, 2011


Ginny knew something was up when she got
Hermione's owl. It was a week after Harry had
discovered Draco at her apartment, and although the
note itself was innocuous - Meet me at the Cauldron
for lunch tomorrow? Natalie's offered to baby-sit! -
Ginny knew full well that it was no simple request.
When she arrived at Natalie and George's small
house just outside of Malton, and discovered that
Hermione had dropped off the twins and gone ahead
without waiting for her, Ginny started to get rather
worried about what Hermione had in store.

After a brief chat with Natalie and a quick check to


make sure that the children would be all right without
her, Ginny apparated into the alley behind the Leaky
Cauldron and took a deep, apprehensive breath
before entering the pub. Hermione had secured a low,
shadowed booth on the wall opposite the bar, and she
waved Ginny over as soon as she spotted the
younger woman. "Gin! Over here!"

Ginny made her way to the booth, nodding and


smiling at the witches and wizards who greeted her as
she passed. She reached the booth where Hermione
sat, and froze.

Hermione wasn't alone.

"Hello, Hermione, Ron," Ginny said flatly. "Sirius."

Sirius had changed a great deal since his days on the


run from Azkaban. Tall and handsome still, his dark
hair shot with silver, Sirius lived and worked in
Hogsmeade, where he operated a small magical
supply shop with Remus Lupin. He must have come
down to London especially for this meeting; Ginny
was willing to bet it was because Harry had talked to
him about meeting Draco at her flat. Suddenly, the
reason for Hermione's lunch invitation became much
clearer. He nodded at her as she sat quietly, sliding
into the seat beside Hermione, facing Sirius.
"Hermione didn't tell me you'd be here."

Hermione looked sheepish. "Well, Sirius arrived in


town, so I thought I would invite him along. I didn't
think you'd mind."

Ginny pressed her lips together, but didn't say


anything. It would be a bit pointless to protest, with
Sirius sitting right there, and Hermione damn well
knew it. "Not at all," she said in resignation. "What
brings you to London?"

Sirius smiled charmingly. "Just business, really, but I


thought I'd make a social call or two while I was down
here."

Ginny smiled back as pleasantly as she could. She


didn't dislike Sirius exactly - there wasn't anything
about him to dislike, in all honesty - but she always
felt uncomfortable around him. It always felt a bit like
he was testing her, mentally comparing her to some
invisible standard that she never quite measured up
to. Like he didn't really think she was good enough.
She felt the same now, despite the fact that he was
chatting agreeably, making polite small talk. He was
better at it than Ron and Hermione, who were eyeing
both her and each other nervously.

After several minutes of discussing the weather,


Ginny cleared her throat nervously and decided to
take the bull by the horns. "So...have you heard from
Harry lately?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances again, then


looked at Sirius. Hermione took a deep breath and
nodded. "Actually, we wanted to talk to you about
that."

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Sirius


interrupted smoothly. "Harry says that you're seeing
Draco Malfoy now. When did that happen?"

"Last September, actually," Ginny replied, with a


disgruntled look at Hermione. "I gather you have
spoken to him, then."

Sirius nodded, settling his face into lines of deep


concern. "That was part of the reason we wanted to
talk to you today. We wanted to know if there was
anything you wanted to tell us about...about this new
relationship."
"There's really nothing to tell," Ginny said guardedly.
"We're dating, and that's really all there is to say."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, and


Hermione took a deep breath. "It's just...we're a little
worried. I know you like Malfoy, and I know he seems
like he's changed, but we still don't really know that
much about him. Harry is worried about it...he spoke
with us last night, and he seemed quite upset about
it." She paused, glancing again at Sirius and Ron. "I
know how you feel about Malfoy, it's just...we just
don't want to see you get hurt."

Ginny stiffened. "There's nothing to worry about, as


I've already told you," she said calmly. "You can ask
Neville again, if you're worried, and he'll just tell you
what's already been said. There's absolutely no proof
that Draco was involved in anything during the war,
and he works for the Ministry now, which they
wouldn't let him do if he had been. I think I've said this
already, but touching as your concern is, it's not
necessary, and you can tell that to Harry as well."

"He's got a right to be worried, Gin," Ron said. "I


mean, there may not be any proof, but you can't just
disregard Malfoy's past."

"And which past would that be?" Ginny asked icily.


"The 4 years he spent as a spoilt brat, the period he
spent questioning everything he'd been raised to
believe or the twelve years he spent living as a
Muggle?"

Ron opened his mouth, then shut it again with an


exasperated breath, shrugging his shoulders. Sirius
frowned. "Ginny, you can't afford this sort of naivete.
Whatever's happened in the last 12 years, the fact
remains that Malfoy is dangerous. Whatever the
Ministry may say, we don't know what he's been up
to, we don't know that he can be trusted, we have
only his word that he hasn't been neck deep in the
Dark Arts all this time, lying low in Canada until it was
safe for him to come back. You're putting a lot of
people at risk here, Ginny. Harry, your kids..."

That was the last straw. Her temper snapping, Ginny


slammed her hand down on the table, rigid with fury.
"Do not ever imply to me that I am putting my children
into danger!" she hissed at Sirius. She kept her voice
down, though, mindful of the room full of patrons.
"You have not even seen Draco since he came back,
you have no idea what he's like now, and Harry hasn't
spent more than 5 minutes in his company. The two
of you are the last people to go about making
judgment calls about other peoples' trustworthiness!"

It was Sirius' turn to stiffen in anger. "If you're saying


that I can't be trusted - " He broke off and took a deep
breath, clearly trying to keep his own temper in check.
"Or is that something Malfoy told you?"

Ginny laughed incredulously. "I don't think Draco even


knows who you are, Sirius. Don't flatter yourself. It's
been said, and said again, and not just by me. There
is absolutely no proof that Draco was a Death Eater.
There is no proof that he was involved in the Dark
Arts, or that he was a supporter of Voldemort. It's
been checked, and by people with more experience in
that sort of thing than any of you." She stood up
abruptly, glaring at Sirius. "You are so sure you know
everything, aren't you? But the truth is, you don't. If
you really want to go digging about in Draco's past,
then ask Harry, because he knows better than anyone
about Draco's involvement in the war." She paused
for breath, steadying herself against the table. "And
while you're talking to him, since you're so determined
to play go-between, then you can pass a message on
for me. You can tell him that if he has a problem, then
he can come talk to me! Tell him I am sick to death of
hearing everything second-hand and I am sick to
death of being lectured by you whenever he thinks
there's something wrong. And tell him that if he spent
half as much time talking to me as he does trying to
get other people to tackle his problems for him,
maybe he would still have a wife!"

She ignored the outbursts from Ron and Sirius and


Hermione's shocked "Ginny!" as she yanked her cloak
off the hook beside the booth and swung it over her
shoulders, stalking quickly toward the back of the
Cauldron and the entrance to Diagon Alley. She had
wrenched open the back door and was about to
apparate from the small yard behind the pub when
Sirius caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

"Ginny," he said quietly, anger written in every line of


his body. "He loves you. Still. He loves you, and he
doesn't want to see you get hurt. And you're hurting
him, with this...this thing with Malfoy. He doesn't
deserve this, Ginny. He doesn't deserve to have you
do this to him."

Ginny stared at him, fighting back tears of fury. "He


loves me," she said hoarsely. Sirius nodded, clearly
taking her tears for remorse. "I see. Then you may tell
him when you see him next, that it means a great deal
to me, to hear all about his love for me from his
godfather." She yanked her arm out of his grasp and
wiped her face, then waved her wand and apparated
away.

Draco was in his office finishing up some paperwork


when his mobile rang. He frowned and answered it
curtly, glancing at the number. "Hello?"

There was a brief staticky pause before a young voice


said, "Hello."

Draco frowned. "Jamie?"

"Hello!"

"Jamie, is something wrong?" Draco asked in


concern. He didn't think that Ginny's children even
knew how to operate a telephone, much less how to
call him.

"Noo...are you going to come here today?" Thankfully


Jamie didn't really sound worried or upset, although
he did sound a bit as though he were hiding
something.

"I hadn't planned on it. Why? Where's your mum?"

"You can, you know," Jamie said. There was a pause,


and Draco heard him whispering to someone - Sarah,
he guessed. "Mum wanted us to ask you."

"Can I talk to your mum?" Draco asked.

There was a long pause. "Um, she's busy. She


wanted us to ask you."

Draco frowned. "Jamie, what is going on?"

"Nothing...are you coming?" There was another


pause. "Come, ok?"

"Jamie, what - damn." Draco sighed as Jamie hung


up on him, and turned off his mobile. "I guess I'm
going to Ginny's, then."

When Draco got to Ginny's flat, it was Jamie who


answered the door, with Sarah right behind him.
There was no sign of Ginny, nor could he hear her in
the kitchen or living room. "Hello," he said to Jamie,
frowning down at him.

Jamie grinned back, unabashed. "Hullo."

Draco shook his head, marveling at how much Jamie


looked like Harry when he was trying to hide
something. "May I come in?"

Jamie bounced back into the hallway. "Yep." He


pushed Sarah, who skittered forward and glared over
her shoulder at her brother.

They watched with bright eyes as Draco shut the door


and hung his coat up in the closet. He turned and
looked down at the two children, arms folded. "Well?"
he asked.

Jamie and Sarah looked at each other, then back at


Draco. "Mum's in her room," Jamie volunteered,
bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "You should
go talk to her."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the two of them. They


were clearly playing innocent about something, but he
wasn't sure what. Jamie gulped, but stood his ground,
and Sarah gave him her sweetest, most disarming
smile, unfazed. Draco frowned, but turned and walked
slowly down the hallway to Ginny's room, casting
another glance over his shoulder at the children, who
were watching his progress with wide and hopeful
looks. Draco reached Ginny's door, which was
partially closed, the room beyond dark. Draco pushed
the door open further and looked inside.

"Ginny?" he called hesitantly. He could see her,


curled up on her side on the bed with her back to the
door. She moved when she heard him, pushing
herself up onto one elbow and looking over her
shoulder at him. Her face was a white blur in the
darkness, and she turned away as he stepped into
the room, rubbing one hand over her eyes. He
stopped at the far corner of the bed. "Are you all
right?"

"What are you doing here?" she asked hoarsely,


without turning to look at him. She swung her legs
over the edge of the bed, leaning forward with her
shoulders hunched.

Draco didn't move. "I was invited, actually. Jamie


called me and asked if I were coming. Said that you
told him to call me, because you were busy."

"I didn't," she said sharply.

"I didn't think so." He moved across the end of the


bed and stood at the other corner, looking down on
her bent head. "D'you know, Jamie looks exactly like
Harry when he's trying to hide something?" he said
conversationally.
Ginny jerked her head at the mention of Harry's name
and took a deep sobbing breath. "Oh, I'm well aware
of that," she said angrily.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said. "Everything." She raised her head


and looked at him. Close to, Draco could see that her
face was blotchy, as if she'd been crying. "Well don't
just stand there," she said irritably.

"Sorry," Draco said wryly, and came to sit next to her,


not quite close enough to touch her. "Want to talk
about it?"

"Oh," Ginny said sharply, and started speaking


rapidly, as though his question had released
something. "Hermione invited me to lunch today," she
spat, and from the tone of her voice Draco gathered
that it hadn't been very pleasant. "She got Natalie to
babysit, so I dropped the kids off there, and went to
the Cauldron to meet her. When I got there, I found
her there with Ron and Sirius, to tell me that Harry
had gone to talk to them last night, and how Harry
was upset, because I'm seeing you. Because God
forbid that their dear, precious Harry be unhappy, and
it is all my fault and if I weren't so stubborn and cruel I
would see that obviously he still loves me and how
could I just leave him if he wants me back?" She
paused to get her breath. "Because it's me. It's my
fault that we split up, and it's my fault that Harry is
unhappy, and it's my fault that we're not a perfect little
happy family anymore."

She picked up a pillow and threw it as hard as she


could against the wall. It hit with a whump and slid to
the floor. Ginny sniffled and rubbed one hand across
her cheek furiously. "I cannot believe that they would
do this to me. I knew they didn't like you, but I can't
believe they would pull crap like this. It's just cruel."

Draco nodded, not saying anything. Ginny took


another deep breath and continued. "It's like they're
trying to make me feel guilty for leaving Harry. Like
I'm not allowed to have my own life outside of what
they want me to be. The perfect mother, the perfect
wife, Harry's little shadow. And I can't complain, oh
no. I have to just sit there and say nothing and take it
when he flits off to hang out with Ron and Hermione,
or goes out with his team without inviting me, or bring
people over without letting me know first, take me for
granted, because no, I wouldn't be upset that he's got
more important things to do, that he's obviously too
busy to be concerned with how his precious little wife
is doing." She scowled and picked up another pillow,
tossing it at the wall with less force this time.
"Because I'm not supposed to want more. I'm not
supposed to want to have my own friends and my
own career and a life that doesn't revolve around
changing diapers and making sure dinner is ready
when he comes home. I don't get to have a life.
"And the worst part is, I can't talk about it to anyone. I
don't want to say things like that in front of the kids,
because it's not fair to them, and it isn't as though I
can talk to Hermione about it, because she's firmly on
Harry's side, and God knows Neville's heard it
enough." She slumped forward and sighed heavily.
"It's not fair. He can go 'round talking about me to
anyone he wants, and I can't say anything bad about
him to anyone."

"You can badmouth him to me all you like," Draco


said helpfully. Ginny raised her head and looked at
him, an unreadable expression on her face, then she
threw back her head and laughed. She fell over
backwards, still giggling, to lie on the bed, stretching
her arms above her head. Draco turned slightly to
look at her. "Feel a bit better?"

Ginny chuckled. "Yes." She sighed again and closed


her eyes. "I'm still angry, though. Oooh, I could just
smack Sirius. Insufferable prat."

"I could do that for you too," Draco offered. "You


know, so you don't hurt your hands."

Ginny snickered. "Maybe after mine get sore."

"I'll hold you to that." He lay down beside her, and


propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her
face. "Sirius Black?"
"He's Harry's godfather," Ginny said. "They captured
Peter Pettigrew after the end of the war, and since the
whole reason Sirius was in Azkaban was for killing
Peter, and Peter wasn't dead, they let Sirius go. Gave
him a pardon."

"Ah," said Draco. He remembered the story now, and


the excitement over Black escaping from Azkaban in
his third year - he'd teased Harry about it, knowing
that Black had been a friend of the Potters, in the
malicious hope that Harry would go after him and
Black would do something horrible to him. Typical of
Harry's luck, really, that Black had turned out to be
innocent after all. "And Hermione invited you for
lunch, and didn't tell you that he and Ron were going
to be there? That doesn't seem like something she'd
do."

"It probably wasn't her idea," Ginny said. "I'd bet


money on it being Sirius. Harry probably talked to him
and to Ron, and they made Hermione ask me. They
did the same sort of thing just after Harry and I split
up."

"Charming," Draco said wryly.

"Well, Harry is upset, and if he's upset then everyone


has to go rushing to his defence," she said, glaring at
the ceiling. "Because God forbid anything should
happen to upset Harry. They've got to leap up and
protect him." She closed her eyes and growled in
frustration. "It's so irritating! It's as though he's the
only one who counts, like I don't have any say in the
matter and why am I making such a fuss? Because
Harry was happy with the way things were before,
and I'm the one who's going about making waves and
upsetting him and upsetting everyone else and if I'd
just shut up and be a good little girl, then everyone
would be happy."

"Except you."

Ginny laughed shortly. "Yes, well, I think we've


already established that my happiness is not at the
forefront of anyone's mind."

Draco raised his eyebrows and looked injured. "What


am I, chopped liver?"

Ginny opened her eyes. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean


you." She reached up and patted his cheek gently.

"I should hope not," Draco said, sounding aggrieved.


"No more portkey trips for you."

Ginny laughed. "I said didn't mean you!" She sobered


and shook her head. "I just hate that no one ever
thinks to ask what I want. And then to turn around and
say things like, 'Oh, but Harry still loves you'. As if
they think that they can guilt me into running back to
him by telling me that. If he even does," Ginny said
sceptically.
"Oh, he does," Draco blurted out before he could stop
himself, and winced. He hadn't meant to tell her that.

Ginny turned her head and looked at him quizzically.


"What?"

Draco sighed. "He does. Still love you, I mean."

Ginny hauled herself up onto her elbows, frowning at


him. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I could tell. When he


was here."

"You could tell," Ginny said flatly. "How could you


tell?"

"Just..." Draco trailed off, picking at the quilt. "The way


he looked at you. He's crap at hiding his emotions, if
you know what to look for."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "And you know what to


look for?"

Draco met her eyes and smirked. "I spent seven


years tormenting him for fun, of course I do. Made it
my life's work at one point to find out exactly what
pushed his buttons. He hasn't changed that much in
the last 12 years. Yes, I know what to look for."
Ginny narrowed her eyes dangerously. "I thought you
said our relationship had nothing to do with Harry."

"And it doesn't. I didn't run out and tell him as soon as


we started dating, did I? And I'm not seeking him out
to rub his nose in it." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I
admit, however, that I am not particularly broken up
over the fact that he's not happy about it. It's not a
reason behind my wanting to be with you, it's just
a...perk."

Ginny glared at him sidelong. "A perk. Honestly."

Draco smiled innocently. "I did tell you I'm not nice."

Ginny shifted onto one elbow and smacked him on


the hip with her other hand. "You're terrible."

"I think the word you're looking for is evil." Draco


grabbed her hand and pulled her off balance, rolling
onto his back and dragging her toward him. She
laughed and let him do it, and settled against his
chest with a small sigh. He wrapped his arms around
her and stroked her hair softly, winding it around his
fingers. "Does it matter?"

"Hmmm?" Ginny murmured.

"About Harry. About...how he feels. Because he


would take you back, I think, if you wanted him."
"But I don't," Ginny said softly. "It...I don't know. Five
years ago, or three, or even a year ago, it might have
made a difference, to know that. But now...no." He felt
her sigh again. "I do love him, I always will care about
him, but I don't want to be married to him anymore.
It's over, and I'm not the same person I was when we
got married. I don't think I ever was the person he
thought he married. After we split up, it was...it was
like being able to breathe again after being trapped
underwater." She lifted her head again and looked at
him, her face shadowed in the dim half-light, so that
he couldn't read her expression. "I wouldn't go back to
him, even if he wants me to."

"Does he know that?" Draco asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, he will now, I imagine. I'd


tell him myself if I could get him to talk to me, but I
imagine he'll hear all about it from Ron and Hermione
and Sirius long before I get a chance to."

"Who says Weasel boy doesn't have his uses?" Draco


smirked.

Ginny scowled at him. "Don't call Ron that! It's a bit of


a job convincing people you're a nicer person when
you insist on being a prat, you know."

"Sorry," Draco said contritely. "I promise not to call


him Weasel boy anywhere you can hear me from now
on."
That made her laugh, the tension easing out of her
body where it rested against his. "Well that's a start,"
she said, then leaned forward and kissed him, gently
at first, then with more intensity as he slid his arms
around her and settled her against his chest. A
shuffling noise and a faint giggle made her break off
the kiss and look at the doorway in exasperation. "We
have an audience."

Draco craned his neck to look at the door. He didn't


see the children, but there did seem to be a lot of
giggling and whispering going on around the edge of
the doorframe. He looked back at Ginny and smiled
ruefully. "It appears we do."

Ginny flashed him a wicked grin. "Then I suppose my


plan to ravish you utterly will just have to wait 'til later.
Excuse me whilst I go have a word with my children."
She leaned down and kissed him quite thoroughly,
then pulled away and wriggled quickly out of his arms
and off the bed before he could stop her.

"Hey!" Draco sat up and glared at her retreating back.


"Well, I'm glad you feel better," he said grouchily, and
took a deep breath. "Tease." He got up, brushing off
his pants, and followed her laughter out into the
kitchen.

They met at the Library later that week, Ginny having


dropped her kids off at the Burrow in order to spend
her morning doing research again. She greeted
Draco's appearance with a sigh of relief, stretching
and flexing her cramped hands. "I swear, I'm going to
invest in a Quick-Notes Quill one of these days, and
spare my poor hands."

Draco sat at the table beside her, took her hands in


his and massaged them gently. "How's the story
coming?"

"Getting there," Ginny sighed, and smiled blissfully.


"You can keep doing that, though. I've just about
finished my research, and can get down to writing
soon, which will be a great relief. Means less time in
the library, and I don't have to keep Mum babysitting
all the time."

"Must be difficult, having to send them off to your


parents all the time," Draco said, helping her gather
up her things.

Ginny nodded. "It is, but I don't have to do it every


day, and Mum doesn't mind. She likes spending time
with her grandchildren, and I did it when Harry and I
were married so it's not as though it's a huge change."
She tucked the last of her papers into her bag and
swung it over her shoulder, leading the way toward
the stairs and the Library exit. "Mum loves to have
them, and she babysat a lot for me when Harry and I
were both working."
"Speaking of Harry," Draco said. "What's happening
there?" He held the main door for her, and they
stepped out onto Diagon Alley, joining the throng of
wizards on the street, walking down toward the bank.

Ginny made an exasperated noise. "Nothing," she


said with disgust. "It's been a week and I haven't
heard anything from him...he's supposed to be taking
the kids next Saturday and he hasn't called to arrange
a time yet. I think he's avoiding me now. I talked to
Hermione, and she did apologize for inviting Sirius
and having him jump all over me, but..." Ginny trailed
off and sighed. "I don't know which is worse, knowing
the fight we'll have when we do finally talk, or waiting
about to find out what his reaction will be when he
hears about what I said to Sirius. If he hasn't already."

"What did you say?" Draco asked curiously. He'd


never seen Ginny truly angry and wondered idly what
it would be like. Despite all the rumours about
redheads and their fiery tempers, the only evidence of
it he'd seen in Ginny was her outburst last week. She
was perhaps one of the most patient and calm people
he'd ever met.

"Oh, all sorts of things," she sighed, shaking her head.


"Mostly that my love life is none of his business and
that he has nothing to be worried about." She cocked
her head at him. "Because I think what the real
problem is, is that they're worried about you. And I
told them - Sirius especially - that if Harry spent half
as much time actually talking to me as he did getting
Ron or Hermione or Sirius to talk to me, that we'd still
be married. Which is true, but they didn't need to hear
it. Not that way, anyway."

"They're worried about me?" Draco asked.

Ginny nodded. "They think that you're going to exert


some sort of terrible influence on me, or do something
evil, seduce me to the dark side or the like."

"Oh?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow at her. He


tugged her closer to him, slipping one hand around
her waist. "Now there's an idea that has some merit.
The seduction part, anyway," he purred.

Ginny grinned. "I rather think so too, but they're


convinced that you're out to get me, or using me to
get at Harry, something of the sort. Sirius says that
you've probably spent the last twelve years hiding out
and waiting for the chance to come back here and...I
don't know, wreak your revenge, or something."

Draco snorted. "Leaving aside the fact that there's


nothing Harry's done to make me want revenge,
unless you count losing to him at Quidditch at
Hogwarts. And even I am not quite that petty. Nothing
that I was aware of at the time, anyway. And now...it's
not really worth it for me to go about seeking ways to
drag Harry down. I've got more important things to
do."
"That's what I said to him," Ginny shrugged. "Sirius
likes to see conspiracies everywhere...he thinks
everyone has an ulterior motive."

"If I do have an ulterior motive, it's got nothing to do


with him or with Harry," Draco said stiffly. "Nor is it
any of his business."

"I know," Ginny said. "And I wish he weren't so pushy,


but he really does have Harry's best interests at heart.
It's just that he's far more concerned about Harry than
anyone else. With Ron and Hermione, I think it's just
that they're not sure what you want, so they're worried
about me and Harry."

Draco stopped and turned to face her, taking her


hands in his. "What I want is for you to be happy," he
said simply, his grey eyes serious.

Ginny smiled. "You make me happy," she replied, and


warmth flooded through her as his eyes lit up, his
mouth quirking up in a small smile.

He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against


hers, still smiling. "I'm glad," he said, his voice husky.
Then he glanced over her shoulder, up the Alley and
froze. He let her hands go and straightened up fully,
staring up the street with narrowed eyes.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, alarmed. She glanced


down the street and back at Draco, who waved one
hand at her, his whole attention focused on the end of
the block. She felt a small pang of disappointment as
Draco moved away from her but squashed it quickly,
scanning the street ahead trying to see what had
caught his attention.

"Wait here," he said sharply, then started away, not


quite running, but moving quicker than the rest of the
people out shopping or going about their business.
Ginny couldn't tell who he was aiming for - there was
a mass of people gathered by the entrance to the
Leaky Cauldron, some watching a street performer
with trained salamanders, some gathered in front of
the displays outside the cauldron shop, some coming
out of the apothecary.

She watched in bewilderment as someone detached


themselves from the crowd of people and grasp
Draco's arm before he reached the entrance to the
Leaky Cauldron. Ginny squinted, shading her eyes
with one hand, trying to see who it was. A woman,
well dressed in a fine spring cloak, deep purple robes
and an elaborate hairstyle, but she had her back to
Ginny, so she couldn't recognize who it was. Draco
stopped abruptly, dividing his attention between the
woman clinging to his arm and the entrance to the
Cauldron. She couldn't see his face but from the way
he was standing and the set of his shoulders, Ginny
guessed he wasn't happy. His shoulders fell slightly
as he watched the Cauldron, then he glared down at
the woman next to him and snapped something,
shaking her hand off his arm. She fell back a step and
said something angrily, which Draco ignored, turning
on his heel and walking away. The other woman
glared at his back, then spun around and scuttled
toward the Cauldron.

Draco was definitely angry. He strode up the street, a


fierce scowl marring his features, hands curled into
fists. He nearly walked right past her, but Ginny held
out one hand, and he stopped, still scowling. "What's
wrong?" Ginny asked, slightly alarmed.

Draco favoured her with a disgusted glare. "I saw one


of the men we're looking for. He was in the crowd
near the Cauldron. Damn that woman!" he hissed in
frustration.

"Who was that?" Ginny asked, mentally kicking


herself, but wanting to know.

"Pansy Parkinson," Draco spat. "Meddling little


busybody."

Ginny's eyes widened with concern. She didn't have


any contact with Pansy, but she remembered Neville
saying that the other woman was under watch for
suspected Dark Arts activities. "What did she want?"

"Who knows? She always was a pest." Draco glared


down the street as if wishing Pansy would come back
so he could throttle her. He shook his head once and
looked down at Ginny. "Sorry. God, that woman is
irritating."

Ginny raised her eyebrows and smiled faintly. "Didn't


you date her at Hogwarts?"

Draco shuddered and closed his eyes. "Don't remind


me."

Ginny's smile widened just a little. "It was that bad?"

"Worse," Draco grumbled. "She was demanding and


irritating and always underfoot, and she never, ever
shut up." He sighed. "I should find Neville and let him
know about this. If they've discovered Diagon Alley..."
He stopped and shook his head. "I only hope they
haven't made any contacts here. Damn."

"We can stop by the Ministry if you need to," Ginny


offered. "Neville should be at his office today."

"Do you mind?" Draco asked. "He'll need to know."

Ginny shook her head, and they made their way down
Diagon Alley to the Ministry building. She waited in
the foyer while Draco quickly ran downstairs to the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It didn't
take long before he was back up, shaking his head.
"He's not in," he said. "I'll have to call him and tell him.
God," he said, running a hand over his hair. "I can't
believe this. Of all the horrible bad luck...that damned
woman."

"Does Pansy know the people you're after?" Ginny


asked, concerned.

"I don't know," Draco replied. "I don't think so, but I'll
have to ask Neville to check again. We've been
operating on the assumption that the two of them
don't know anyone in the wizarding world. If they've
made contacts among some of the old crowd of
Voldemort's...well, it's not good."

"Can't you ask anyone you used to know?" Ginny


said. "From school, I mean. I imagine they must know
you're here."

Draco shook his head. "Except for Pansy, I've not


seen anyone I went to Hogwarts with. I know Blaise
Zabini is working for the Ministry in some capacity, but
aside from Pansy, he's the only one in my year that
I've heard tell of. I don't even know what happened to
Vincent and Gregory." He laughed faintly. "And it's
never occurred to me to ask, either."

"I'm afraid it's not really good news," Ginny said


apologetically. "Crabbe died during the war, and
Goyle just afterward - he charged a group of Aurors
and they killed him."

"Bright of him," Draco snorted. "He always was an


idiot. Him and Vince both...dumber than a box of
hammers."

Ginny laughed at that, then clapped a hand over her


mouth. "Oh, I shouldn't laugh. It's hardly their fault."

"Don't waste sympathy on them," Draco said. "Neither


of them deserve it. They really were stupid...the only
way Greg ever managed to pass any of his courses is
because I let him crib my notes. They'd do anything
anyone told them to, especially if it involved hitting
something."

"You don't miss them?"

Draco laughed at that. "Not at all, actually. I can't say I


really miss anyone. It isn't as though I had many good
friends among the Slytherin crowd, especially during
seventh year. They'd all pretty much stopped talking
to me by that time."

"Why?" Ginny asked.

"Because I had the chance to become a Death Eater


and gave it up," Draco said. "It was what most of them
dreamed of, being welcomed into Voldemort's inner
circle, and I had the chance and didn't take it. I think
my father must have told some of his friends, who told
their children...probably hoping to have them peer
pressure me into joining." He laughed shortly.
"Needless to say, it didn't work. But it didn't stop them
all from hating me."

"Oh," Ginny said solemnly. "To hear the Trio talk


about it, you'd have thought you were the centre of all
Dark Arts activity within a 100 mile radius of
Hogwarts."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "The Trio?"

Ginny chuckled. "Oh, Harry, Ron and Hermione.


That's what we called them, all the younger
Gryffindors. Capital letter and all. They were an
inseparable unit, and the nickname sort of stuck."

"It suits, oddly enough," Draco smirked. "They do tend


to be a bit of an entity all on their own, don't they?"

Ginny nodded ruefully. "You have no idea."

Draco grinned and opened his mouth to reply, but


before he could, his cell phone rang. He fished it out
of his pocket and answered curtly. "Malfoy." He
paused, and then said, "I was just looking for you.
You'll never guess who I saw today." Ginny guessed it
must be Neville. "Yeah...All right, I'll be there soon,"
he said, then slid his phone back into his pocket and
looked at Ginny apologetically. "I'm going to have to
head back to the Ministry. I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right," she said, hiding her pang of


disappointment. "We can meet up later. I wanted to
ask you, though...will you come for dinner next week?
I'm having the twins over, and I'd like for you to
come." She looked at him hopefully.

Draco paused, clearly debating, then nodded and


smiled at her. "I'd love to." He leaned forward and
kissed her softly. "I am sorry...I was looking forward to
lunch."

"I understand," Ginny replied. "I'll talk to you later."


She hugged him quickly, then watched him make his
way back to the Ministry building, and watched in
amusement as he walked obliviously past a giggling
group of older witches, who eyed him and whispered
to each other behind their hands like schoolgirls. He
stopped at the top of the stairs to the Ministry and
looked back, caught her eye and lifted his hand in
farewell.

Ginny had decided on Saturday for dinner with her


brothers, and Draco arrived at her flat shortly after six,
laden with a few last minute purchase for her. "Do you
need a hand with anything?" he asked, as he set the
wine he'd brought on the table and the dinner rolls on
the counter. He watched as she checked the oven,
prodding at the chicken with her wand to check how
well cooked it was.

"You could help Jamie set the table, that would be a


huge help," Ginny said, straightening up and pushing
a stray curl behind her ear. "I think we'll probably let
the older kids eat in the living room, because there
won't be room in here. I always forget about the
logistics of this when I invite them over. Jamie!" she
called. "Come in here and set the table!"

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "How many children


do your brothers have?" he asked warily.

Ginny grinned. "All of them together, or just the twins?


Fred and Angelina have 4. Calliope's eleven, but she
started Hogwarts this year, so she won't be here
tonight. Tim is nine, Zachary is seven, and Sierra,
who's the baby at five. George and Natalie have one
daughter, Marjorie, and she's 3 - almost four, actually,
she's a year older than Will. Hullo, sweeting, be a
dear and give Draco a hand, will you?" she said to
Jamie, who had popped around the corner. Draco
opened the cutlery drawer and started handing forks
and knives to Jamie, who took them, humming
happily.

"That's a lot of children," Draco said to Ginny as he


pulled the plates out of the cupboard beside the fridge
and carried them to the table.

"You should see my parents' house at Christmas,"


Ginny replied ruefully. "Percy and Penelope have 3
kids too, Ron and Hermione have the twins, plus my
three...there's - " she paused to mentally add them up,
"thirteen in total. Plus all the adults...thank goodness
Charlie's never married, it's a zoo as it is. And that no
one's got it into their heads to have as many children
as Mum did. Thank you dear," she said to Jamie,
who'd finished setting out the cutlery and was
bouncing around in front of the table. He grinned
happily and skittered back out to the living room.

"Must make things fun," Draco said blandly. "All


redheads?"

Ginny shook her head and chuckled. "Of course not.


Marjorie is, and the twins are the image of Ron when
he was their age, but all of Fred and Angelina's have
dark hair of course, and both Pelagia and Pembroke
look exactly like Penelope - " she stopped as Draco
started laughing. "What?"

"Pembroke?" he sputtered. "Who cursed their poor kid


with a name like Pembroke?"

Ginny tried to look stern and failed. "Percy. He


married Penelope Clearwater, and they gave all their
children names that started with P."

"So they named him Pembroke? What was wrong


with naming him Peter, or Paul or anything, really,
that wouldn't result in the poor kid getting his head
stuffed in a toilet the moment he gets to Hogwarts?"
Draco shook his head. "What an awful thing to do."

Ginny gave up on glaring at him and started to giggle.


"I know, it's horrible. I think Penelope thought it
sounded classy, but the poor dear...Hermione already
has to threaten the twins with dire punishments before
they go over to Percy's, to stop the boys teasing the
life out of him. And he's such a sweet little thing, and
so smart."

"What'd they name the girls?" Draco asked, looking


as though he was dreading the answer.

"Pelagia's the older one, she's 11 and Perpetua is 8."

Draco shook his head. "Not as bad as Pembroke, at


least. You can't even make a decent nickname out of
it. Unless Slytherins have changed a great deal since
I left school, the poor boy's going to be hazed
something awful."

Ginny snorted. "I doubt they have. And I think Pansy


Flint's oldest is the same age as Pembroke."

"They let her breed?" Draco asked rudely.

Ginny smirked and nodded. "She's got two boys, and


I'm fairly sure one of them is Pembroke's age. I think
she actually named one of them after you - there were
pictures in the paper when they were born. Poor
things look just like their father."

"Ugh." Draco gave a reflexive shudder. "I'd rather not


think about it."
"I thought you were friends with her," Ginny said
innocently. "You took her to the Triwizard Yule ball,
didn't you?"

"Yes, because taking someone to the Yule Ball was a


sign of everlasting love," Draco snorted. "I went with
her because I had to take someone, and Millicent
Bulstrode was out of the question." Draco made a
face. "My options were limited."

"Couldn't you have asked someone who wasn't in


Slytherin?" Ginny asked. She turned back to the stove
to check on the roast. "I mean, maybe not Gryffindors,
but a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?"

"And have my father disown me? Don't be silly."


Draco straightened his spine and looked down his
nose at her, managing to look a good deal like Lucius
Malfoy. "Malfoys do not associate with anyone below
our social standing," he said haughtily, his grey eyes
cold and hard. "If they're not in Slytherin, they're not
worth knowing."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Really," she said, eyeing


him warily.

Draco relaxed and leaned against the counter. "He


used to say that all the time. Along with 'Malfoys do
not associate with Mudbloods' and any number of
pronouncements that I've torn to shreds over the
years. Just as well he's dead, he'd have disowned me
a hundred times over by now."

"If he weren't, though, you probably wouldn't have


been in the sort of situation where he would have had
to," Ginny pointed out. "Would you?"

"Probably not. I'd have done whatever he wanted


eventually. And probably ended up married to Pansy,
worse luck." Draco couldn't quite keep the revulsion
out of his voice. "He wanted it, I think. He and
Parkinson were talking about it - thank God it never
happened."

"What, you don't think you would have been happy


with her?" Ginny asked slyly.

Draco shot her an evil look. "What do you think?"

"You don't know that you wouldn't have been."

"Oh yes I do," Draco retorted. "You did not have to


share a common room with her for seven years.

"You might have grown to love her." Ginny giggled at


the disgusted look on his face. "You could have
populated the world with little Draco Malfoys, with
your hair and her nose."

Draco shuddered again. "Do you mind? For someone


who's supposed to be noble and brave and all that,
you've got a decidedly evil streak."
Ginny grinned. "I'm not evil."

"Oh yes you are."

"I am not!"

"Are too."

"Am not!"

Draco laughed and grabbed her around the waist,


pulling her against his chest. "You are too," he said
decisively. "But I don't mind."

"I resent that," Ginny said, laughing herself. "I am not


at all evil. I am a nice, sweet, kind woman, who would
never do anything even remotely bad."

"And I don't believe you one bit," Draco retorted,


grinning back, lowering his head to hers and kissing
her softly. She laughed and kissed him back, sighing
with pleasure and wrapping her arms around his
neck.

The door buzzed, and they broke apart. "That'll be


Fred and Angie," Ginny said, disentangling herself
from his arms. "George and Natalie should be here
soon too, if I know them." She went to open the door,
as Sarah and Jamie bounced into the kitchen from the
living room.
It was indeed Fred and Angelina, with a small tornado
of children who raised the decibel level by several
notches as they milled around in the entryway. Draco
stood back and leaned against the fridge as Ginny
and Angelina marshaled the kids into the living room.
He nodded at Fred, who nodded warily back and
started hanging up cloaks in the front closet. Draco
wondered how they had managed to make it all the
way to Ginny's without being noticed; both Fred and
Angelina were wearing full robes, Angelina in sleek
charcoal and Fred in a bright blue that, combined with
his bright red hair, made him look like a mischievous
imp.

"I should have volunteered our place for this,"


Angelina said, once the children were settled in the
living room and the volume level had decreased
slightly. "I always forget how small your flat is."

"It's no trouble," Ginny said. "We'll manage well


enough. Angelina, you remember Draco, don't you?"

"Of course," Angelina said, smiling at Draco. He


smiled back and shook her hand politely. "You played
Seeker for Slytherin."

"I did," Draco said mildly.

"I heard you stopped playing in sixth year," Fred said


to Draco, who nodded. "Why'd you do that?"
Draco shrugged guardedly. "Lost interest."

"Bet your dad was sorry to hear it - oof!" Fred


snapped his mouth shut as Ginny and Angelina
elbowed him at the same time. He looked at them
both with an air of injured innocence. "What?"

Angelina leaned forward and whispered something


fiercely in his ear. Fred scowled back. "I was only
saying..."

"That it's strange I'd quit when my father shelled out


an awful lot of money to get me on the team in the
first place?" Draco asked coolly.

Fred shuffled his feet and coughed as Angelina and


Ginny both glared at him. Angelina poked him in the
arm and whispered distinctly, "You promised me you'd
behave yourself!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fred, why don't you go play


with the kids? Someone's got to keep an eye on Wills,
or he'll launch himself off the back of the couch and
kill himself."

Fred opened his mouth to protest, but the look on


Angelina's face convinced him otherwise, and he
slunk off to the living room. Angelina sighed and
shook her head. "That man. I swear, he gets worse
instead of better every year."
An insulted voice from the living room cried, "I heard
that!"

"I said it loud!" Angelina shot back, as Ginny


snickered. Angelina turned to her. "Natalie and
George should be along soon. I talked to them before
we left, and they said they were leaving right away."

Ginny nodded. "I thought so. Dinner should be about


ready by the time they get here." She leaned over to
check the oven. "It's about ready now, actually. Hope
they don't take too long."

As if on cue, there was a thump from the living room


and a chorus of young voices. They could hear
George greeting the children, and a second thump
that signaled the arrival of Natalie. She appeared
around the corner a moment later, smiling at Ginny
and Angelina. "Hello...sorry we're a bit late."

"You're not at all late, actually," Ginny said, giving the


younger woman a hug. "Angelina and Fred just got
here, and dinner is just about done. Natalie, have you
met Draco Malfoy?"

"I don't think so," Natalie said, holding out her hand,
which Draco shook politely. "It's a pleasure to meet
you."

"Natalie was in Gryffindor, two years behind you, I


think," Angelina said, as George came around the
corner and wrapped an arm around Natalie's
shoulders. He was wearing dark green robes, and
Draco made a mental note that Fred was wearing
blue. He knew of the twins' propensity for playing
tricks, and wouldn't have put it past them to go out of
their way to confuse him. Forewarned was forearmed.

"Malfoy," George said, extending his own hand. Ginny


shot him a look, which George ignored. "How are
you?"

"I'm well, and you?"

"Fine," George said stiffly, and a brief, uncomfortable


silence fell while everyone looked at each other.

Ginny cleared her throat and brushed her hands off. "I
think dinner is about ready, if you want to go get Fred,
George. Nat, want to give me a hand?"

Natalie nodded and stepped forward to help, while


Angelina busied herself in the refrigerator getting
drinks - pumpkin juice for the kids, and butterbeer for
the adults; Draco retreated to the door of the living
room, where George had joined Fred in examining
Jamie's toy cowboys and Indians with great interest.
Once everything was ready to be served, the older
children were delegated to the living room with plates
and glasses and injunctions from Angelina not to spill
anything if they knew what was good for them, a
threat that seemed to roll right over the heads of her
two boys.

Dinner was a noisy and boisterous affair, even with


most of the kids in the other room; Fred and George
hadn't lost their penchant for mischief making and
jokes, and took great delight in teasing the women,
and occasionally throwing barbed comments at
Draco. Draco recognized the tests for what they were,
and he responded politely and refused to rise to the
twins' bait, until Angelina finally elbowed Fred sharply
in the ribs and told him if he didn't stop, he'd be doing
the dishes by hand. Fred glared at her, then glared at
Draco when he caught Draco smirking at him.

Angelina didn't hold Fred to her threat, and once the


children's plates had been cleared from the living
room and the dishes from the table, she and Natalie
and Ginny ushered the men into the living room while
they cleaned up. Fred and George took up seats
beside each other on the couch, while Draco sank
into one of the chairs near the fireplace.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Ginny asked from


the archway.

"I'll have another butterbeer," George said, and Fred


nodded. She looked inquiringly at Draco, who shook
his head, then was back in a moment with the
butterbeers for Fred and George,
She retreated back to the kitchen and Draco watched
her go, smiling slightly. When he turned back to the
room once she'd vanished around the corner, it was
to find two identical faces watching him with identical
expressions of interest and mistrust. Draco raised an
eyebrow. "Yes?"

Fred shook his head. "Nothing," he said. The two of


them looked at each other, then back at Draco. "So,"
he said neutrally. "What have you been doing in
Canada all this time?"

"Working, mostly," Draco replied, leaning back in his


chair. "I've been with the RCMP for 10 years."

"RCMP?" George asked. "What's that?"

"Royal Canadian Mounted Police. National police


force. I don't think England has an equivalent," Draco
replied.

"Interesting career choice," Fred said. "Seems a bit..."

"Plebian?" Draco supplied ironically.

"Something like that," George said. "So what do


Muggle policemen do?"

"Depends on what department you're in. The RCMP


in Calgary handle things like drug trafficking, gang
problems, traffic accidents outside of the city limits.
We work a lot with local police for things like criminals
from other provinces, or other countries. There's a
municipal force for the city, so unless something
happens on an inter-provincial level, we don't have
much to do with the city." Draco shrugged. "We act as
regular police in rural areas where there isn't a
municipal force, though I've never done that. I did get
to my first year in the force catching speeders on the
highway to Banff, though...it wasn't exactly exciting."

"Banff?" George asked. "What's Banff?"

Draco shook his head and settled down to explain.

When Angelina, Natalie and Ginny came back from


doing the dishes, it was to find the three men involved
in an in-depth discussion of the difference between
Auroring and Muggle policing. Angelina sat down next
to Fred on the couch, who moved closer to George to
make room for her. Natalie curled up on the other
chair, and Ginny sat on the floor by Draco's feet,
resting her chin on his knee. He smiled down at her
and rested one hand on the back of her neck while he
explained some point to George, who was listening
avidly.

That earned him another guarded look, from Angelina


this time, who raised her eyebrows when he met her
eyes and smiled slightly. They talked far into the
night, and it was very late, the children all sleeping in
the bedrooms (except Timothy, who had wandered in
when the other children were being put to bed, and
was propped up against Fred's leg and trying
desperately to stay awake), when George caught
Natalie in the middle of a yawn and said, "Time to go
then, love?"

She laughed sheepishly and nodded. "I think so. I'll be


asleep right here any minute now." George smiled
lovingly at her and stood up, extending a hand to lift
Natalie to her feet.

"We should too," Angelina said. "Before we end up


having to carry everyone home." She rested her hand
lightly on Tim's head, who yawned again and
mumbled, "I'm not tired," which prompted a smile from
all the adults.

Ginny stood up and stretched. "I'll help you get the


little ones up," she said, and led Natalie and Angelina
back toward the master bedroom, where Sierra,
Marjorie and Zach had been put to sleep earlier in the
evening. Natalie came out a few moments later, a
sleeping Marjorie hanging limply in her arms.

"She's out like a light," Natalie said softly, rocking


Marjorie slightly. "She won't wake up 'til morning, I
don't think." She nodded at Fred and Draco. "Good
night...tell Ginny dinner was wonderful. Draco, it was
a pleasure to meet you."

Draco nodded and smiled, lifting a hand in farewell as


George threw Floo powder into the fireplace in the
living room and Natalie stepped through. He nodded
goodbye to the two men and followed her, stepping
into the flames and saying "White Cottage" - the name
of their small property in Malton - clearly.

Angelina appeared a moment later, ushering two very


sleepy children in front of her, and Fred headed into
the kitchen, followed by Draco. Fred shook Draco's
hand while Angelina put Sierra's cloak on and Tim
chivvied a sleepy-eyed Zach into his, yawning widely
himself. "You should come 'round the shop one of
these days," Fred said. "We've got some gag Muggle
things, but I don't know how accurate they are. Gin
doesn't like to pick things up for us, for some reason."
Ginny made an elaborate noise of disgust behind his
back, and Fred grinned over his shoulder at her. "You
should come round and have a look, tell us if they're
good enough to pass muster."

"Isn't that illegal?" Ginny said pointedly. "Charming


Muggle items? What if they get back into Muggle
hands?"

"It's not if they're clearly joke gifts, George and I


asked Dad. And anyway, they're not Muggle-baiters,
they're just gag gifts. Like our joke wands, only
Muggle things, wallets and those fancy picture boxes
and the like." Fred turned back to Draco. "You should
stop by."
"I might," Draco replied. "Where's your shop at?"

"We've got a new space up near Flourish and Blotts,


past Gringotts. I'll give you the address, or you can
get it off Ginny. Or ask Neville, he knows where it's at.
Bring him along, we'll make him some Canary
Creams." Fred flashed an impish grin as Angelina
handed him his cloak. With a nod at Draco, he pecked
Ginny on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner, Ginny, you're
a love."

Ginny shut the door behind them with an audible sigh


of relief. "Whew. I'd forgotten how much work they
can be."

Draco leaned against the half-wall separating the


kitchen nook from the doorway. "That was
interesting."

Ginny eyed him half-suspiciously. "You didn't mind


them? I was worried..."

"That we would get along like oil and water?" Draco


smiled wryly. "They're not that bad. Though it was a
unique experience, being treated like I was a bomb
about to go off by Natalie and Angelina."

Ginny blushed slightly. "Sorry, 'bout that."

He shook his head and held his hand out to her,


which she took, pushing herself away from the door.
"They did stop after a while. I was actually expecting
Fred and George to be a bit more...unreasonable."

Ginny laughed and slipped her arms around his waist.


"Thinking they'd be like Ron?" she asked, and giggled
as he nodded. "Ron's a special sort of stubborn. The
twins are a bit more easygoing, and I imagine they
think that if threatening you didn't scare you off, that
your intentions must be good."

Draco chuckled at that. "They told you about that, did


they?"

"Angelina did. She thought it was amusing." Ginny


shook her head. "They're terrible."

"Rest assured, I took it very much to heart," Draco


said, his eyes dancing. He leaned forward to kiss her
softly, then sighed. "I should probably go."

"You don't have to," Ginny said, almost inaudibly.

"I - " He stopped and searched her face. She gazed


back steadily, brushing her hands along his waist in a
smooth caress, the casualness of her tone belied by
the heat in her eyes. He smiled slowly, calling an
answering smile from her. "All right."

Early June, 2011

Neville sighed and rubbed at his forehead, where a


fierce, throbbing ache had settled behind his eyes. He
let his eyes roam over Ginny's kitchen without resting
on anything, without meeting the worried eyes of the
people gathered. The room was silent, the air thick
with the tense strain of worry and grief. Finally he
tilted his head back to gaze at the ceiling and said,
"I'm going to call Malfoy."

He didn't think Harry could get any more tense, but


the other man's shoulders seemed to ratchet up
another notch at the name. "Why?"

"Because he's better at this sort of thing that I am,"


Neville said quietly. "Because I'm willing to bet he'll
take one look at that note and know what's going on.
And I don't. I really don't know what to do."

Harry's voice was like a saw. "I don't want him


involved in this."

"Bit late for that," Ron muttered quietly.

Ginny made a sound that might have been a sob.


Neville winced in sympathy. "I know how all of you
feel, believe me, I do. But I'm at a loss here...I'm
sorry, Harry, but I'm going to call him." He pushed
back his chair and moved to the door, pulling his cell
phone out of the pocket of his robe.

He paced back and forth in the hall as he dialed


Draco's number quickly and waited, the phone
pressed tightly to his ear. After 3 rings, Draco picked
up.

"Malfoy," he said curtly.

"It's me," Neville said. "We have a problem."

"Big or little?"

"Big. Jamie and Sarah have been kidnapped."

There was a silence so long that Neville worried he'd


lost the connection. Then: "Shit," softly. There was a
small pop, and Draco appeared in the hall next to
Neville, hair loose and disheveled, as if he'd just woke
up. "Shit," he said again.

Neville blinked, then decided not to be surprised that


Draco had apparently replaced his wand. He folded
up the phone and put it back in his pocket, and began
to fill his partner in quickly. "It happened about 3
hours ago. Gin was at the store, she says she turned
around to pick up Will, took her eyes off them for all of
2 seconds, turned back and they were gone. A note
and a picture showed up to Harry via owl 30 minutes
later and that's all we've got to go on."

"Shit."

"Any time you want to add something constructive to


this conversation..."
"Fuck you. How's Ginny?

"She's a wreck, as you can imagine. Harry isn't being


terribly helpful."

"Why am I not surprised? What's the picture of?"

"Of the place they want Harry to meet them with the
ransom money."

"How much do they want?"

"Five million Galleons."

"Shit."

"You keep saying that. Does it mean what you think it


means?" Neville ducked away as Draco swiped at
him. "There's a small hitch."

"Only one?"

"Very funny. Three, actually. The first problem is that


we don't have five million Galleons - "

"I do. What else?"

"I always knew you'd come in useful someday.


Second problem is we don't know who the kidnappers
are, since we don't have enough clues to point us in
any sort of direction to figure out who's behind this."

"Great."

"The last problem is that we don't know where the


place in the picture is."

"Oh, God." Draco paced in a small circle and pushed


his hands through his hair. "Show me this picture."

Neville hesitated.

"What?" Draco asked irritably.

"The whole Weasley clan is in there...and Harry."

"And I'll bet they'll all be just overjoyed to see me. Ask
me if I care, Longbottom." Draco pushed past Neville
and opened the front door, striding into the kitchen. A
sea of heads turned to face him; the entire Weasley
family had assembled on short notice, crowded into
Ginny's small kitchen. Angelina and Natalie were
sitting on the living room couch with Percy and his
wife Penelope. The twins were sitting at the kitchen
table opposite Ginny, and Charlie, the burn scars
standing out on his heavily muscled forearms, was
leaning against the archway to the living room. Arthur
and Molly were standing against one of the counters,
Ron and Hermione at the other, and Harry was pacing
in the small space left over in the middle of the
kitchen. Percy stood up when Neville and Draco came
in, and came to stand behind Charlie, the women
standing as well to look over his shoulder.

Draco took one look at Ginny, sitting silently at the


table, and went to her, kneeling by her chair and
taking her hands in his. She looked terrible, like she'd
been crying for hours, and had finally run out of tears,
her eyes rimmed in red and her face blotchy. His
heart ached just seeing her. As she looked into his
eyes he could see that she was nearing the end of
her strength. "It'll be all right," he whispered softly,
and she nodded without conviction. He wanted
nothing more than to take her in his arms, but didn't
quite dare, with Harry and half the Weasley brothers
glaring daggers at him. Draco knew Harry hadn't
talked to Ginny since her blowup with Sirius (and
Draco was thanking his lucky stars that he wasn't
here), and could imagine how thrilled the other man
was to see him.

Neville came over to the table and pushed the note


and the picture toward Draco. He stood up and picked
up the picture first. It had been taken with Muggle film,
and showed an unassuming park, with a path running
through the bottom of the frame, and trees
surrounding a small picnic area. Draco stared at it for
a long moment, his expression unreadable. Neville
eyed him worriedly; he wasn't sure what that look
meant, and could only hope it was good. "Well? What
do you think?" he said finally, unable to wait any
longer.
Draco raised his eyes to Neville's and shook his head
slightly. Neville's shoulders slumped. He had been so
sure that Draco would know. Draco placed the picture
back on the table and leaned forward on his hands,
head down and eyes closed.

The rest of the Weasleys were looking from Neville to


Draco and back. Finally Arthur spoke up. "So...what
now? If - if we can't pay these people, whoever they
are, what will happen? What do they want?"

Draco didn't raise his head. "Money," he said


succinctly.

"Money?" Harry repeated incredulously. "If they


wanted money, why didn't they pick some place we
recognized? Somewhere we could meet them to give
them the damn money, if that's what they want badly
enough to take my children?"

"Greed." Draco raised his head to meet Harry's gaze.


"Because they want more money than they're asking
for. They'll probably do this two or three times, upping
the ransom each time, trying to milk you for all they
can get."

"I don't have that much money!" Harry hissed, and ran
his hands through his hair, making it stand on end.
He, like Ginny, looked terrible, pale and worried.
"Dammit! I'm not exactly hurting for cash, but I don't
have that sort of money! And what happens if we
don't figure it out...if we don't pay?"

"It depends," Draco said steadily. "On how much


nerve they have. They may eventually give up and
simply hand over the children, we may find them,
or..." he left the sentence hanging. Molly made a
small sound and pressed her hand to her mouth, and
Ginny swayed slightly in her chair and closed her
eyes, but didn't say anything.

"It won't come to that," Neville said quickly. "With any


luck, we will figure out where this is, and then catch
them when they come to collect."

Draco nodded, then leaned forward and reached out


to slide the note toward himself. His hand stopped an
inch from the paper, and he frowned, lifting his hand
away. "It's spelled."

"What?" Half a dozen voices repeated, and the corner


of Draco's mouth quirked up as he looked around the
room.

"The paper is spelled," he repeated. "Whoever sent


that note, put some sort of spell on it." Draco let out
an amused snort as everyone drew their wands.

Ron leaned forward and poked at the paper with the


tip of his wand. "What sort of spell?"
"I don't know," Draco said patiently. "But there is one."

"Hermione?" Neville raised his eyebrows at her and


gestured at the paper in invitation. She stepped
forward and repeated Ron's gesture, prodding at the
paper with her wand, whispering under her breath.
There was a faint whooshing noise, and the paper
began to glow blue.

"Well that's interesting," she said softly, and touched


the paper again. A small spray of sparks erupted from
the tip of her wand, winking out quickly and changing
the tint of the glow from blue to a soft green. She
frowned, and whispered something else, waving her
wand above the paper. The glow deepened and then
seemed to send out feelers, to Harry, Ginny, Ron,
Arthur and Molly. "Very interesting. It's some sort of
communication spell, and it's keyed itself to the first
people who touched it." She gestured to the feelers of
light. "One way, obviously, so they can hear us, but
we can't hear them." She tapped her wand against
the palm of her hand, looking thoughtful. "I would
guess that it allows the caster of the spell to hear
whatever the first five who touched it are saying. Not
a spell I'm familiar with, but I could hazard a guess as
to how it works."

"Could you get rid of it?" Neville asked.

"Could you reverse it?"


Hermione looked up at Draco, startled. "I...I don't
know. I'd have to know for sure what sort of spell it is
before I could try that."

"It's a temero defero spell," Draco said, looking at her


with shuttered eyes. "If that helps."

Ron's head jerked up and he glared at Draco


suspiciously. "Isn't that a Dark Arts spell?"

"Ron," Hermione said in exasperation. "Don't start."

"In fact, it might be a good idea if you didn't talk at all.


Anyone who's keyed to it." Neville said quickly, as
Ron shot him a dirty look.

"He's right, dear," Hermione said to Ron, who


snapped his mouth shut and glowered. She looked at
Draco. "If it is a temero defero spell, then I don't think
it can be reversed, but I can take it off."

Draco and Neville both nodded, and she waved her


wand over the paper again, whispering quickly, then
tapped the paper and said "finite incanteum" loudly.
The glow around the paper intensified, then faded
away. Hermione looked up and nodded at them. "That
should do it."

Draco reached over and picked up the note, reading it


quickly, brow furrowed. The note itself was short and
to the point:
Dear ,

You have exactly 2 days to meet us at the place you


see in this picture with five million Galleons in
untraceable coins. We will expect you at 12 midnight.
Come alone if you wish to see your children alive. If
you are not at the appointed place at the appointed
time, we will be forced to resort to sterner measures,
and our price for the safety of your children will
unfortunately rise. Please don't try to contact the
authorities, as we will know if you do and will be
forced to take appropriate measures.

We look forward to making your acquaintance.

He held it for a long moment, looking thoughtful, then


handed Neville the piece of paper. "What does that
remind you of?"

Neville took the note and looked at it with a


considering frown. Finally he looked up and shook his
head in bewilderment. "I don't know what you mean."

"The pendant," Draco said meaningfully, while


everyone looked at him strangely.

Hermione blinked, then her eyes went wide as she


caught on. "The one that you brought to me!"

Neville's jaw dropped in astonishment. "Oh...oh.


You're right."

Draco allowed himself a tight, satisfied smile. "And


now we know who."

"Jesus," Neville breathed. "Audacious little bastards. I


guess they did get bored of robbing banks." He
ignored the quizzical looks and leaned over to look at
the picture again. "Now all we have to do is figure out
where. You really don't recognize it?"

Draco shook his head. "It looks familiar, but I'm not
sure. If it is them, then at a guess, they've decided to
pick somewhere close to home for this little ploy.
None of you would recognize it, of course, which
would give them the opportunity to try again, for more
cash. I'm betting it's somewhere in Alberta, and
probably Calgary. I'd need to show it to some people
to be sure, though." Neville nodded and pushed the
photo back toward him, and Draco picked it up,
tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket. Harry
glared as if he wanted badly to protest, but held his
silence.

"So what now?" Arthur Weasley spoke up from his


corner of the kitchen, where he stood with his arms
around Molly, who had clearly been weeping right
along with Ginny.

Neville looked at him. "I'll go down to the Ministry and


talk to Cecil, and once we sort out the details, like the
money - " he looked at Draco for confirmation, who
nodded, " - and all of that straightened out on this
end, and provided Malfoy is right and it is in Canada,
then we'll go there and sort things out there."

"And what about the money?" Harry demanded. "I


don't have that much, and I highly doubt that the
Ministry is just going to hand you 5 million galleons."

Neville looked at Draco, who pressed his lips together


and looked exactly as if he were trying not to roll his
eyes. "Actually," he said tightly. "The money is not
going to come from the Ministry. It will come from the
Malfoy estate." He smiled thinly at Harry, who glared
daggers at him and took a quick breath, obviously
about to tell Draco what he could do with his money.
Hermione reached over, tapped Harry on the arm,
and shook her head slightly. Harry glanced at her and
set his jaw, but he looked away from Draco and didn't
say anything.

"But the note said Harry has to go alone," Ginny said


tensely from her seat at the table. "How are you going
to do this? Is it going to be safe?"

Draco and Neville looked at each other, then Draco


knelt beside her chair and took her hands again. "If
we're right about who's done this and where they are,
it's just a matter of getting the manpower and the
details sorted out. It's perfectly safe, and we'll get
Sarah and Jamie back soon. They won't be in any
danger, I promise."

"Then I want to go too." Ginny raised her chin


defiantly. "I want to be there, if Harry gets to go.
They're my children, my babies. I want to be there to
take them home."

"Of course," Draco said simply. Ginny, clearly


expecting to have to fight, opened her mouth as if to
argue, then closed it again. Her fingers tightened on
Draco's, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears,
although they didn't spill over onto her cheeks.

"Thank you," she said softly.

The room erupted with male voices. "You can't expect


her to go - "

"She has to stay here, where it's safe!"

"Don't be a fool, you can't take Ginny into that sort of


situation!"

"What if something happens?"

Neville raised his voice, trying to calm the Weasley


brothers. "It'll be fine - "

Draco grinned wryly at her. "And now I have 6 - no, 7


men lined up to kill me if anything does happen," he
said, his voice low so that only she could hear him
under the room full of people yelling. "8, if you want to
include Neville." She smiled tremulously back.

"I'll protect you," she said, just as quietly, and his


smile deepened.

"It'll be fine, Ginny. I swear it will. We'll get them back,


and everything will be fine." Draco said seriously. He
gazed intently into her eyes, his fingers entwined with
hers. "Believe me. Everything is going to be all right."

"I do. I believe you," she whispered, and this time a


tear escaped from her eye and tracked slowly down
her cheek. Draco raised his hand and gently brushed
it away. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into
his arms, kiss her breathless and never let her go, but
he realized it was probably not a good idea right at
the moment, with her entire family in the room arguing
loudly over her safety. He squeezed her hands gently
and stood up, ignoring Harry, who was giving him the
evil eye.

"We should go," he said to Neville, who was still


arguing with Charlie and Arthur. "We've got a lot to
do."

Neville nodded and made his way around the table to


the door. "I'll go find Cecil right away. You going to
head to Gringotts?"

Draco nodded. "Then I'll go home and talk to the


RCMP, see if anyone there recognizes the place. It's
still about noon over there. Once you're done here,
apparate over and we'll get everything organized on
that end, since I need you to talk to the Canadian
MoM for me. You've still got that trace on my phone,
so you'll know where to go."

Neville's mouth twitched as he recalled the last time


he'd used the trace. "All right," he said, then turned to
Harry. "I'll come get you and Gin when I'm ready to
leave. Hopefully it won't be long, probably tomorrow
evening or so. Try to get some rest in the meantime,"
Neville said as Draco met him at the door. They both
stepped into the hall, followed by Ginny, Harry and
Ron, while the rest of the Weasley clan crowded the
doorway. Draco turned to look at Ginny, who was
leaning against the wall, her face white and drawn.

Draco looked at her a moment, then muttered "fuck


it," under his breath, and pulled her into his arms,
hugging her tightly. "It'll be all right," he breathed into
her hair, then leaned back, took her face in his hands
and kissed her. "It will," he said fiercely, and stepped
back, ignoring Harry, who looked ready to kill. Ginny
brushed the back of his hand with her fingers and
smiled at him, her first real smile since the children
had vanished. Draco smiled back, and apparated
away.

~*~
Chapter Ten

The temptation
To take the precious things we have apart
To see how they work
Must be resisted for they never fit together again
If this is rain let it fall on me and drown me
If these are tears let them fall
- Must I Paint You A Picture, Billy Bragg

Ginny stared at the place where Draco had


disappeared for a long time before turning back to the
door. Her family had retreated back into the flat, but
Harry was standing at the door, watching her and
looking furious.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"Don't." Ginny said curtly, hugging her arms to her


chest. "Just...don't, Harry. Don't start. I really don't
want have this conversation right now." She pushed
past him and walked back into the kitchen to sink
back into the chair she'd left.

Harry followed. "You don't know anything about why


he's come back, Ginny. He's not a nice person!"

"Harry, it has been twelve years since you last saw


Draco. He is not 17 anymore and neither are you. I
hardly think you're in any position to judge what sort
of person he is now."
"I'm not in a position to judge?" Harry repeated. "I'm
not the one who's snogging him in hallways!"

Ginny glared at him coldly. "My relationship with


Draco is not up for discussion. I don't care if you don't
like it Harry, I am not talking about it now. "

"I think right now is a perfect time to talk about it,"


Harry snapped back.

"In case you haven't noticed, Harry, two of our


children are missing! I am not going to entertain your
desire to play overprotective husband right now, I
have more than enough to worry about!"

"Yes, and maybe if you'd been paying attention, there


would be nothing to worry about," Harry said acidly.

Ginny went white. She stood up so suddenly her chair


fell over backwards, and slammed her hands down on
the table. "Don't you dare try to insinuate this is
somehow my fault!" she shouted. "You weren't there!
Just like you haven't been there for the entire ten
years of our marriage! There was always something
you had to do, the wonderful Harry Potter who can do
no wrong, out saving the world or winning the
Quidditch Cup or setting Seeker records, or rescuing
your beloved Cannons from the basement of their
stupid league with your fantastic coaching! And now
you're going to sit there and yell at me for having the
gall to want to spend time with someone who doesn't
happen to be you? Who's actually interested in what I
do all day, even if it's just sitting around playing with
the same kids you don't have 2 words for most of the
time? Who adores my children, and who adores me?
To hell with you, Harry Potter! In case you've failed to
notice, my babies would be here right now if it weren't
for you! Those bastards didn't kidnap them because
they were Ginny Weasley's children, did they?"

A horrified silence fell over the kitchen as Harry and


Ginny glared at each other. Harry opened his mouth
and closed it again, then spun on his heel and stalked
up the hall. No one else moved an inch as he strode
away. The sound of a door slamming in the hall was
very loud in the silent kitchen. Ginny's shoulder's
slumped forward and she bent her head, her hair
falling around her face. Ron made a movement
toward the hall, but Hermione caught his arm and
shook her head at him.

"Don't, Ron," Ginny said, her voice rusty. "Don't." She


took a deep breath and raised her head, one hand
pressed against her mouth, then walked quietly out of
the kitchen after Harry.

He was in Jamie's room, sitting on the edge of the


bed with his hands twisted in the sheets, staring at the
floor with a mixture of anger and pain written on his
face. She crossed to him and pulled a small stool over
so she could sit in front of him. "Harry - "
"Is that what you think?" Harry asked harshly, not
taking his eyes off the floor. "That I'm a bad father?
That this is all my fault? That I wanted this to
happen?"

Ginny shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts.


"No...no, Harry, I...I think that there are things that
both of us would have done differently if we had the
chance. You're not a bad father, but it's not a priority
for you, is it? I know you love them, and that you want
the world for them, but you've never made them the
centre of your life. Or me either."

Harry's jaw clenched, but he didn't speak.

"And I knew that, Harry. I knew when we got married


what I was getting into. So many people have claims
on parts of you, and there are people who will always
be closer to you than I am, like Ron and Hermione, or
Sirius. And when I was 18, it seemed like enough, to
have just a corner of your heart." Ginny stopped for a
moment and bit her lip, looking down at her hands. "I
knew then that being married to The Boy Who Lived
would put me and later the kids on some sort of
pedestal, make us...targets for all the people who
want to have a claim on you, for every greedy bastard
who comes along wanting an autograph or an 'I met
Harry Potter' moment. But that's not your fault. It's just
a part of who you are. And you're a part of who I am,
and you always will be." She raised her head again
and stared at him, at the curve of his neck, the black
hair curling slightly around the collar of his robes,
willing him to understand, willing him to just look at
her. "Please, Harry. I shouldn't have said that, it
wasn't fair to you, and I'm sorry. This is no more your
fault for being who you are than it is mine for being
careless with the children. I don't think it would have
mattered to those...those bastards if I had Jamie and
Sarah tied to me, they'd have tried to take them
anyway. And I should have been watching, or paying
more attention, or - "

"Gin, no..." Harry finally raised his head to look at her,


emerald eyes bright with emotion. His expression
changed as he did so, the anger draining out of it and
leaving only pain. "It's not your fault, you couldn't have
known." He looked at her for a long moment, then
shook his head. "I know that I haven't been the kind of
husband you should have had, or the kind of dad the
kids deserve. I can't blame you for stopping loving
me." He sighed heavily and tilted his head back. "I
deserved that."

"Harry, I do love you. I have loved you since I was 10


years old, and I've never stopped. I probably never
will. But it wasn't enough, no matter how hard I tried to
make it be enough. For either of us. And that's not
your fault either, or mine. No one can say we didn't try
to make things work...all we did was try." Ginny
stopped and just looked at him for a moment, the
black head bent back toward the ceiling, clear skin
stretched over the planes of a face she knew better
than her own. He looked so young - in all the years
since Hogwarts, he'd barely changed at all. She
reached out one hand gently and touched his fingers.
"And I am so sorry, for everything that's happened."

His hand turned in hers and clutched at her fingers,


and he lowered his eyes to hers. Ginny thought her
heart would break at the look in his eyes. "I'm sorry
too. For everything. I never wanted to put you through
this, or the kids...God!" Harry's voice broke suddenly,
and his face crumpled. Ginny slid from the stool to the
bed to hold him in her arms. Harry wrapped his arms
almost painfully tight around her waist as he buried
his head in her shoulder, chest heaving. "I'm so
sorry," he choked.

"I know, love, I know," she whispered, rubbing his


back softly. The tears didn't last long - Harry hated
showing emotion in front of anyone. He calmed after a
few minutes and they sat in comfortable silence, her
arms wrapped around his shoulders, his head on her
shoulder. Ginny absently smoothed his hair, faintly
amused at the way they seemed to automatically
adjust to each other, as if the years they had spent
sharing a home and a bed had lent them special
knowledge of how best to be comfortable with each
other. It was something that she didn't have with
Draco yet; that ability to fit themselves to each other
almost unconsciously.
Ginny ran her fingers through Harry's unruly black
locks and smiled. She remembered the very first time
they'd done this, curled up in a chair in the living room
of the Burrow, breathless and exhilarated with the
mere presence of each other. They had sat for hours
that day, the house miraculously empty of people,
wrapped around each other, kissing sometimes, but
mostly just caught up in the sheer pleasure of being
able to touch. She'd played endlessly with his hair,
thrilled to be able to give in to the urges she'd had for
years, to smooth down the cowlick at the back, to tidy
the messy bits with her fingers. Sarah's hair was the
same untamable mass... Ginny's hand stilled, and she
bit her lip, fighting tears. She was sick of crying. She
wasn't going to do it anymore. She wouldn't haveto
anymore.

After a long silence, Harry shifted his head so that it


lay in the hollow of her neck. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing him?" Harry


asked again. "And why Malfoy, of all people? I mean,
I know we're split up, but why'd you have to pick
him?"

"I meant to tell you, honestly, but I could never find


the right time, or the right way to put it." Ginny shifted
her weight slightly. "And then you ran into him at the
flat, and it was just... I couldn't figure out a way to tell
you without you being furious, so I put it off again and
again..." she let her breath out in a short sigh. "I left it
too late, obviously."

"You were afraid I'd be angry?" Harry snorted softly


and straightened up, pulling away so that he could
look at her. "And finding out by having him appear in
your living room like he owned the place made it
better."

"I am sorry about that," Ginny said quietly. "That


wasn't fair. And as for why...well. I don't know, really.
It just sort of happened."

"What, you just met him and thought 'I'll sleep with
Draco Malfoy, just for a lark'?"

Ginny made a face at him. "No, I did not. It was


months before we even went on a real date, thank
you very much. I ran into him at the supermarket, and
we went for coffee, and he was nice to the children,
so I gave him my number. And like I said, it was two
months before we even went on our first real date."

"But why?" Harry shook his head in bewilderment.


"He's...he's Malfoy. He's horrible."

"He's not horrible. He really has changed," Ginny


said. Harry made a muffled noise. "I mean it. I know
he might seem the same to you, but he honestly has.
Do you think Neville would have been working with
him all this time if he hadn't?"

"I wondered about that," Harry said. "Considering how


evil Draco was to Neville at Hogwarts, I was surprised
he'd be willing to put up with him."

"Neville puts up with him because Draco is a different


person," Ginny said. "He's not the same now as he
was when we all went to Hogwarts."

"He doesn't seem that different to me," Harry said


derisively.

"Well he wouldn't, he doesn't like you. Some things


haven't changed. But to everyone else, he's a lot
nicer, and he's not as mean as he used to be. He
spent all this time living as a Muggle...he stopped
doing magic, stopped having any sort of contact with
the wizarding world. It changed him for the better. He
even admits it." She stopped and glanced at Harry's
incredulous expression with a small smile. "And he's
much better looking."

Harry glared at her and sputtered. "That's not...he's


not...he isn't that good looking."

Ginny's smile got a little wider. "Oh no? That's not


what Hermione says."

"Hermione?" Harry looked horribly betrayed.


"Or any of the girls." Ginny stopped again and smiled
sweetly at him. "Or Neville."

Harry choked and then laughed. "I wonder what he'd


say to that if he knew."

"He does know, and he doesn't say anything,


actually," Ginny shot back. "Neville would die of
embarrassment, so Draco doesn't bring it up."

Harry raised his eyebrows skeptically. "That seems


awfully civil."

Ginny made an exasperated noise. "Which is exactly


what I mean when I said he's changed. He is civil,
usually. Even to you. Do you really think he'd offer to
just give you 5 million galleons if he were still the
person you think he is?"

"I don't know how you can be so sure," he said


dubiously. "I mean, he may not have been a Death
Eater, but that doesn't excuse the fact that he was a
spoilt brat and tried to get us in trouble all the time. Or
that he tried to get Hagrid sacked, or me and Ron
expelled, or even the fact that his father nearly got
you killed when you were eleven."

Ginny gritted her teeth. "I'm just saying that you can't
judge him based on what happened in the past. It's
not fair, because he's not that person anymore. You
might at least make an effort to get over things that
happened twelve years ago."

Harry leaned back and studied her carefully, a frown


creasing his features. Ginny met the disapproval in
his gaze steadily. Finally he shook his head. "I just
don't like it."

Ginny bit her lip, but didn't lower her eyes. "Harry, you
don't have to."

He glanced away quickly, but not before she saw him


flinch. "I know," he said softly.

Ginny closed her eyes briefly, fighting against the


ache in her chest. She hadn't believed Sirius, or
Draco, for that matter, when they had told her he still
loved her. She had always believed - always - that
she cared more for Harry than he for her. Now that
was reversed, and her regret was a palpable thing.
"Harry, I'm sorry."

He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes. "I am too," he


said, so quietly she almost couldn't hear the words.
"Oh, Ginny. I am too."

The heat settled around him like a weight the moment


Neville apparated into the tiny kitchen, following
Draco's locator charm. He'd come from a small
apparition platform near Saskatoon - it wasn't really
safe to apparate too far, so the International
Wizarding Union, set up not long after the end of the
War, had established such platforms across most of
North America and across the Atlantic, to provide
points to aim for when traveling long distances.
Neville had apparated in stages, hopping from
England to Iceland to Sault Ste Marie to Saskatoon
and then to Draco's charm in Calgary. He was
subconsciously expecting it to be cold despite the fact
that it was summer, so the sweltering late-afternoon
heat was something of a shock.

Neville had arrived in a small kitchen, with a set of


white cupboards, violently yellow walls and white
gingham curtains on the window above the table.
There was a sink and counter along the wall with a
doorway to the rest of the house, from what Neville
could see, and a fridge and stove side-by-side on the
wall he was facing. A table was set against the free
wall, under the window, and a closet along the last
wall, beside two stairs down to a landing and an open
door, presumably to the outside; Neville was
crammed into the space between the table and the
sink. It was a cramped space, made even smaller by
a giant of a man standing in front of the open
refrigerator, a beer bottle in one hand, staring at
Neville open-mouthed.

The man had coal black hair in two long braids


hanging over his shoulders, a nose that would have
done an eagle proud, and was dressed in faded blue
jean shorts and a short-sleeved checkered shirt that
was hanging open at the front, exposing an
impressive expanse of smooth copper skin. He
probably topped Ron, the tallest man Neville knew, by
at least an inch or two, and he wasn't so much
muscular as solid, dwarfing everything around him
with his sheer presence. Neville gulped and opened
his mouth, but the man recovered first.

"You must be Neville," he said, deep voice remarkably


steady for someone who had just watched someone
else appear in his kitchen out of thin air. "Hi." He
extended a large hand over the refrigerator door,
which Neville took, somewhat shakily.

"Yes...um. I think I may have the wrong house?"


Neville said questioningly. But he couldn't have; that
was Draco's cell phone sitting on the table, he was
sure. He eyed the man nervously. So much for not
letting the Muggles know about wizardry.

"Nope, you got the right place. I'm John, I'm Dray's
roommate. He told me you were coming, I just wasn't
expecting you to be all Star Trek-like, popping in out
of nowhere. That was actually..." he stopped to
consider, "pretty damn cool. Wanna beer?"

"Er..."

"Or not, since you're technically on duty, right? We've


got water, Coke, Sprite, lemonade...I'd offer tea, but
it's really too damn hot. No coffee, I'm afraid, Dray
doesn't drink it and I hate instant." He stepped around
the refrigerator door and shut it, looking inquiringly at
Neville, who shook his head.

"Actually, about Malfoy - " Neville began hesitantly.

"Oh, he's not here." John shrugged. "He'll be home


pretty soon, I think. He was at the cop shop all night,
and all of this morning too. C'mon outside while we
wait...this place is a sauna. Still hot outside, but at
least there's a breeze."

John sauntered down the two steps and out the back
door. Neville watched him go in bemusement, then
shrugged mentally and followed. John seemed to be
taking his precense with remarkable aplomb, and all
things considered, it was better than the alternative.

Neville stepped out onto a small wooden deck


screened by a honeysuckle hedge on one side and a
huge poplar tree on the other. A plastic deck table
and covered chairs were set in the shade, a large
green umbrella casting more shade over the chairs.
The yard was large and extremely well kept, with neat
picket fences separating it from the neigbouring yards
and the alley, and flowers in pots on the two deck
steps down to the grass. There was a single car
garage at the bottom of the yard, with white plastic
siding and dark-blue window trim that matched the
house, and what looked like a vegetable garden
beside it.
John waved Neville into a chair and sat down himself,
stretching out long legs and resting his beer bottle on
his chest. He gazed at his new houseguest and
smiled, black eyes sparkling. "You sure you don't
want anything to drink?"

Neville shook his head again. "No, thank you, I'm


fine."

John shrugged. "Suit yourself. So you're Dray's


partner? He's told me a little about you, but not
much."

"Yes, I am," Neville said cautiously. "We've been


working together for over a year now on this case."

"Yeah...Draco's been chasing that little punk for ages.


If it's the same guy, I hope you catch him."

"So do I," Neville admitted. "It's been the most


frustrating case I've ever had, waiting about for them
to do something wrong. They've been surprisingly
good at covering their tracks."

John shook his head. "Sneaky little bastards. I'm


surprised that they'd have the nerve to actually kidnap
someone...from what Draco's told me about the one
kid, he's never been all that nervy, unless he had
somebody backing him up and he was sure he could
get away with it."
Neville sat up straight. "Really?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Yeah. When he was still


here in Canada, he was involved in all sorts of petty
crimes and stuff, but nothing too serious, and the kid
never let anything happen that would point to him
directly. From everything I've heard about him, he'd
never do anything he wasn't very sure he could get
away with. I figure Draco would have told you that."

"He did, but not in so many words." Neville frowned


thoughtfully. "Makes me wonder. There's a lot of
people in England who would dearly love to get back
at Harry for any number of things, but are either afraid
to try anything, or don't want to dirty their hands."

"That's typical," John said. "I tell ya, people in general


make me shake my head. Scratch beneath the
surface and we're all basically bastards."

Neville smiled at that. "You don't have a very high


opinion of people."

"You wouldn't either, if you were in my line of work.


You'd be amazed at what people try and get away
with."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a treaty lawyer for the Blackfoot Nation. Native


rights, mostly," John said as Neville looked confused.
"Land disputes, dealing with the government on all
sorts of stuff, but it mostly boils down to land. I do a
little legal advising on the side, but not that
often...mostly because I get too irritated with people."

"Ah," Neville said. "That sounds interesting."

John laughed. "It's pretty damn dull most of the time.


Lots of reading, not much in the way of courtroom
drama. Dray gets all the fun stuff. Chasing people,
tracking people down, catching crooks, that sort of
thing. I just read." John gave an exaggerated sigh.
"It's so boring."

"Why didn't you become a police officer then?" Neville


asked.

"'Cause I was young and naive and wanted to change


the whole world, not just a part of it. Still do...I just
didn't know changing the world would be so
unexciting. Of course," he said with a sly grin, "I'm
smarter than your average policeman. I'd have been
wasted as a cop."

There was an elaborate noise of disgust from the door


to the house, and Neville jumped. John just grinned.
"Oki ni-kso-ko-wa, ksik-kihk-ini," he said lightly to
Draco, who scowled back.

"Hello," he said in reply, and nodded at Neville.


"Longbottom." Draco pushed himself away from the
doorframe and pulled an extra chair to the table from
the edge of the deck, flopping into it. He was in
uniform, wearing black pants with a broad yellow
stripe up either leg, calf-high black leather boots and
a light blue short-sleeved shirt with chevrons on both
shoulders and Draco's last name above the breast
pocket, which was untucked and partially unbuttoned.
He looked...edible. Neville felt his mouth go slightly
dry, and he blinked, averting his eyes. Draco tossed
his hat onto the table, stretched his legs out in front of
him and sighed. Then he got up, unbuckled the utility
belt from around his waist, tossed that onto the
ground beside his chair and flopped back down again,
groaning. "Just for the record, I really, really, really
hate my boss. Have I mentioned that?"

"Not recently but then, you've been away," John


replied mildly. "What's he doing now?"

"I just got a 2 hour lecture on my hair," Draco said


disgustedly. "I show up in uniform rather than
plainclothes, and he decided to bitch about my hair.
Because it's not 'regulation'." He pulled the elastic out
of the hair in question and ran his hands through it,
tilting his head back and closing his eyes. "Bastard."

"Sucks to be you," John said, amusement plain in his


voice. "Maybe you should get a haircut."

"Drop dead," Draco said wearily, and John laughed.


Draco looked at Neville. "When did you get here?"
"Just now, actually," Neville replied. "Someone from
the Canadian Ministry is supposed to be meeting me
here shortly to discuss what we're going to do. Back-
up, that sort of thing. What have you found out?"

Draco straightened up a bit. "Where that park in the


picture is, for starters. I was right, it is here in town.
It's Edworthy Park, which won't mean anything to
you," he said to Neville's blank look, "but I do know
where it is. The RCMP will send a few units for
backup, and I've talked to the city police, who've
agreed to help as well. They're going to close off the
park once our little kidnappers get there, and prevent
them from getting away if anything goes wrong."

Neville nodded. "I think the Canadian Ministry will


provide more manpower, or at least I hope they will.
Once their representatives get here, we can discuss it
in more detail, but ideally, they'll send a couple Aurors
to assist us."

"Good." Draco stood up and yanked his shirt off over


his head. "Damn, it's hot. I'm going to change, I'll be
right back. Sure you don't want anything,
Longbottom?"

Neville nodded faintly, thinking very hard about


flobberworms. "I'm fine," he said. At least his voice
didn't crack. Draco shrugged and headed for the door,
shirt dangling loosely in one hand. Neville couldn't
quite resist looking over his shoulder at the other
man, and his eyes widened in surprise as he glanced
at Draco's back. Draco had a tattoo. What looked like
a small stylized bird on his back, between his
shoulder blades, done in black. Neville took several
deep breaths and turned back around quickly, hoping
his blush could be passed off as too much sun. He
looked up slowly to find John watching him with a
mixture of amusement and sympathy.

"I didn't know he had a tattoo," Neville said weakly.

"He tends to forget," John replied softly, answering


Neville's reaction rather than his words. "He doesn't
think of himself as all that attractive."

Neville's eyes widened at the sheer absurdity of that.


"He doesn't?"

"Nope. I gather he wasn't the best looking kid in the


world...it seems to have stuck with him." John
shrugged.

"Well, he wasn't, but..." Neville trailed off and shook


his head. "I didn't know he had a tattoo," he repeated.

"We both do," John said, and stood up suddenly,


shrugging out of his own shirt and turning his back to
Neville. His was what looked like a large, stylized cow
with horns in the same place as Draco's, centered
between his shoulder blades.
Neville stared at the broad expanse of John's back
and couldn't decide if he were cursed or very, very
lucky. He cast about for something suitably neutral to
say. "It's very well done," he said finally. "Who
designed them?"

John shrugged his shirt back on and sat back down. "I
did, actually. Mine's a buffalo, his is a thunderbird."

"A what?"

"Thunderbird. They're the sacred birds of the Pikuni,


the Peigan Indians. Some people say that what we
call a thunderbird is actually a bald eagle. A ksik-kihk-
ini, in Blackfoot." John went pokerfaced for a second,
his face settling into strong, fierce lines. "Strong
totem. Heap big medicine."

Neville raised his eyebrows slowly. "Um."

"That's my best Hollywood Indian impression." John


grinned and relaxed. "I'm just kidding."

"Kidding about what?" Draco reappeared, wearing a


black t-shirt and black slacks that, aside from being
practical for wandering about in the dark, set off his
pale skin and hair wonderfully. Neville gulped.

John looked him up and down. "You are going to die


of heat exhaustion in about two minutes in that outfit."
"I am not. Kidding about what?" Draco demanded. He
was carrying a pitcher of what looked like iced tea,
and two glasses. He handed one to Neville, poured
himself a glass, then filled Neville's while Neville
watched in bemusement.

"Er, thanks," he said, and Draco nodded at him before


turning back to John.

"What were you kidding about?"

A broad smile spread across John's face. "Nothing,"


he said with a hint of what could only be described as
glee. Draco glared at him, clearly debating whether or
not to rise to the bait. John grinned back. "You're
pouting."

"I am not!" Draco exclaimed sulkily. "Never mind, I


don't want to know."

John smiled cheekily. "I know and you don't, and I'm
not going to tell!" he said in a singsong. Neville held
his breath, waiting for Draco to lose his temper;
Neville knew from experience that he didn't take well
to teasing.

The explosion Neville braced himself for didn't come.


Draco glared, slouched further in his chair and
pretended he hadn't heard. "What time are the
Ministry people supposed to get here?" he asked
Neville, haughtily ignoring John, who was snickering
under his breath.

Neville glanced at his watch. "Soon, I think. They said


that they'd be here around 5, so they should be a few
minutes." Draco nodded and sipped at his iced tea,
still pretending John wasn't there. John grinned and
slouched down in his own chair, pushing his feet into
Draco's legs. Draco yanked his legs away and
glowered at the other man.

"Anne is pissed at you, by the way," John drawled,


still grinning.

"What for?"

"You forgot to call her for Mother's Day. You forgot to


call Ed last weekend for Father's Day, for that matter,
and I'm guessing she's not too pleased about that
either." John tilted his head back and closed his eyes,
settling into his chair. "She says you're ungrateful."

"I'm not ungrateful, I just forgot," Draco said


defensively. "I've been busy."

"Tell her that, man. I sent her a card."

Draco glowered and folded his arms over his chest.


"Not my fault I forgot. You might have reminded me."

"It's not my job to remind you. Do I look like your


secretary?"

Neville listened to them bicker with half an ear,


watching Draco. He looked different, for some reason,
although that was patently ridiculous, since he
couldn't have changed much since Neville had seen
him the day before. Neville furrowed his brow, trying
to put his finger on what it was. It finally dawned on
him; Draco was...relaxed. There was a slight tension
in him, the same kind that Neville shared - there was
no such thing, really, as an off-duty cop. But aside
from that, Draco seemed more at ease than Neville
had ever seen him. He looked comfortable, as though
he was where he belonged. Neville considered that
thoughtfully.

The doorbell rang from inside the house, startling


them all. "That'll be the Ministry," Draco said as he
stood up. "I'll go let them in."

He disappeared inside the house, and returned a few


moments later with the two Canadian wizards in tow.
The Canadian wizards, both men, scanned the area
nervously as they followed Draco onto the deck, eyes
flicking about and hands hovering close to their
pockets. They were both dressed in Muggle clothing -
light pants and polo shirts - and managed to look as
uncomfortable about it as Neville felt most of the time.
The first wizard was older, with thinning light brown
hair and plain, weather-beaten features. The other
seemed impossibly young, 20 at the most, fresh-faced
and eager. He stared around the yard with wide,
astonished eyes. Pure-blood, Neville thought to
himself, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Probably
never been in a real Muggle house before. Neville
stood and extended his hand to the older one. "I'm
Neville Longbottom, with the British Ministry of
Magic."

"Bruce Purvis, Canadian Department of Magical


Inquiry. This is my partner, Wayne Busby," he replied,
shaking Neville's hand firmly. His voice was harsh and
loud, as though he was used to shouting a lot.
"Pleasure to meet you."

Neville nodded politely. "Thank you for coming. I


spoke to Jim Lowe in your department earlier, but I'm
not sure if he's told you what's gone on."

Purvis shook his head sharply, looking forbidding.


"We've had a minor briefing."

Neville nodded and outlined the details of what they


knew about the kidnappers while Purvis listened and
nodded and interrupted with questions from time to
time. The younger wizard, Busby, didn't do much of
anything except sit and nod and look keen. He kept
casting nervous glances at John, who finally excused
himself politely and vanished into the house. The boy
watched John go with something like relief, and
relaxed minutely. With John gone, though, it was
Draco's turn to be the object of nervous glances -
Neville wondered how Busby had managed to make
an Auror at all, if he were that edgy about Muggles.

After he had finished with the explanations, Neville


looked at the two Canadian wizards expectantly. "We
hope to have this go as smoothly as possible after we
arrive at the park. I was thinking we might go and
have a look at it beforehand, to sort out positions, test
the obscurus charms, that sort of thing."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Purvis said


shortly, casting a sharp glare in Draco's direction. "We
know where it is."

Draco raised his chin haughtily. "It would probably be


a good idea."

Purvis ignored him and looked pointedly at Neville.


"What time should we meet?"

Neville blinked and cleared his throat. "Um, 11:30?


Perhaps at the entrance to the park?"

"There's a footbridge over the river that leads into the


park itself," Draco suggested, his voice tinged with
disgust. "Good a place as ever."

Purvis glanced at Draco like he would rather not take


any sort of suggestion from him, but nodded
grudgingly. "Then we'll see you tonight."
Neville agreed politely and watched as the Canadian
wizards showed themselves out. He dearly wanted to
ask why they didn't just apparate away, but it wasn't
really his place to inquire, and Purvis didn't look like
he'd answer anyway. He cocked an eyebrow at
Draco, who was scowling at the door they'd left
through. "So what do you think?"

Draco snorted. "I think they're idiots. I doubt Purvis


could see past the end of his nose, and if the younger
one were any greener, you could plant him."

"Aside from that," Neville said with a small grin. "Not


that I don't agree with you."

"I don't suppose we have a lot of choice." Draco let


out a long breath and shook his head. "I doubt we
could get away with shipping them back and
demanding Aurors with experience."

"Not without calling the wrath of their whole


department on our heads," Neville replied with a sigh.
"Maybe we can find somewhere out of the way to
stash the younger one."

"Like under a rock somewhere?" Draco suggested.

Neville laughed ruefully. "I know what you mean. I


knew they were insular, but I didn't realize that
'insular' meant 'intolerant of anything non-magical'."
"Well, maybe we can shunt them aside without
making it look like that's what we're doing," Draco
said. "I'd just as soon have them more or less out of
the way once things start happening. As a very wise
man once said, I've got a bad feeling about this."

Four hours later, Neville apparated back into Draco's


tiny kitchen with Ginny and Harry. The house was
quiet and dark, the sun low in the west through the
kitchen window and the yard outside cloaked in
shadows. Ginny moved out of the corner when she
arrived, leaving room for Harry, looking around the
kitchen with great interest. John came in from the
hallway as Harry arrived. "Hi there," he said, looking
at Harry and Ginny with intense curiosity.

"Hello," Neville replied. "John, I don't think you've met


Ginny and Harry Potter. Harry, Ginny, this is
John...um."

"Sitting Buffalo," John supplied, holding his hand out


to Harry. He was eyeing Harry carefully, his face
neutrally blank. Neville wondered what Draco had told
him. "Hi."

Harry took the hand offered to him, sizing John up as


he did so. "Hello," he said stiffly, standing up a bit
straighter. It didn't really make a difference; John was
a big man, tall and solid, and Harry wasn't. Perhaps
John didn't mean to be intimidating, but Neville had a
hunch that John knew exactly how uncomfortable it
made Harry to have John looming above him and
shrinking the kitchen just by standing there, and didn't
care.

John nodded and turned to Ginny with a smile. "And


you're Ginny," he said, his voice warming noticeably.
Ginny flushed and nodded, and John reached out and
clasped her hand in both of his gently. "It's nice to
meet you."

"Draco's told me a bit about you," Ginny replied,


smiling weakly.

John chuckled. "It's all lies. Don't believe a word of it."


Ginny's smile widened a bit, and John turned back to
the other men. "Dray's just stepped out, but he'll be
right back. Head on into the living room and make
yourselves at home. Can I get anyone anything?"

Neville and Harry both shook their heads, and Neville


led the way to the small living room. It was a sparsely
decorated room, with a low leather couch and a
battered brown recliner as the main pieces of
furniture. A glass-and-steel coffee table sat in front of
the couch, with a subtly patterned area rug, done in
shades of brown and cream on the hardwood floor in
front of it. A large picture window, hung with cream
Venetian blinds took up most of one wall, and the far
wall was dominated by two huge bookcases that
flanked a small fireplace.
Harry did a quick circuit of the room, eying the print
above the couch - a stark black and white photograph
of grain elevators framed against thunderclouds - and
skimming over the book titles in the bookcases,
before settling into the recliner and watching the
others broodingly. He looked rather nervous to
Neville, as though he really did not want to be here.
Neville tried a reassuring smile, but Harry either didn't
notice, or didn't want to be reassured.

Ginny settled at one end of the couch, drawing her


legs up underneath her and hugging her arms to her
chest, her eyes wandering over the furniture, the
bookcases and table, looking anywhere but at the two
men. She was tightly wound, calmer than she had
been earlier, but still worried. Neville had the
impression that something had happened between
her and Harry after he and Draco left, but he wasn't
sure what. The atmosphere between them had
altered in a way Neville couldn't quite decipher.

The back door opened, and Neville could hear John's


rumbling voice coming from the kitchen, and Draco
saying something in response. Moments later, Draco
appeared around the corner, nodding curtly at Harry
and Neville. "Longbottom, Potter." He smiled at Ginny,
who smiled tremulously back. "Did you just get here?"

Neville nodded. "About 5 minutes ago."

"Sorry I wasn't here. I stopped by the station to pick


up a few things." Draco lifted what he was holding, a
bundle of what looked like black coats of some kind.
He tossed one at Neville, who nearly dropped it. It
turned out to be some sort of black vest, made of a
weighty but flexible material. "Those are to put on
under your jackets before we go."

"What is it?" Harry asked, holding up the one Draco


dropped in his lap.

"Bulletproof vest. No point in taking any chances," he


said. Harry looked taken aback. "We know that the
one of them, at least, is a Muggle and it's likely that
he'll have a gun, so better safe than sorry. It'll still hurt
like hell if you do get shot, but it's better than being
totally unprotected." Draco glanced at Neville. "I could
only get three, so your little Ministry friends are on
their own. If there's shooting, tell them to duck."

Neville snorted. "I'm sure they'll manage."

"One of them is a Muggle?" Harry said in


astonishment. "I thought they were wizards."

"One of them is," Neville said. "The other is a Muggle.


Their names are Chris Nesbitt and Brad Straker -
Nesbitt is the wizard, and from everything we've been
able to gather, an average one. They've done a good
job of covering their tracks, but they haven't really
done anything to imply that he's particularly powerful,
magically speaking. The basic plan for tonight is not
to do anything fancy. We'll wait until they hand over
the children and you're safely away, then grab them."
He glanced over at Draco, who nodded and
continued.

"There's only two real ways into or out of the park.


There's a footbridge over the river to the north, and
train tracks on the south side, separated from the
main park by a chain link fence, and both are easily
closed off. Once we get into position and the
kidnappers arrive, the city police and the local RCMP
will seal off the park from all sides - the bike paths,
the road into the parking lot for the park from the
residential area on the hill above it, and the parking lot
on the other side of the river." Draco smiled faintly.
"Even if they make it out of the park, they won't get
far."

"Then we get the children, arrest the kidnappers, and


that should be that," Neville finished. "If all goes well,
it shouldn't take more than an hour altogether. The
Canadian Ministry has asked that we keep magic
usage to an absolute minimum. They wanted to forbid
anyone but their officers from carrying a wand, but we
talked them out of it, so you can keep yours with you,
Harry."

"I wasn't about to give it up," Harry said stiffly. "Why


wouldn't they let me carry my wand?"

"Canadian rules about Muggle-wizard interaction are


a lot stricter than they are in England," Neville replied.
"They don't like to have people with unlicensed wands
running around."

"Unlicensed wands?" Harry asked incredulously.


"They make you license your wand here? That's
ridiculous."

"They're very strict about magic," Neville said.


"They're too spread out not to be. There's probably
half the wizarding population here as we have in
England, and it's harder to keep track of magic use
with so few wizards in such a large area." Harry
looked skeptical, and Neville shrugged. "At least,
that's the explanation they gave me."

Ginny excused herself quietly to use the washroom,


and Harry slumped down in the recliner, one hand
supporting his chin as he stared moodily at the
window. Neville stretched his arms and paced around
in a small circle in front of the couch in an attempt to
burn off his nervousness. The closer the appointed
time drew, the more nervous he seemed to get. Draco
didn't look nervous at all, but then, he seldom did.

The phone rang and Draco vanished into the kitchen,


presumably to answer it, leaving Neville and Harry to
their own devices. Neville glanced at Harry, who was
still staring silently at the wall, and sighed. If Harry
really wanted to talk about anything, Neville supposed
he would just say something...in the meantime, there
wasn't much he could do. He shrugged mentally and
turned to the bookcases. There were photographs on
the shelves in front of the books, full of people Neville
didn't recognize, but even that small distraction was
better than watching Harry brood.

Ginny had slipped quietly out of the house, and was


sitting on the edge of the deck, her feet on the grass
and her arms crossed, resting on her knees. The sun
was fading rapidly from the sky, casting long shadows
across the yard and spilling faint orange-gold light in
stripes across the deck, setting fire to her hair. Draco
closed the door quietly behind himself and sank down
next to her. "Hi," he said softly.

She glanced at him and quirked a corner of her mouth


up. "Hi."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she said slowly. "Tense. A little worried."

Draco slid his arm around her and rubbed her back
slowly, feeling the tension in her. "It's almost over. An
hour or so, and we'll have them back safely."

"I know," she whispered, leaning toward him so she


could rest her head against his shoulder. He shifted
slightly, settling her against his side. "I can't help but
worry. The people I care most about in the world are
walking willfully into danger, and there's nothing I can
do but wait. It's so frustrating" Ginny fidgeted for a
second, then pulled away from him and stood up,
walking a few steps out onto the grass. "This is driving
me crazy. I want to do something, and there's nothing
I can do!" She growled and kicked at the ground with
one foot.

Draco watched her, nodding. He could imagine how


ineffectual she felt right now - he'd felt that way often
enough himself over the last year. "I'd say you could
come, but it really is too dangerous. It's bad enough
that there's going to be as many people as there are.
Every extra body is just one more person who can
make a mistake. I don't want to risk it." He stood up
and closed the small distance between them, resting
one hand lightly on her shoulder. "I know this is hard
for you."

She nodded and reached up to cover his hand with


her own, sighing heavily. "It's probably just as well,"
she said slowly. "Because if I were there, and they
had done anything to my children, I would kill them
both." She said it in a calm, matter-of-fact voice that
left no doubt that she was absolutely sincere. "So it's
all right. I'm used to waiting, even if I don't like it."
Ginny sighed again and moved so that she could lean
back against him. Draco wrapped his arms around
her waist and rested his cheek against hers. They
stood silently, watching the last of the sunlight fade
from the yard. "You don't like having Harry here, do
you?" she finally said.
Draco smiled ruefully. "I'll live."

"I don't know if it will make you feel better, but he's as
unhappy to be here as you are to have him."

"I imagine he probably is." Draco paused. "Though I'd


be a bit happier if he'd stop glaring at me all the time. I
feel like I'm under a microscope."

He felt her chuckle under her breath. "He doesn't trust


you, I don't think. We...talked a bit, after you left
yesterday, and he's accepted that you're helping, but
he's still not quite reconciled to seeing you as a real
person with a real life and friends and all."

The way she hesitated made Draco wonder what had


actually happened. He suspected that Harry's barely-
hidden hostility had more to do with Harry's feelings
about her than about himself, but now wasn't the time
or place to bring it up. "I'll live," he said again. "It could
be worse, I suppose. I had visions of everyone I know
just happening to descend upon the house tonight."
Draco shook his head and chuckled. "Thank God
Anne and Ed aren't in town this week...I don't think I
could have stood it."

"I'd like to meet them one day," Ginny said quietly.

"You will," Draco replied. "I think you'd like them, and
I'm positive they'd like you."
"You think so?" Ginny craned her head around to look
at him. He smiled down at her.

"I know they would. Anne's predisposed to like you,


anyway. She's been pestering me for years to 'find a
nice girl and settle down'," he raised his voice in
squeaky imitation of Anne, which made Ginny giggle.
"She'd all but given up on me after Laura died...she
thinks you're her best hope, so she's bound to like
you."

Ginny went still in his arms. "Laura?" she said


questioningly.

"Laura was my fiancée. She died almost 10 years


ago," Draco replied quietly.

Ginny was silent for a long moment. "You've never


talked about her," she said finally.

Draco made a face. "I don't like to, really. I...cared


about her, and it's not something I really like to tell
people about." He stopped speaking, resting his head
against hers and staring out at yard without really
seeing it.

"What was she like?" Ginny asked softly.

Draco sighed heavily. "She was loud." He stopped


and laughed softly. "If you asked just about anyone to
describe her, that'd be the first thing they said. She
was always talking, and she was just...loud. Outgoing,
happy, very bouncy. She was a tiny little thing, but
she had a ton of energy and she loved to party. That
was how we met...John dragged me out to a house
party at the place of someone he knew, and she was
there. I wasn't actually talking to anyone - it was
maybe a year after I'd got to Canada, and I still wasn't
all that happy to be here, but she came over and
introduced herself, spent the whole party with me and
that was that. We dated for a year and a half, and
then I asked her to marry me, and then..." He stopped
and took a deep breath. "It was about a week after I
asked her - she'd gone out with her girlfriends to the
bar, and they were coming home in a cab, and the
cab was hit by a car running a red light. Her best
friend was killed instantly, but she was alive for almost
a week. She was in a coma, but she never woke up."

He stopped abruptly, staring into the darkness. It still


hurt to remember that week. Ginny turned in his arms
and looked up at him, concern in her deep brown
eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said softly. "You must have
loved her very much."

"Yes." Draco cleared his throat and tightened his arms


around her before he went on. "But it wasn't - it wasn't
a sort of deathless passion, if you know what I mean.
I cared about her, but I don't know if it would have
worked out in the long run." And he had never
admitted that to anyone about Laura, not even to
John. He looked down into Ginny's face without really
seeing her. "She wasn't always the easiest person to
be around, and she didn't really get along with John,
or with Anne. And Del hated her." He smiled faintly.
"At the time I thought she was jealous, because Del's
not very outgoing, and Laura was the sort of person
Del was predisposed to dislike - pretty, thin, blonde,
and not very bright. But now I don't know. I didn't
know Del as well then, but she's got an uncanny
ability to sense the good and bad in people. If she
doesn't like someone, it's usually because there's
something about them that isn't very nice. It might not
be immediately obvious, but sooner or later she's
usually vindicated. And she hated Laura. So I don't
know."

"How does she know?" Ginny asked curiously. "It


sounds almost like she might have some magical
skill."

"No, it isn't that...she's got no magic to speak of. She


says they're just hunches, sort of vague feelings. And
she's been known to be wrong, of course." Draco
flashed a grin at Ginny, the tension easing out of him.
"She never used to like me at all, for instance, but she
changed her mind."

Ginny snickered. "Oh, and I'm sure you were terribly


charming when you first met her."

Draco did his best to look innocent. "I've always been


charming!" he protested, which made Ginny laugh out
loud. He grinned back, happy to see her looking a
little more cheerful. She was so worried, and it
pleased him to see that lift, if only for a little while.

There was a noise from the house, and they both


glanced up as Neville poked his head out the door.
"We should go," he said to Draco. "It's getting close to
time."

Draco nodded and turned back to Ginny as Neville


retreated back into the house. He cupped her face in
his hands, searching her face. "I won't let anything
happen to any of them," he said softly. "I
promise...everything will be fine."

Ginny didn't say anything, just flung her arms around


him and held him tightly. He drew her into a hug and
rested his head against hers, rubbing one hand along
her back. She drew back and looked up at him, her
face drawn. "Please be careful."

"I will." He cupped her face in his hands and leaned


forward to kiss her gently. "I promise."

She returned the kiss almost desperately, winding her


arms around his neck and holding on tightly. "Please
be careful," she whispered against his mouth as they
pulled apart.

Draco nodded, grey eyes shining in the faint light, and


kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I will."

Ginny followed Draco slowly into the house, arms


wrapped around her chest, trying to ignore the worry
gnawing at her stomach. John came around the
corner from his room and followed them into the living
room, where Neville and Harry were talking quietly
with grim expressions. Harry's lips thinned at the sight
of Draco's hand resting lightly at her waist, but
mercifully he didn't say anything.

She sank down on the couch and watched


apprehensively as Draco slung his utility belt around
his waist and buckled it, then shrugged one of the
vests over his shoulders. Neville and Harry did the
same, settling them into place and pulling light jackets
over top. Neville was businesslike as he shifted his
shoulders and patted his pockets to be sure his wand
was in place. Harry wore the same expression he
wore before Quidditch matches, intense and
focussed, his own wand stuck in the pocket of his
jacket. Draco appeared calm and unruffled as he
checked his gun into its holster on his hip and
adjusted the hang of his vest, as though arraying
himself with a small arsenal of weapons and
protective gear was perfectly normal - Ginny had no
idea how he managed it. She caught herself
nervously rubbing her hands together and made
herself stop.

When they were ready to go, Ginny stood up and


hugged Neville and Harry in turn. "Be careful," she
said fiercely to Harry as she held him. "Don't do
anything silly."

"Hey! When do I ever do anything silly?" he protested,


which made her laugh.

"There isn't time to catalogue all the extremely foolish


things you've done in the name of bravery," she shot
back as Harry grinned impishly at her. "Just be
careful. And you too," she said to Neville, who nodded
and smiled reassuringly at her.

Draco looked at John. "If anything happens, I've told


Mike to call and let you know." The other man nodded
solemnly and leaned against the wall, and Draco
turned to look at Ginny. "We'll be back in an hour," he
said softly, reaching out to cup her cheek in one hand.
She leaned into his touch slightly, arms folded across
her chest. He stroked his thumb along her
cheekbone, tracing over her freckles lightly, then
lowered his voice to a whisper for her alone. "I love
you."

Ginny caught her breath and pressed her eyes


closed, reaching up to touch the back of his hand with
the tips of her fingers. Draco smiled down at her, then
slid his hand away and glanced at Neville. "Let's go."

Harry stood alone next to the lone picnic table, back


straight and shoulders squared, stoically gazing
straight ahead. The box full of Galleons was at his
feet, a plain wooden crate, magically expanded to
hold all the coins, and lightened with a quick spell so
that they could move it. Draco glanced quickly around
the clearing from his position crouched behind a
group of bushes near the table. He couldn't see
anything beyond the pine trees lining the clearing
moving in the breeze, which was a faint relief. He
knew where Neville was hidden, behind a small stand
of trees directly opposite Harry, a bit further up, but he
couldn't see him at all. The Canadian wizards had
taken up positions closer to the parking lot, one
behind another clump of bushes, and one hiding in
plain sight, standing near the path wrapped in an
invisibility cloak. All of them were armed with
Obscurus charms, that hid their presence from
magical detection, and Draco just hoped that they'd
hold.

Now it was just a matter of waiting.

The wait wasn't a long one - it was five minutes or so


when two shadowed figures appeared on the path.
They were both wearing black cloaks with the hoods
up, and blended effortlessly into the shadows. Draco
gave a silent sigh of relief at the sight of them; there
was always the off chance that he and Neville had
been wrong about who was behind the kidnapping,
but here they were. Both started visibly at the sight of
Harry waiting for them, clearly surprised to see him
there. One of them looked quickly around the
clearing, as the other stepped cautiously forward, into
the faint light. Draco pressed the button on the small
remote he was carrying to signaling the RCMP units
waiting just outside the park entrances to move into
position.

"I see you found it," said the one who'd stepped
forward. He was taller, and seemed less edgy than
his partner, who was darting quick looks into the
trees, judging by the movement of his hood. From the
tape they'd found back in March, Draco knew the
taller one was Straker, the Muggle.

"It wasn't too much trouble," Harry replied coolly.


"What kept you?"

The kidnapper laughed faintly and turned to the


shorter man, whispering quietly. He turned back to
Harry. "Is that the money?"

"Yes," Harry replied, outwardly calm. Draco might not


like Harry, but he had to admire the other man's grace
under pressure. "Now where are my children?"

"It's all there?" There was a distinctly avaricious note


in the man's voice. Harry glared at him in disgust and
wordlessly kicked the lid off the crate. The small
mountain of coins gleamed in the faint light, and
Straker appeared to nod. "Good." Harry watched with
narrowed eyes as the shorter one disappeared with a
small pop, apparating away.
There was a short, tense silence as they waited, then
the other one - obviously Nesbitt, the wizard -
appeared again, staggering slightly as he arrived with
Sarah and Jamie. An old tennis shoe fell to the
ground at his feet - portkey, Draco identified
automatically. The children seemed unharmed but
tired and scared. Jamie's chin was set stubbornly,
mirroring his father's expression, although Jamie
looked terrified under the bravado. Sarah was clinging
to Jamie's hand, her face white and her hair in an
impossible black tangle around her face. She made a
soft little noise when she saw Harry, and tried to run
to him.

Nesbitt clamped a hand down on her shoulder, and


Sarah whimpered. "Money first," he said, the first
words he'd spoken since they'd arrived.

The look Harry gave the younger man should have


vaporized him on the spot. He gave the crate a
vicious shove toward Straker with his foot. "Take it,
then, and let them go," he spat.

Straker started forward to pick the crate up, keeping


his eyes on Harry while he did so. There was a loud
rustle from behind the two kidnappers, and a grunt,
the sound of branches snapping, and then a loud
thump as Busby, the younger of the two Canadian
wizards, ignominiously fell out of his hiding spot and
landed sprawling on the grass in plain view.
There was a slight pause while everyone in the
clearing froze, and Draco shut his eyes briefly in
disgust and swore under his breath. Not even an
Obscurus charm was going to hide that. Nesbitt,
startled, let go of Sarah and Jamie, and spun around.
Jamie, displaying remarkably quick thinking, grabbed
his sister's arm and darted toward Harry.

Harry leaped forward and scooped the two children


up, one under each arm, then spun around and ran
for the trees. Straker drew a gun from the waistband
of his pants, his hood falling back as he did so,
exposing cropped brown hair; he barely glanced at
the source of the noise. Instead he raised his gun,
pointed it straight at Harry's back, and started to pull
the trigger.

Draco didn't even think, only reacted, moving before


the boy had even raised his arm. He burst out of his
own hiding place, and shouted, "Hey!" It distracted
Straker, just as he'd intended, and Straker's shot at
Harry went wide. Harry made it to the shelter of the
trees from which Neville was emerging, and he very
sensibly ducked out of sight with the children. Draco
yanked his attention back to Straker as he raised his
gun again and fired. Draco felt the first impact, sharp
against his ribs, and staggered back, the sound of the
bullet hitting his kelvar vest loud in his ears. It was
odd, he thought abstractedly, that he could hear each
crack of the gun and then the thunk of the bullet
impacting against the vest protecting his chest as two
distinct, separate noises, once and then again. He
winced at the sharp pain, knowing he'd have bruises
afterward. With the third report of the gun came a
savage, tearing pain in his right arm, which he did his
level best to ignore.

Ignoring it was hard, because it hurt, quite a lot. Draco


decided not to think about it, instead switching his gun
to his left hand and firing back at Straker, who had
started to run for the footpath to the bridge across the
river. He missed; his aim with his left was terrible, but
someone - Neville, he thought - fired off a spell,
bringing the young man to the ground. Draco
switched his attention to the other one, raising his gun
and leveling it at the retreating figure just in time to
hear one of the Canadian wizards yell, Stupefy!" and
watch Nesbitt drop like a rock. At least they're not
totally useless, he thought.

Draco lowered his gun and reached out a hand to


prop himself against the edge of the picnic table.
"Ow," he said softly, to no one in particular. His chest
was starting to hurt alarmingly, battling the pain in his
arm; it felt like someone was sitting on his chest. One
of the shots must have cracked a rib. He forced
himself away from the table, walking slowly toward
where the two Canadian wizards had clustered
around Straker's body with Neville. They were arguing
in low voices, Neville gesturing angrily at one of the
other wizards.
As he got closer, it became clear that Neville was
giving Purvis a piece of his mind. " - clumsy, half-
cocked, foolish prat!" Purvis was clenching and
unclenching his fists, jaw stubbornly set. It was very
clear that he was not happy, but he didn't have much
room to argue, since the brush with disaster was
largely his partner's fault. Busby was standing beside
Purvis, head down and shuffling his feet in the red
dust of the path while Neville expounded upon his
parentage, his intelligence and his probable future.
Draco fetched up beside Neville, cradling his injured
arm against his aching chest. He'd never actually
seen Neville lose his temper before; it was
educational, to say the least.

Neville glanced at him during a pause in his tirade,


and the alarmed expression on his face would have
been almost comical if Draco's chest hadn't hurt so
much. "Malfoy, are you all right?"

Draco swayed slightly, and Neville leapt forward to


grab him. "I'm...ok," he said, a bit surprised at how
breathless he sounded. He sank to his knees, as
slowly as he could, clutching at Neville's arm so he
wouldn't simply fall over. Draco thought he heard
Sarah crying somewhere behind him, and he could
hear Neville's voice distantly, but Draco couldn't seem
to gather enough breath to ask him to speak louder. It
hurt. His whole chest felt like it was going to collapse
under its own weight. He closed his eyes slowly, and
then finally, softly, mercifully, the world went dark and
slipped away.

~*~

Chapter 11

We do not have the truth to tell,


Some have flown while others fell
And what seemed to be right
Now darkens our way and clouds in our sight
And we do not have the eyes to see.
- Deepest Part Of Me, Dougie McLean

Once Harry and Ginny left for Canada, the Weasleys


had moved from Ginny's flat to the Burrow, where
there was room enough for everyone to stay in
relative comfort while they waited for news of the
kidnapping. Molly had retreated to the kitchen to bake
bread - not because it was really necessary, but
because she needed something to do during the
interminable wait for Harry and Ginny to return.

It was late morning when they arrived by Floo, Harry


holding Jamie's hand in his, and Ginny carrying
Sarah, who was half-asleep in her arms. She stood
stiffly as Molly swooped down on her grandchildren,
enveloping them all in a lumpy hug, tears of relief
streaming down her face. "Oh, my dears! We were so
worried! Thank God you're all right!" Molly dabbed at
her cheeks with her apron and hugged Ginny and
Sarah again, then bent down to hug Jamie tightly as
well.

It seemed like everyone was talking at once, and


Harry twisted his head distractedly, trying to answer
questions as they were fired at them. Arthur took a
step forward and cleared his throat. "All right, all right.
We all want to hear, but we'll get nothing done just
standing around and shouting. Everyone, come sit
down."

Ginny stayed near the door while Harry relinquished


Jamie's hand to her with a brief, understanding
glance. He allowed Arthur to lead him to the couch
and began the long process of explaining what had
happened the night before - Ginny sighed mentally. It
was better that he do it anyway, because she hadn't
done much except wait. Jamie rested his head
against her hip and wrapped his arms around her leg,
leaning his small solid weight against her. Ginny
dropped one hand to ruffle his hair gently.

Hermione came up beside her touched Ginny's arm.


"Will is out in the garden with the twins and Fred and
Angelina's kids. He's fine, but if you want to see
him..."

"No, it's all right. Did he even notice we'd gone?"


Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head with a small smile. "No, we


took him home with us, and he had such fun with the
twins that I don't think he noticed anything."

"Just as well. I'll check in on him a bit later, then...for


now, I think we might go have a nap. It's been - " her
voice faltered slightly, "a very long day. How does that
sound?" she said to Sarah, who rested her head
against Ginny's shoulder and nodded. "Daddy can tell
everyone what happened, and we'll go have a lie-
down." She reached down and took Jamie's small
hand in hers, then climbed the narrow stairs to her old
room. She pushed the door open and set Sarah down
on her bed, sitting down and drawing Jamie up beside
her as well. Sarah buried her head in Ginny's side,
her small arms wrapped around Ginny's waist, Jamie
on her other side doing the same thing. Ginny hugged
them both to her for a minute, kissing the tops of their
heads in a silent prayer of thankfulness. "Come on,
then," she whispered finally. "You should rest."

"Are you going, Mummy?" Jamie asked, looking up at


her.

"No, sweetheart. I'll stay right here," Ginny replied,


squeezing him gently. "I won't go anywhere."

Ginny slid Sarah's shoes off, while Jamie kicked his


off onto the floor and crawled up to rest his head on
the pillow. Ginny smiled down at him and lay on her
back, Sarah curled up against one side and Jamie on
the other, their small arms heavy across her stomach,
their breathing evening out into sleep. The awful
tension she had been carrying with her for days
slowly eased as she stared up at the familiar patterns
cast by her curtains on the bedroom ceiling, Sarah's
breath and Jamie's filling her ears, trying to think of
nothing at all.

Molly insisted on making supper for the children, and


that they all stay to eat, which meant that the Burrow
was packed to the rafters with adults and children and
noisy beyond belief. Ginny sat on the stairs and
listened to her mother bustle around and issue orders,
alternately commanding her daughters-in-law and
cooing at her grandchildren. She was happy to be
back, happy to be safe, but there was still an ache in
her chest and a dull pressure behind her eyes, even
after a day's rest with her children cuddled against
her. She rested her head against the wall, letting to
the familiar voices in the kitchen wash over her, and
tried not to think too hard about what had happened
before they arrived safe in England.

In all honesty, the events of the night before were a


bit of a blur - John had made her tea, and she sat in
the kitchen sipping it slowly and chatting hesitantly
with him. She could see why Draco admired him so
much - John was pragmatic, funny and immensely
kind, and seemed to have a knack for putting people
at their ease. Even tense and worried, as he became
after the phone call that came just after midnight, he
was still a centre of calm. His strong hands on hers as
he told her that Draco was in the hospital with a
wounded arm, broken ribs and a punctured lung were
all that kept her from breaking down completely until
Neville and Harry arrived with the children.

Harry had only looked at her apologetically, while


Neville handed his wand off and stalked back and
forth in the living room, snapping out a clipped
explanation of what had happened, his face red and
his hands shaking. Harry had settled on the couch
with Ginny, with Sarah and Jamie in between them,
sleepy but watching 'Uncle Neville' try to control his
temper. Ginny sensed that part of Neville's white-
lipped railing at the incompetence of the Canadian
Aurors was an attempt to mask that he was
desperately afraid for Draco.

But there was nothing they could do. Draco was in a


Muggle hospital, the Canadian Aurors having refused
to take him to a wizarding facility - yet another reason
why Neville was practically incoherent with rage - in
something called an 'ICU', though Ginny wasn't quite
sure what that meant. No one was permitted to see
him, although John spent some time making quiet
phone calls while Neville paced. Ginny hadn't been
sure what to do - she wanted nothing more than to
stay, to be as close as she could to him, to find out
immediately what was happening. But it was Sarah's
soft voice saying "Mummy, I want to go home," that
finally decided the question. Home they went, a
strangely subdued Harry and two sleepy, frightened
children, to The Burrow rather than her own flat,
where her whole family had been waiting.

Ginny sighed and slumped against the wall of the


stair. Neville had stayed behind in Canada to talk to
their Ministry and straighten things out. He'd said he
would call or owl, but they'd heard nothing yet, and
once again, she was back to waiting. She hated
waiting.

"Ginny?"

Ginny raised her head and looked down the stairs.


Percy was standing there, one hand resting on the
worn lintel, looking at her with concern. "You all
right?"

She nodded faintly. "I'm okay."

"You look upset," Percy replied, and climbed the


steps. He sat down on the stair below her and
touched her ankle lightly. "Want to talk about it?"

Ginny shook her head silently.

"Is it about Malfoy?" he asked. Ginny sighed and


nodded. Percy hitched himself up a step and put his
arm around her shoulders. He didn't say anything,
which surprised her a little; of all her brothers, she
thought Percy would be the one to choose to lecture
her on Draco right now. He was the least accepting of
her relationship with Draco; he was always so
concerned with appearances that she couldn't see
him welcoming the son of a Death Eater with open
arms. But Percy didn't comment, just held her gently
until she leaned into his shoulder and sighed.

"Neville's going to owl me when he has news," she


said finally. She could feel Percy's head moving as he
nodded wordlessly. "He said it wouldn't be long before
we know -" she stopped talking suddenly as her throat
closed. Percy's arm tightened around her shoulder
and he murmured something soothing. Ginny closed
her eyes and took a deep breath. "I just -" She
stopped again. "I feel as though I should have
stayed."

Percy nodded again. "You couldn't help it, though.


You had to come home, for the children, if nothing
else."

"I know. I just wish I could be there and here too." She
sighed softly.

He stroked her arm gently. "If he's a halfway decent


fellow, he'll understand why you couldn't."

"I know," Ginny repeated. "I just..." She trailed off,


shaking her head.

Percy shifted his weight slightly and squeezed her


shoulders. "There isn't much you can do right now,
here or there though, is there?" He glanced at Ginny
as she nodded slowly. "I'm sure it's hard, love."

Ginny inhaled deeply, then let the breath out slowly.


"It's just a bit much to take, to have Mum running
around all cheerful, knowing that Draco is in hospital
in Canada and I've got no way to know if he's all right
or not. But thank you." She raised her head to smile at
Percy. "For being here."

Percy coughed uncomfortably. "Well, I couldn't very


well let Fred and George...their solution to everything
usually involves scaring people or exploding things."
There was a loud thud and a chorus of giggles from
the kitchen, and they could hear Molly yelling and the
twins protesting their innocence. Ginny giggled. Percy
frowned in faint disapproval and polished his glasses
on the edge of his robe. "And speaking of which, I
should go make sure they're not going to burn the
house down."

He stood up, shaking out his robes officiously. Ginny


stood too, and helped him brush at his shoulders with
a small smile. "I mean it, you know," she said softly.
"Thank you." She reached out and gave him a tight
hug.

Percy stiffened in surprise, then hugged her back


hesitantly. "Of course. I hate to see you unhappy.
You're my favourite sister, after all." He gave her a
small smile.
"I'm your only sister, silly," Ginny said, grinning.

"All the more reason for you to be my favourite."


Percy shuffled and brushed his robes again. "But
really...I'm sure there's no need to worry. He'll be
fine."

Ginny nodded again. "I know." She followed Percy


down the steps and into the kitchen. There was
nothing she could do right now...she might as well let
her family fuss over her and the children while she
waited for news.

It was like floating up through water, sounds muffled


yet curiously magnified, vision reduced to vague
blurred shapes. He couldn't seem to move, although
he was curiously unalarmed by this. He blinked, trying
to clear his vision, but all he could see was whiteness
above his head. His eyes drifted closed again.

He might have slept, or not.

The next time awareness floated back, although he


still couldn't move, and couldn't see much except the
same white blur, he could hear distinctly the hiss and
whir of a respirator, the monotonous beep of a heart
monitor. This is a hospital, he thought hesitantly.
What am I doing in a hospital? Laura is already dead.
It occurred to him that the thought of Laura, and
hospitals, and machines, should hurt, but it didn't.
That was strange. He swallowed nervously.

Or rather, tried to. Something was stuck in his throat.


He went to raise his hands, to pull whatever it was out
of his mouth so he could breathe, but he couldn't
move, couldn't lift his arms up. Panic began to nip at
the edges of his lethargy, and he struggled against it.
Somewhere above his head, the beeping noise sped
up. Quick footsteps, then muffled voices near the foot
of the bed - bed? - and a face swam into his vision.
The woman was tall and thin, mousy hair pulled back
from her narrow face. She examined something
above his head dispassionately. He watched her with
wide eyes, fighting the ever-growing panic. The
woman looked down, into his eyes and smiled
soothingly, the lines around her thin mouth
deepening. "It's all right," she said. "You've got a
tracheotomy tube in your throat, and that's why you
can't talk. You've had a bad few days, but you'll be
okay now."

What? he thought vaguely, unable to focus on her


words any longer. It felt like there was something he
should remember, something important, but he
couldn't grasp hold of it. While he tried, the woman
moved out of his line of sight, and with a faint hiss, the
world faded again.

Early July, 2011

Neville gripped his tray and surveyed the


questionable food selection mournfully. "You know,
we really ought to find a new place to eat," he said to
Hermione.

"I keep saying that, and yet we keep coming here.


Too late to change your mind now. Go for the
chicken, it looks the best," Hermione replied
pragmatically. "Next time we do lunch, we'll go to that
new place that's opened up down by Gringotts."

Neville sighed and dished some of the chicken onto


his plate. "I'd say we should go now, but I haven't
time. I'm supposed to be meeting with Cecil after
lunch."

"What about?" Hermione asked idly, leading him to an


empty table near the back of the Ministry cafeteria.
They were finally resuming their lunch dates, now that
life had settled down to something approaching
normal.

"Couple of things...the kidnapping is one of them. The


trial is supposed to be starting in a month, and we've
got reports and statements and things to go over for
the Ministry's defense team." The wizarding legal
system had changed a great deal since the end of
Voldemort's War, like so many other things. Gone
were the days that criminals could be shipped off to
prison without a trial - now everyone was entitled to a
hearing, even when, in Neville's opinion, it was totally
unnecessary. "We've finally got some of the reports
back from the Canadian Ministry, got to go through
them."

"Ah," Hermione said. She prodded at her food for a


moment, then looked up at Neville with her
'information face' on. "So, since you're talking to the
Canadian Ministry...have you heard anything about
Draco at all?"

"No, not yet. I've spoken to his friend John, and all he
can tell me is that Draco will be all right eventually,
but he's still in hospital right now. He should be
released in a week or two, and he should be ready to
testify at the trial in August, but I don't know anything
more," Neville said with a sigh. "I haven't been able to
actually talk to him yet...apparently he's still on some
sort of Muggle machine to help him breath, and he
can't speak."

Hermione gave a small shudder. "A respirator I


imagine. Awful things...my grandfather was on one for
months when he was ill. However did he end up in a
Muggle hospital, anyway? You never did explain."

"Because the Canadian Ministry is a xenophobic,


insular, backward institution without an ounce of
decency?" Neville spat. Hermione raised her
eyebrows at him, a mild rebuke in her expression. He
took a deep breath and subsided; it just made him so
angry when he thought about it. "The Aurors who
were there, when Malfoy was shot, they refused to let
him be treated magically. They thought he was a
Muggle...I'd told them he was a wizard, but they didn't
believe me, said that if he were a wizard he would
have used a wand, wouldn't let him be magicked to a
real hospital. And before I could get them to let him
go, the real Muggle police showed up and the
Canadian Aurors really wouldn't do magic. So the
Muggle police who were there called an ambulance,
and once he was in the Muggle hospital, there was no
way I could get him out."

"That's awful! Poor Malfoy." Hermione shook her


head. "And that's something I never thought I'd say.
Have you talked to Ginny at all?"

"No, not really," Neville replied. "As I said, I can't talk


to Malfoy yet, and there's nothing really to pass on. I
imagine she feels terribly."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "She doesn't really say


anything, but she seems...down. Sad."

Neville nodded slowly and pushed his food around on


his plate. He could imagine how Ginny felt - he
missed Draco, and they were only friends. "I've been
owling her updates on how he's doing, but he can't
talk to anyone, and she hasn't really said anything
except to thank me for letting her know."

"She's been very quiet about the whole thing. I think


she's feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment.
Harry's been around quite a bit more since the
children were taken, and I think Molly has been
hinting, in her oh so subtle fashion, that she hopes
there'll be some sort of reconciliation going on there,"
Hermione said. "Which I can't imagine is making
Ginny feel any better."

"Is Molly still on her hating Malfoy kick?" Neville


asked.

"Yes and no. I think she feels obligated to be


charitable toward him, but she would far rather have
Ginny be with Harry, despite what Draco did."
Neville's lips tightened and he spared a moment to be
grateful that he didn't have much contact with Molly
Weasley, and was therefore prevented from speaking
his mind. Hermione caught his expression and smiled
ruefully. "It's a bit of an uphill battle for poor Ginny,
when everyone in the family is more than happy to
see Malfoy gone."

Neville tossed his fork down. "That is so -" he bit off


the rest of the sentence. Antagonizing Hermione
wouldn't do any good, after all. "It's not fair."

"I know it's not fair, but you can't really expect Molly or
Arthur to be entirely reasonable about this. They only
knew Lucius Malfoy, and you know that they didn't get
along. They never met Draco after he came back, and
they have only Ginny's word that he's really changed,"
Hermione said sensibly. "It's hard to expect Molly to
have a sudden change of heart about a man she's
expecting to think the worst of."

"Even after everything that man did to save her


grandchildren?" Neville scowled down at his chicken.
"He nearly died, for God's sake."

"I know that," Hermione replied patiently, "and Molly


knows it too, but knowing it abstractly, in her case,
doesn't mean she's automatically going to be happy
about Ginny seeing him. And all told, I don't think
she'd like Draco as much as she likes Harry. She
knows Harry, he's like one of her own, and you know
how upset she was when they got divorced. She just
wants Ginny to be happy - "

"What if she's happy with Draco?" Neville asked.


"Because between you and me, she is. And Draco
cares about her - I'd even go so far as to say that he
loves her"

"Well, I'm sure Molly would come around eventually,"


Hermione said. "Although it's a bit of a moot point at
the moment, seeing as he isn't here."

"I know." Neville slumped over his tray and pushed his
chicken around his plate.

"Well, it's up to Ginny, ultimately, and frankly, I'm a bit


surprised that she isn't being more...proactive, for lack
of a better word. She sort of seems to have given up."
Hermione poked at her own plate, stirring her chicken.
"I mean, she doesn't talk about him at all, really. She
just doesn't mention it."

"I don't know," Neville said. "I'll look her up in the next
few days and talk to her in person." He shrugged
sheepishly at Hermione. "Maybe it'll help."

Late July, 2011

It was with a sense of profound relief that Draco left


Foothills Hospital behind him. He had a suspicion that
the nurses were just as happy to see him go as he
was to leave - Draco wasn't exactly an ideal patient.
Being confined to bed and unable to do anything but
watch television and read, with brief forays into
physical therapy to strengthen his lungs and his
shoulder again, was indescribably boring. It made him
snarly and a bit snappish, and he tended to take it out
on the nurses. Which wasn't fair, but Draco didn't
particularly care.

He finally managed to extricate himself from the


bustling nurse reminding him to make sure to
schedule his physical therapy appointments and get
various prescriptions filled as soon as possible and
met up with John, who was watching the proceedings
with amusement. "Hey, ksik-kihk-ini. Ready to roll?"

"Get me out of here," Draco muttered, which made


John laugh out loud.
"Good to see you're back to your cheerful old self," he
chuckled, ignoring Draco's snarl as he followed John
out to his truck.

John headed into the kitchen once they arrived at the


house, but Draco stopped to stare at the box on the
living room floor, nestled under the window like it had
been shoved out of the way. He recognized it, which
only made sense, since it was the rough wooden
crate that Gringotts had given him to hold the ransom
money for Jamie and Sarah. "What's this doing here?"

"Huh?" John poked his head around the corner.


"What's what doing where?"

Draco walked over to the crate and shoved it away


from the wall with his foot. "This. What's it doing
here?"

John shrugged. "Dunno. Your buddy Neville said it


was yours so I was keeping it for you."

"You mean it's been sitting here the whole time I was
in hospital?" Draco asked, not sure if he should laugh
or have a fit.

John nodded and walked around the corner to lean


against the door frame. "Yeah, I didn't know where
else to put it. It weighs a ton...I was gonna stick it in
the basement, but it's too heavy to lift."
It didn't surprise Draco that John hadn't looked inside
it - he was meticulous about not infringing on Draco's
privacy. He bent down and pried the lid off the box,
exposing the small mountain of gold coins inside,
stirring them gently with one hand. John stepped
forward to look at the contents of the crate, and
blinked at the sight of the gold. "Holy shit."

"It's heavy because it's the ransom money. There was


a spell on it to lighten it, but it must have worn off.
D'you know how much money is in here?" Draco
asked. John shook his head. "I can't remember the
exact exchange rate nowadays, but I think it works
out to about 5 pounds to a Galleon." Draco paused.
"There's 5 million Galleons in the box." He waited
while John worked that out in his head.

"Oh my God," John said quietly.

"25 million pounds," Draco said. "Which has been


sitting in the middle of the living room floor for the last
month and a half."

"Jesus," John breathed, his eyes wide. "25 mill - Are


you serious?"

Draco nodded, smiling faintly.

"Holy shit!" John gasped. Draco grinned. "I don't...holy


shit!" He gaped at Draco in horror. "Holy shit! It's just
been sitting there! Del's been using it as a footstool!"
He gulped. "Oh my God."

Draco raised an amused eyebrow. "You didn't know?"

John shook his head, incredulous. "No, I didn't know."


He stared at Draco a moment longer, then burst into
laughter. He staggered into the room and fell into the
recliner, gasping for breath between guffaws. Draco
sat too, waiting as John slowly calmed down.

"Oh, my God," John said when he got his breath back.


"I had no idea. Who does it belong to?"

"It's mine," Draco said. "I lent it to Potter, because he


didn't have enough money to cover the ransom."

"It's yours?" John goggled at him "Where the hell did


you get 25 million pounds?"

Draco shrugged and coughed uncomfortably. "Part of


my inheritance."

"Your inheritance," John said in disbelief. "And you


just lent it away. What if you didn't get it back?"

Draco looked even more uncomfortable. "It's actually


a rather small part of the total amount, to be honest. It
wouldn't have made that big a difference if I hadn't."

John reached out and picked up one of the Galleons,


turning it over in his hands. "How much money do you
have?"

"Um, lots?" Draco rubbed at his shoulder, slightly


embarrassed. "I'm not exactly sure. 15 or 18 million
Galleons, I think."

John stared at him. "15 or 18 million - million -


Galleons. You think," he said flatly. Draco shrugged
his good shoulder sheepishly. "Fuck me. When you
said your family had money left, I was thinking, you
know, a few hundred thousand bucks. Not..." He
trailed off. "Jesus. How much money would that be?"

Draco thought about it. "I'm not sure, exactly. What's


15 times 5?"

"Eighty-five," John said. "Eighty-five million pounds.


My God. How much would that be in Canadian
dollars?"

Draco shook his head. "I have no idea. Lots?"

"Jesus." John laughed again. "You know, I think I


should start charging you for your half of the
mortgage again."

"I'll pay it off, if you want." Draco smiled faintly. "I


didn't even know the money was there until I went
back...I thought they'd seized it all. I've been spending
it, trying to think of ways to get rid of it."
"That explains the new wardrobe," John grinned. "But
yeah, if you want to buy me a house, I have no
objections."

"I was thinking of paying off Ed and Anne's loans too,


but I haven't thought of a way to do it without them
knowing it was me and getting mad."

"Good luck," John said. "Though you might be able to,


like, go to their bank directly and do it that way."

"Something to think about, I guess."

John nodded and stared at the box thoughtfully for a


moment. "Eighty-five million pounds," he said
suddenly. "Man, that's a lot of money."

Draco nodded solemnly. "It'd be more if I'd managed


to sell the manor."

John jerked his head back to Draco. "Manor?" Draco


examined the ceiling intently. "You have a manor?"

"Yes," said Draco sheepishly. "It's part of the estate."

John narrowed his eyes. "Estate as in, what your dad


left behind when he died, or estate as in big chunk of
land in the English countryside?"

"Er, both."
John started to say something, then stopped. "Jesus,"
he managed finally. "It's like you've won the lottery or
something. I don't think I can wrap my head around
that much money."

Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not that big a


deal, really."

John made a small, incoherent noise in the back of


his throat. "Right. Because, you know, being richer
than Croesus isn't a big deal." He grinned at Draco. "It
explains a lot, though."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Explains a lot about what?"

"Just...stuff. I mean, I always knew you had this


privileged upbringing, even if you never said outright
that your family was this filthy rich. Nice to know I'm
right, as usual." John grinned at Draco's infuriated
expression. "Well, put a lid on that thing and I'll try to
pretend there isn't more money than I've ever seen in
my life sitting in the living room."

Draco replaced the top of the crate and followed John


out to the kitchen, rubbing absently at his shoulder.
John grabbed two Cokes from the fridge and handed
one to Draco, who took it and sat down at the kitchen
table. John sat opposite him and leaned back in his
chair. "So what are you gonna do now?"
Draco shook his head. "I don't know. Wait and see if
there's been word from Longbottom, I suppose."

"Oh, hey, that reminds me," John interrupted. He


stood and rummaged around on top of the refrigerator
for a moment, then handed Draco a packet of notes.
"Those came while you were in the hospital. I was
gonna bring 'em to you, but the doctor said I wasn't
supposed to bother you about work until you were
better. They're from Neville, I think."

"Damn doctors...why wouldn't I be able to read them


in hospital?" Draco grumbled. "Incompetents. At least
Longbottom's been able to work." He flipped open the
top note, squinting slightly at Neville's indecipherable
handwriting.

"Why don't you ever call him by his first name?" John
asked suddenly.

Draco glanced up in surprise. "What?"

"Neville. You never call him Neville, it's always


'Longbottom'. I was just wondering."

"I'd never really thought of it," Draco said. "Force of


habit, I expect. Unless you were in the same House at
school, no one was ever on a first name basis."

"That is weird," John said.


"It's just how it was," Draco replied absently, sorting
through the packet of notes. All of them were from
Neville, and it wasn't until he'd reached the last one
that Draco admitted that he'd been looking not for
Neville's messy writing, but Ginny's neater hand. He
shuffled the papers back into order with a pang of
disappointment. He had hoped that she would write at
least once, but there was nothing.

Draco glanced up at John briefly. "Anyone call?"

"Nope," John replied. "Just the letters from Neville.


And can I just say that getting letters delivered by
owls is really freaking weird?"

"Mmm." Draco went back to reading the letters, not


really paying attention to John. He wasn't really
paying attention to Neville's letters either, to be
honest; he couldn't muster up the energy. "I think I
might go lie down," he said finally, ignoring John's
quizzical look as he left Neville's letters in a neat pile
on the kitchen table and left the room.

August, 2011

True to his word, Neville made time to visit Ginny the


first day he had free. She invited him over for tea on
Friday afternoon, and Neville sat quietly at her kitchen
table as she bustled around, making sandwiches and
setting the water to boil with a wave of her wand. She
finally settled in the chair opposite Neville, placing a
plate of food and the teapot on the table, wafting the
cups over from the cupboard. "There," she said in
satisfaction. "Now. How have you been, then?"

Neville grinned. "Fine. How about you?"

"Well enough," Ginny said with a smile. "Harry's been


taking the children most of the summer. It's the off
season, so he's been taking them all sorts of places,
to the beach and out to the country and to visit Remus
and Sirius...they're having a grand time, loving every
minute of it. He's got them this weekend, that's why
they're not underfoot."

"That must be a relief," Neville said, and Ginny


nodded with a rueful grin. "Well, yes and no. He's
been threatening to teach William how to fly sometime
this summer, but I'm trying to convince him not to. He
thinks poor Will has natural talent, but I think he
should be keeping both feet on the ground...he's hard
enough to keep track of as it is." Neville laughed at
that, and they made small talk while they ate the
sandwiches, Ginny regaling Neville with tales of
Sarah and Jamie and William's exploits. Sarah and
Jamie were doing well, despite their experience,
which was a great relief. Ginny had worried that they
would be affected deeply by the kidnapping, but they
were remarkably resilient. Sarah occasionally needed
to be reassured that the "bad men" couldn't get her
anymore, but overall, they were doing fine.
Neville cleared his throat once they had chatted for a
while, and played with his teacup. "I...I've heard from
Draco," he said softly.

Ginny's shoulders tensed, but her hand was steady as


she raised her cup, and her voice remained steady as
well. "Oh?"

"He owled me yesterday. Just got out of hospital a


couple of weeks ago. He's doing alright, feeling better,
he says. He'll be here in a week, for the trial." Neville
risked a glance at Ginny's face, but she was still and
expressionless as water. She merely nodded and
sipped at her cup, wrapping her fingers around the
porcelain.

"Harry told me about it when he came to get the kids


last week," she said calmly. "He's been keeping me
updated."

Neville watched her solemnly. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know what to feel, to be perfectly honest.


I'm...tired. Sad. A little bit upset." Ginny drew in a
deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I wish..." She
trailed off and stared into the bottom of her cup as
though trying to read the future.

"He hasn't talked to you at all?" Neville asked softly.

Ginny shook her head. "I tried calling him a couple


times, but I couldn't get through."

"Oh." Neville fell silent, turning his cup slowly on its


saucer.

"I almost don't want to. I feel like - I don't know. I don't
blame him for not wanting to talk to me."

Neville glanced up sharply. "Whatever makes you


think he doesn't want to talk to you?"

Ginny shrugged hopelessly. "Well, I can't get 'hold of


him, and he hasn't tried to call me, so I don't know
what else to think. But I can't blame him for wanting to
avoid me."

"Whyever would he want to avoid you?" Neville asked


in bewilderment. "You haven't done anything!"

Ginny opened her mouth, about to say something, but


closed it and sighed. "It doesn't matter," she said
softly.

"Ginny - " Neville broke off. "Of course it matters. Why


on earth would he not want to talk to you?"

"Has he said he does?" Ginny asked, glancing at him


sidelong. For once, Neville couldn't decipher her
expression.

"He doesn't talk about anything personal, you know


that," Neville replied. "He hasn't said so, but I'm sure
he does." Ginny just nodded and stirred her tea, not
looking at him. "Ginny, he does."

She shrugged. "Well, it's not important," she said,


keeping her voice light.

Neville gaped at her. "Ginny, of course it is. He cares


about you, and I know you care about him...how can
that not be important?" He couldn't understand why
she was being so cavalier about the whole thing.
Draco's silence was a bit of a surprise, but knowing
how silent Draco normally was about anything he felt
deeply about, Neville wasn't all that shocked. But he
thought Ginny would be a little more emotional about
it - she wasn't usually one to hide how she felt.

Ginny shrugged again and cleared her throat.


"Hermione tells me that they're talking about
designing a new building for the Ministry," she said
brightly. "That must be a thrill."

Neville sighed with exasperation. Ginny could be


remarkably stubborn when she wanted to. "That's
what they're saying, but I don't know that it will
actually happen," he said in defeat.

It was late afternoon, the sun sinking slowly in the


west and casting pure golden light across the yard
and deck. It had been a beautiful day, and Draco and
John had spent most of it in the backyard, John doing
yard work and Draco lounging on the deck, alternately
napping and watching John work. He was using his
arm as an excuse out of doing anything, and John
had only laughed and let him do it, happily puttering
around, weeding the garden and trimming the hedges
at the side of the house. He had just finished up and
climbed the stairs of the deck, brushing dirt off his
hands. "Hey, ksik-kihk-ini, I'm going to wash up and
grab something to drink from inside...need anything?"
Draco shook his head and John nodded as he went
into the kitchen.

Draco heard him greet someone, so it was no


surprise when Del pushed the screen door open and
came outside, a glass of lemonade in one hand.
"Hey," she said, setting her glass down on the table.
She pulled one of the deck chairs away from the table
and flopped into it. "How's the arm?"

"Fine," Draco said absently.

"That's good," she said. "John said you're heading


back to England next week." Draco nodded silently,
and Del raised an amused eyebrow at him. "So," she
said, with an air that suggested she was about to drop
something large and unpleasant on him, "have you
heard from Ginny?"

Draco's head snapped up and he glared at her. "I


hardly think it's any of your business."
"I take it that's a no." Del shifted in her chair. "Why
haven't you called her?"

"Did I or did I not just say that it is none of your


business?" Draco glared back. "Besides, she hasn't
called me either."

Del looked at him for a long moment. "You," she said


in disgust "are an idiot. Just call her."

Draco glared at her. "I am not an idiot. And what I do


isn't any of your business." He wished John would
come back outside to lend him moral support. He
didn't think he was up to dealing with Del right now.

"You are an idiot. You've been going around being a


fucking miserable bastard for the last two weeks,
when you know as well as I do that all you really have
to do is just call the damn woman and get it over with.
You don't know that she doesn't want to talk to you
because you haven't tried. Twit." Del pushed her
bangs off her forehead with an irritated gesture. She
needed a haircut - her hair kept escaping its ponytail
and haloing her face in frizzy ginger strands. She
glared back at Draco. "But if you want to sit around
and angst about it, I guess it's up to you."

"I am not angsting about it!" Draco snapped.

"You are too!"


"I am not!"

"Are too!"

Draco growled under his breath. "I hardly think that


my personal life is any of your business," he muttered.

"It is if I have to put up with you sitting around being a


miserable bastard about it," Del shot back. "Which is
exactly what you're doing."

"I am not -" Draco started, but Del over-rode him.

"You've been moping around for the last two weeks,


having your little pity-party, all 'boo hoo, woe is me,
Ginny hates me', when the only person to blame for
the whole situation is yourself," Del said, her voice
rising a bit. "You haven't talked to her so how the fuck
do you know how she's feeling? If you really want to
know, call her. Then if she tells you to fuck off, as she
has every reason to do, you can feel just as sorry as
you want, but until then you're just fishing around for
undeserved sympathy."

"I am not fishing for sympathy," Draco retorted. "And


she hasn't called me either...I'm not the only one
involved here."

"How do you know she hasn't tried? I'll bet she has.
It's not like John is ever home, and half the time your
damn answering machine doesn't work. Maybe she
has and there's just never been anyone here to take
her calls, did you think of that? Maybe she's sitting in
England right now, drinking tea with somebody and
bemoaning the fact that you hate her now because
you haven't called her back," Del said. "Though I hope
she's got more sense than that."

"I don't recall asking you for your opinion," Draco said,
as nastily as possible. "Nosy little busybody."

"Sweetie, you don't have to ask me, I'll give you my


opinion when I think you need it," Del replied, her
voice dripping with sugar, and leaned back in her
chair. "Like now. Call her."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then stop fucking sulking! Oh my God!" Del sat up


straight and stared at him with an incredulous look on
her face. "Hello! If you don't want to, then don't, and
stop bitching. If you do, then call her and stop
bitching! Are you noticing a theme here?"

Draco couldn't think of a very good reply to that


seeing as Del was, for all intents and purposes,
absolutely right. She smirked at him when he didn't
answer. "You should call her."

"Would you please shut up?"

"I'm just sayin'." She shrugged casually and leaned


back in her chair again.

"Well you can bloody well not," Draco said irritably. "I
hardly think you've got any sort of authority to be
doling out relationship advice." It was a cheap shot;
Del had a notoriously bad relationship history, and
was extremely sensitive about it.

"I may not have the greatest track record, but at least
I don't sit around and not do anything when I'm
supposedly dating people," Del snapped, her face
red. "At least I fucking try." She stood up abruptly,
shoving her chair back. "Besides which, we aren't
talking about me. You are being a huge fucking
colossal idiot about this whole thing, and if you had
half a brain, you would fucking call the woman instead
of sulking around like some sort of spoilt brat. But if
you want to screw up your life, go right ahead!" Del
spun around and stalked into the house, slamming
the screen door as hard as she could, making the
windows rattle.

Draco seethed quietly in his chair. He could hear Del's


angry voice through the door; it was hard to make out
what she was saying, but Draco had a good idea.
John's rumbling voice came in reply, and a minute
later Draco could hear the front door slam as well. A
few moments later, John stepped through the door
and walked across the deck to sit in the chair Del had
vacated. Draco braced himself for John's usual
lecture about not prodding Del's weak spots, but it
didn't come. Instead, John leaned forward and
examined Draco thoughtfully. "She's right, you know,"
he said quietly. "You should call Ginny."

"Don't you start."

"Well, c'mon, she's got a point. You could probably


avoid being as miserable as you're making yourself if
you'd just call Ginny."

Draco sighed. "I know," he said, and leaned forward


to rest his elbows on the table. "I just..." He stopped
and stared down at the table moodily. The truth was,
he was afraid to call Ginny. If her silence was any
indication, maybe she simply didn't want to talk to him
- after all, she hadn't tried to call him, that he knew of.
And Neville never really said anything in his letters
beyond "Ginny and the children are fine", and Draco
didn't want to ask after them and send Neville on a
well-meaning quest to find out what was wrong.
Although, from the faintly accusatory tone of his last
few owls, Draco rather thought Neville knew
something was wrong.

John poked him in the arm."You just what?"

"I just don't know what I'd say," Draco replied, which
was true. Apologize for being unable to keep even the
simple promise he'd made her, that everything would
be all right? For not being able to do what she had
expected of him, or what he had expected of himself?
Draco mentally shook himself. He couldn't really
blame Ginny for not wanting to contact him, but he
didn't say so to John.

"How about starting with 'Hi' and taking it from there?"


John said reasonably. "I mean, you do want to, right?"

Draco shrugged. "I guess."

"Why don't you just talk to her?" John asked. "Worst


she can do is tell you to take a hike, right?"

Draco didn't say anything. He thought it was fairly


likely that Ginny would tell him to take a hike, and he
was reluctant to hear it.

John made an exasperated sound in his throat when


Draco didn't reply. "Fine. Whatever." He stood up
again and brushed at his shorts. "It's your life."

Harry arrived on Friday afternoon to pick up the


children, and Ginny sent Jamie to open the door for
his father while she made sure that everything they
might need for the weekend was packed. Since the
kidnapping, Harry had taken Ginny's accusation of
distance to heart and started making a real effort to
see the children more often and spend more time with
them. She was glad for it, and happy for the kids, who
were delighted to be able to see more of their dad, but
at the same time she dreaded the solitude of her
weekends now. She had far too much time to think
now, about everything that had happened, and to
brood about the lack of communication from Draco.

Ginny knew from Neville that Draco was out of


hospital now, but she hadn't heard from him at all, by
phone or by owl. And she couldn't really blame him,
which was perhaps the worst part of it. She had left
him alone when he had needed her the most, and
Ginny could hardly blame him for not wanting to
contact her. When it came down to it, her children
came first - however she felt about Draco, Sarah and
Jamie and William were more important. She had
thought he'd understood that, but judging by the total
lack of communication, that wasn't so. She guessed
that Neville and Hermione both suspected something
was wrong, but Ginny hadn't said anything to anyone,
not wanting to give her parents any more reason to
snipe about Draco, whatever was happening between
them - or not happening.

Ginny was distracted from her thoughts by a light tap


at the door of Sarah and William's bedroom. She
glanced up and smiled at Harry. He smiled back and
leaned against the doorframe. "How's the packing
going?"

"I'm almost done," Ginny replied. "Just a few more


things and they should be ready to go."

Harry nodded and walked further into the room. He


leaned against the edge of the bed and watched her
fold shirts and place them in Sarah's bag. "So have
you heard from Malfoy?" he asked casually.

Ginny inhaled deeply, but didn't look up from her


folding. "What time will you back on Sunday?" she
asked, ignoring the question.

"Ginny..." he raised his hand toward her, but Ginny


ducked away.

"Harry, don't. Please." She stopped and sank onto the


edge of Sarah's bed, bowing her head. "I really don't
want to talk about it."

Harry lowered his hand and watched her almost


sadly. "I just hate to see you this way."

"Harry, please." Ginny raised her head to eye him


warily. "I know you mean well, that everyone means
well, but I really don't..." she trailed off and
shrugged."There's nothing to say."

"I just worry about you. I know I don't need to, but it's
hard to not." Harry shoved his hands in his pockets
and scuffed his feet against the carpet. "I know you've
got Hermione to lend a sympathetic ear and all, but I
reckon if you want to complain about how Malfoy's a
great huge git, I could probably nod and agree with
you," he said, schooling his face into a blandly helpful
expression.
Ginny shot him a look, then shook her head and
laughed. "I suppose you could." She sighed and
pushed a hand through her hair. "It would probably be
easier if he were being a git, but he's not. He's not
being anything. Except absent." She stopped, not
really wanting to tell Harry about her feelings for
Draco right now. It wasn't really fair to either of them.

"Sounds like he's being a git to me."

"Harry..."

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "Not helpful, I expect."

"Not really. Ron badmouths Draco quite enough for


everyone, thanks," she said with asperity.

"I know," Harry murmured. "He does tend to go on


about it. Fred charmed a sock to stuff itself in Ron's
mouth every time he brought it up last week at poker.
He got the hint eventually."

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "Is Draco a common


topic at your poker games?"

"Not really. We were talking about the trial, is all,


since it's in less than two weeks, and it came up."
Harry shrugged again. "And Ron got on his usual rant
about Malfoy, and Fred gave him what for. I think
Fred likes him."
"Of course he likes Ron. Ron's his brother."

"No, he likes Malfoy. At least, that was the impression


I got, that Fred approves of him or something," Harry
said. "I wasn't expecting that."

He sounded subdued, and Ginny glanced at him


curiously. "You weren't?"

Harry shook his head. "Everyone likes him," he said.


"Neville, the twins, Hermione...Ron doesn't, but that's
more to do with Ron's reluctance to let go an idea
once he's got it in his head. Hell, if I hadn't known him
when he was a horrible twelve-year-old brat, I might
even like him." He sighed unhappily. "It's not fair."

"Not fair that you can't go on hating him, you mean?"


Ginny said. Harry nodded, looking comically morose.

"Well, I can't, really, can I? I owe him my life twice


over," Harry said. He didn't sound particularly happy
about it. "It was easier when I thought he'd vanished,
and I didn't have -" He brought himself up short and
glanced at Ginny. "Well."

"You didn't have to feel guilty about knowing the truth


about his father?" she asked softly.

Harry looked at her sharply, startled. "How do you


know about -" he stopped abruptly. "He told you,
didn't he?"
Ginny nodded solemnly. "After you met him for the
first time, at Neville's office."

Harry ran one hand through his hair, making it stand


on end, even messier than usual. Ginny reached out
absently and smoothed it down again. "I - " He
stopped and looked at her. "You're not...?"

"Angry that you didn't tell me? No." Ginny shrugged.


"Why should I be? You don't talk about it to anyone,
so it isn't as though I expected you to make an
exception for me. And honestly, I knew, a little. It
wasn't important."

"It was. It is," said Harry, and Ginny was a little


startled at the anguish in his voice. "I should never
have done what I did, and that he's had to live with
that for all this time and no one even knows what he'd
done...you know how important it was that Lucius
Malfoy died - if he hadn't, the Death Eaters would
never have been broken. Voldemort would probably
still be alive. And I was wrong. You can't tell me it isn't
important."

"Harry, I don't think he cares whether people know,"


Ginny said softly. "I don't think he really wants
accolades from the wizarding world anymore. Maybe
he did then, but now...I don't think it's that important to
him. He has changed." She smiled suddenly. "I keep
saying that, but I don't think anyone really believes
me."

Harry shook his head and smiled back weakly.


"Probably not. It's too much of a stretch. He was
horribly jealous of me at Hogwarts, for all the things
he thought I had and he didn't...I don't know. Maybe
that's part of it. He had so much while we were
growing up, and all I had was my fame, and his one
truly noble thing he did, I took away from him." He
sighed. "I was wrong."

"Harry; it's over," Ginny said firmly. "The war, the past,
all of it. It's over, and what's done is done. You can't
change it. If you want to make amends for anything
that happened, then you should talk to Draco, not to
me. But I don't think he really wants anything from
you...he moved on long ago."

Harry gazed at her for a long moment. "You really


love him, don't you?" he said finally.

Ginny didn't reply. She finished putting the last of


Sarah's shirts into her overnight bag and zipped it up
carefully. Harry took the bag from her gravely, his
face solemn. "We'll come back Sunday night after
dinner," he said softly. "And I'll be by next Friday as
well."

Ginny nodded and summoned up a smile for him. "All


right."
Chapter Twelve

"No trumpets sound when the important decisions of


our life are made. Destiny is made known silently"
- Agnes DeMille

Mid-August, 2011

Draco's first stop after arriving in England was the


Ministry. There were a scant handful of days before
the trial, and an enormous amount of work yet to be
done. He arrived at Neville's office in the afternoon;
the small office was same blizzard of scrolls and
paper and coffee cups it always was, and Neville was
nose deep in parchments. Draco leaned quietly in the
doorway for a good two minutes before Neville
realized he was there and jumped.

"Dammit, Malfoy, I thought I told you not to do that!"


Neville said irritably. "Scare the life out of me, why
don't you?"

Draco smirked. "Hello, Longbottom." He pushed


himself off the doorframe and pulled out Neville's
visitor's chair, flopping into it and propping his feet up
on the desk.

"Welcome back," Neville grumbled, glaring at Draco's


feet. He sighed when Draco didn't remove them and
leaned back, stretching and twisting to release the
tension in his back. "When did you get in?"
"Just this morning," Draco replied. "Found a place to
stay and came straight here. Miss me?"

"Oh, terribly," Neville said sardonically. "I'm sure you'll


be happy to know you got out of most of the work for
the trial. I've had Justin Finch-Fletchley by nearly
every day to talk to me about it. You should probably
talk to him...he's handling the prosecution, and will
want to hear your side of the story, I'm sure."

"Didn't I already send him a write-up?" Draco asked.


"I'm sure I did."

"I think he still wants to talk to you in person," Neville


replied. "Very meticulous, is our Justin."

Draco frowned thoughtfully. "Did I know him? I can't


remember."

"He was in Hufflepuff, our year. Tall bloke, big teeth,


Muggle-born. You probably wouldn't have liked him.
He started out as a lawyer for the Ministry about 7
years ago...he's quite good, by all accounts."

"It isn't as though he needs to be, for this. Fairly


obvious they're guilty, isn't it?"

"Doesn't matter, they still get a trial," Neville said.


"Since the War, and the huge fuss over the Ministry
sending people to Azkaban without trial and the like,
they've decided to revamp the whole legal system.
Everyone gets a trial, doesn't matter if they were
caught red-handed or not."

Draco snorted. "Even if they're not the only ones


involved?"

"Meaning...?" Neville raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Meaning you know as well as I do that someone else


is behind the kidnapping," Draco said. "Straker and
Nesbitt managed to keep us running 'round for
months when they were robbing banks, but the
kidnapping...it was too obvious. And too easy. They
either got very stupid all of a sudden, or someone
talked them into this and is letting them take the fall."

"I know that, and you know that, but we can't get
those two to admit to it, and there's no way we can
prove it short of getting permission to search the
Flints' home, or the Notts' or the Averys'. And that's
right out of the question right now. Too many Ministry
folks who are either their friends, or simply don't want
to stir the pot again." Neville sighed and shook his
head. "Though Cecil would dearly love to see it done,
we can't search them without some form of proof.
Which we don't have."

"What I don't understand is what they thought they'd


gain from it." Draco shook his head. "I mean,
kidnapping Harry Potter's children makes sense, if
you have a personal grudge against Potter and want
to see him suffer. But those two...money would be the
most likely motive, but I can't see someone like Flint
just giving up 5 million galleons once he had it. Unless
whoever is behind it promised they'd keep the two of
them out of jail, and reneged on the promise. I wonder
what they were threatened with to get them not to
talk."

Neville shrugged. "Dark spells, maybe? Memory


charm? Maybe they never knew to begin with. Some
sort of under-the-table deal."

"Why would they do it to begin with, if they knew how


high the risk was?" Draco shook his head and made a
frustrated noise. "Even if they were coerced with
spells, why don't they say something now that they're
in custody? Try to plea-bargain their way out of
trouble. Unless they've been spelled to not be able to,
which is always possible." He ran a hand through his
cropped hair - his left instead of his right, a habit he'd
picked up while he was injured and couldn't move his
right arm - and shook his head.

Neville watched and raised his eyebrows at Draco.


"How's the arm, by the way?"

Draco shrugged and let him change the subject. "All


right. Aches sometimes. I've got a hell of a scar."

"I'm sure." Neville frowned, his brow furrowing. He


nodded stiffly and shifted his gaze away, staring at a
point somewhere up and to the left of Draco's head.

Draco raised an eyebrow at that. "Something the


matter?"

Neville glanced at him briefly. "What makes you think


that?"

"It just seems like something's wrong, Longbottom,"


Draco said. "If there's something you want to know, by
all means, ask away."

Neville shook his head and kept not-quite-glaring at


Draco. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing or you wouldn't be avoiding looking at


me. What's wrong?" Draco frowned at Neville. He'd
never seen the other man so shifty. "If there's
something you want to know, just ask, for crying out
loud. What is it?"

Neville stopped staring at the wall and glowered at


Draco, suddenly tense. "What the hell were you
thinking, is what I really want to know, actually," he
said, an edge in his voice. "Leaping out of nowhere
like that, when that Muggle was armed. You could
have been killed! Why on earth didn't you just pull
your wand?"

Draco blinked at Neville's unexpected display of


anger. "I didn't think of it."

"You didn't -" Neville pushed his chair back abruptly,


stood up and began to pace in a small circle in the
space behind his desk. "You didn't think of it. Have
you any idea how close you came to dying that
night?"

"Actually, yes," Draco replied defensively. "I had


ample time to think about it during my month-long
stay in hospital. So what?"

Neville pressed his lips together and glared. "I know


you were carrying a wand, he said accusingly."All you
had to do was stupefy the idiot!"

"Longbottom, it has been well over a decade since my


first instinct has been to go for a wand," Draco said.
"Ridiculous as you obviously think it, if someone pulls
a gun and tries to shoot me, my first impulse is to
shoot back. It happened too fast, and using magic
simply didn't occur to me."

Neville made a small but expressive noise of disbelief


and paced around in a circle again. "I thought you
were going to die," he said accusingly. "You collapsed
practically in my arms, and those idiot Aurors saying
that they couldn't use magic on you, even on the arm
wound, because they were sure you were a Muggle
and it wasn't allowed." Neville huffed in annoyance
and flopped back into his chair, glaring at Draco.
"Why, Longbottom, I didn't know you cared." Draco
grinned as Neville went red. "I'm touched."

"Well, I was worried." Neville huffed again, the flush in


his cheeks showing no sign of fading.

Draco grinned. He was touched, actually - he didn't


think Neville would care so much about his well-being.
"Anything else you want to yell at me for?"

Neville actually looked very much like there was


something else he wanted to yell about, and Draco
had a brief nervous moment wondering what the hell
he'd say if Neville asked about Ginny, but Neville only
shook his head. "I should warn you that we've been
hip-deep in reporters since the kidnapping story
broke. Might want to be careful on your way out,
they've all been dying to talk to you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Draco said, and stood up. "Call
me if anything comes up, will you? And you can send
Finch-Fletchley to me if he shows up, and I'll repeat
everything I've already told him via owl."

"I'll do that." Neville bent his head back to his reports


and waved one hand idly in Draco's direction.

Neville hadn't been joking about the reporters. Draco


managed to retreat from the Ministry to his old office
at New Scotland Yard without drawing the attention of
the small horde of journalists who had taken up
residence outside the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement. Colin Creevey in particular seemed
bound and determined to snag an exclusive interview,
and had not only dug up a host of information on
Draco already, but had even managed to track down
the hotel he was staying in, although the front desk
clerk informed Draco later that they refused to talk to
the young man. Colin was tenacious and unwilling to
give up, though, and while under slightly different
circumstances Draco might have admired Colin's gall,
when Draco was on the receiving end of all that
enthusiasm it was extremely grating. So Draco
decided to give Diagon Alley a wide berth, in the vain
hope that Colin might get bored and give up.

He holed up in his office at the Yard and made sure


that Brown at the front desk wasn't going to let
anyone up who didn't have identification. The peace
and quiet were a welcome break from the cacophony
of the Ministry anyway - between Justin Finch-
Fletchley coming to visit Neville at odd hours and
Cecil Dobbins chewing his moustaches and exhorting
them to work harder, not to mention the press, the
Ministry was even more of a zoo than usual. Draco
was using the quiet time to catch up on his own
paperwork, organizing his computer files and sifting
through reports and statements relating to the case. It
was nearly silent in his office, the only sounds the
clicking of the heating unit and the dull hum that exists
in the background of all office buildings, so the small
whoosh of displaced air, when it came, was very loud.
Draco turned in his chair, the back of his neck
prickling.

Marcus Flint was standing in the middle of his office,


dressed in tasteless plum robes that looked as though
he'd slept in them. He smiled at Draco, showing a
mouthful of badly stained teeth. It belatedly occurred
to Draco that spell-protecting his Muggle office might
be a good idea. "Hello, Malfoy. It's been a while."

"Hardly long enough," Draco replied coldly. Marcus


was one of his least favourite people, a blunt, stupid
man with little imagination and questionable personal
hygiene. He and his father had desired nothing more
than to be Death Eaters when Voldemort returned;
Flint's father had borne the Dark Mark, but Marcus
had been rejected by Voldemort as too stupid to be
useful in the summer after Draco's fifth year. It was
one of the few things the Dark Lord had done that
Draco agreed with.

Marcus smirked and pulled out the visitor's chair,


slouching into it. "Pansy said she'd run into you,
Malfoy. How come you never owled to say hello?"

"Perhaps I simply didn't want to," Draco said. "I've


been busy."

"Too busy to talk to your old friends? Malfoy, I'm


shocked." Marcus flashed his nasty little smile again.
"I would have thought you'd be eager to get back into
things."

Draco stiffened. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. Your dad was the Dark Lord's
most trusted advisor. How could you not want that
back, eh?" Marcus leaned back, stretching his legs
out in front of him comfortably. "See the old crowd
again, pick up where your dad left off?"

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, Flint, the 'Dark Lord'


was killed 13 years ago, and I imagine that the
Ministry did everything in their power to make very
sure he stayed killed. It's a bit difficult to be the trusted
advisor to a dead man," he replied. "Even if I wanted
to, which I don't."

Marcus scoffed. "Oh, come on, Malfoy. You don't


expect me to believe that you're actually happy about
being forced to live like a mudblood? You, of all
people? Don't tell me you don't want your old life
back." He waved a hand at Draco's office. "You
deserve better than this, living without magic, forced
to hide who you are, rubbing shoulders with people
like Longbottom." Marcus' voice was thick with scorn
as he said Neville's name. "Chubby little prig."

Draco's eye's narrowed dangerously. "What you


appear to be forgetting," he said quietly, snapping off
each word, "is that I chose to leave, and I chose to
live as a Muggle. In fact, had I not been required by
circumstance to return, I never would have. If you
want to delude yourself into thinking that dabbling in
the Dark Arts will give you whatever it is you think you
deserve, by all means go ahead, but don't expect me
to play your foolish little games."

"Your father would have said differently -" Marcus


began.

"My father is dead!" Draco snarled. "And for the last


time I have no intention of joining you and your
horrible little wife in whatever idiotic little hobby you've
concocted to amuse yourselves with in your spare
time!"

Marcus recoiled, his lip curling. "I would never have


believed it...you've gone soft."

"I have not 'gone soft', Flint, I grew up. It's something
you might try as well," Draco shot back. "Voldemort is
dead, and if you had any sense at all, you'd be
grateful for it."

"Grateful for it? Grateful for having our money seized


and our homes ransacked by Aurors? Grateful to
have to kowtow to mudbloods and Muggle-lovers at
every level of society, to be ruled by a Ministry run by
boot-lickers like Percy Weasley and the rest of his
pathetic family? Although I hear that someone nearly
had the chance to off two of Potter's horrid little by-
blows by that little Weasley slut. Pity, really." Marcus
sneered again, and Draco clenched his hands on the
arms of his chair to keep from going over the desk
and wiping the smirk off his face with a well-placed
fist. "You may have forgotten who you are and what
your family stands for, but the rest of us haven't.
We're pure-blooded, back generations, and we should
be grateful that we're being edged out by these half-
bloods and mud-bloods with no breeding to speak of?
That it's become fashionable to pretend to be
Muggle? And we're just supposed to sit back and let
them taint our world, let them over-run everything that
the wizarding world has ever stood for?"

"You really have no idea," Draco said softly, his voice


oozing contempt. "Voldemort was a Muggle, you idiot.
He was Tom Riddle, before he became Lord
Voldemort. His mother was a witch, but his father was
as Muggle as they come. If it was the Muggle taint
you were hoping to eradicate, I'd say Potter gave you
a fine head start." Draco curled his lip as Marcus
shook his head in denial. "The only thing Voldemort
was really interested in was power for himself, not for
anyone else. Even if Potter hadn't killed him, he would
have sucked the wizarding world dry, not out of some
deluded notion of purity, but because it was a means
to his own ends. Ranting about purebloods and
mudbloods and all the rest of it just got all the old
pureblood families - the people with the money - on
his side."
"You haven't a clue what you're talking about,"
Marcus growled.

"No?" Draco asked, icily politely. "I'm sorry, I could


have sworn that it was my father and not yours who
was a part of Voldemort's inner circle. Do correct me if
I'm wrong."

"You'll want to watch that tongue of yours, Malfoy.


You'll end up in exactly the sort of trouble you don't
want," Marcus snarled.

It was all Draco could do not to laugh in his face. "Oh


really. You think you can make trouble for me?" He
swept Marcus with a derisive look and did laugh,
bitterly. "You can't throw anything at me that I can't
handle, Flint, I assure you."

"You're going to regret that, Malfoy," Marcus replied,


rising from the chair with a sneer. "You really are."

"Are you threatening me?" Draco asked softly, rising


as well.

Marcus clenched his jaw, obviously debating how to


answer. "All I'm saying is that you should be careful
who you side with," he said finally. "There are some
enemies you don't want to make." He held Draco's
eye steadily as he jerked his wand out and apparated
away.
Draco glared at the spot where Flint had been
standing, then spun around in his chair in annoyance.
He'd known, really, that it was only a matter of time
before someone from the old crowd discovered he
was here and tried to talk to him, someone besides
Pansy, who had all the sense and tact of a gnat. The
role he'd played in the rescue of Harry Potter's
children was just the thing to bring them all oozing out
of the woodwork, eager to latch on to the Malfoy
name and money. He was actually surprised it had
taken them all so long. Maybe Pansy had learned to
hold her tongue. Draco ran one hand through his hair,
pacing in a small circle. The only question was, what
would Flint do now? How long would it take before
Draco started receiving visits from Nott, or the
surviving Goyle clan, or any of the other wizards who
had supported Voldemort but evaded punishment?
He snarled under his breath, grabbed his
paperweight, and spun around to launch it at the far
wall, needing to do something to release the surge of
frustrated rage.

He narrowly missed decapitating Harry Potter with the


heavy glass weight, which hit the wall with a dull thud
and fell to the carpet. Draco jumped and swore.
"Jesus! Haven't you heard of knocking?"

"I did knock," Harry said accusingly, glaring at Draco.


"You didn't need to throw something at me. What's
your problem?"
Draco closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep
breath. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry huffed. "Neville said I'd find you here." He


walked further into the room, leaving off glaring at
Draco to peer around curiously. He was dressed in
Muggle clothes, casual black pants and a deep green
t-shirt. He had stylish silver-framed glasses, and he'd
unselfconsciously pushed his hair off his forehead, his
scar a faint silver bolt above one eye. He had the
same slightly gawky grace he'd had as a boy,
balanced by an aura of powerful magic that was
almost palpable. It wasn't for lack of magical ability
that Harry had rejected a life of politics to play
Quidditch - Draco knew from Neville that Harry had
actually been offered the position of Minister of Magic
after the war, and turned it down. The sheer force of
his magic seemed to fill up the room. No wonder poor
Brown at the front desk had let him upstairs.

Draco gritted his teeth. "How nice of him. What do you


want?"

"He sent me by to talk about the trial," Harry replied


absently. He wasn't even paying attention to Draco,
having discovered the photos on his bookshelf.
"Who's this?" he asked, fingering the picture of Draco
and Laura.

Draco sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Ex-


girlfriend," he said wearily. He might have to put up
with having The Boy Who Lived hanging about his
office, but damned if he was going to give Harry any
more details than absolutely necessary. "What did
Longbottom want?"

"Oh," Harry said, ignoring Draco's question. "She's


pretty." Draco growled under his breath as Harry set
the picture back down and moved on to the others.
"Who're all these people?" he asked

Draco blinked, momentarily distracted. "Um..." He


craned his neck to see which picture Harry was
holding. "Me and John, and Ed, two of his sons, some
people from the neighbouring ranch who came over to
help with round-up."

"Round-up?" Harry asked curiously, still examining


the picture. "What's round-up?"

"It's herding cattle. You do it in the fall, to gather up all


the calves for branding before the winter."

Harry raised his eyebrows so much his scar wrinkled,


which made it look rather silly. "You know how to herd
cattle?"

"Of course," Draco informed him loftily. "I lived on a


ranch for almost a year."

"Oh." Harry absorbed this. "Who's Ed?" he asked


finally.
Draco held his breath for a moment and counted
slowly to ten. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry shrugged aimlessly and set the picture back


down, glancing over the one of John as well, his eyes
drifting over the spines of the books. "I lied," he said
finally. "Neville didn't send me." He turned around and
faced Draco squarely, his arms clasped lightly behind
his back. "I didn't come to talk about the case, I came
to apologize to you."

Draco went very still, watching the other man


guardedly. He was almost tempted to believe it was a
joke, if it weren't for the fact that he knew Harry would
never make a joke about something like this. "For
what?"

Harry took a deep breath. "For misjudging you. And


for lying about your father. I shouldn't have let people
think it was my doing, and I'm sorry." He stopped and
looked at Draco expectantly.

Draco stared back at him. He knew he should make


some sort of reply, but in all honestly, he didn't have a
clue what to say to that. Harry, apparently taking his
silence for some sort of assent, soldiered on. "I also
wanted to say that I understand that you're upset with
me about...what I did, and I am willing to publicly
admit to it. I can arrange to talk to the Daily Prophet
and let people know the truth of what happened."
Draco's brain finally caught up to what Harry was
saying. "No," he said vehemently.

Harry looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"No," Draco repeated. "I don't want you to."

Harry looked crestfallen, and Draco jerked his head in


irritation. He'd expected Draco to agree, obviously,
and he would be able to admit to his lie, be lauded in
the press for coming forth with the truth, praised for
his honesty and go on with his life, conscience clear.
"Why not?" Harry asked in bewilderment.

"Because I don't care if the wizarding world knows


what really happened," Draco said. "And frankly, the
absolute last thing I want is a bunch of nosy reporters
having a heyday with my private life. You want the
accolades, Potter, you're more than welcome to
them."

Harry stared at him, a strange expression on his face.


"I thought you'd want people to know," he said finally.

Draco clenched his jaw."Well I don't. I don't care."

Harry watched him silently, bright green eyes


searching Draco's face. Draco glared back, resisting
the urge to loom a bit - he might be a powerful wizard,
but Harry really was quite short. "All right," he said
finally, and nodded, more to himself than to Draco.
"But I do mean it. I am sorry." Harry held out his hand
to Draco, green eyes meeting his steadily. "And I do
want to thank you. For everything."

Draco stared back for a long moment before reaching


out and taking Harry's proffered hand in his own.
"You're welcome," Draco said shortly, and dropped
Harry's hand.

"Um." Harry said awkwardly, and cleared his throat.


"Right then." He looked at Draco consideringly, clearly
debating whether to say something else. If you ask
me about Ginny, I will hit you, Draco thought to
himself. It must have shown on his face, because
Harry thought better of whatever it was he was going
to say, nodded firmly and turned away. He walked out
the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

Draco leaned against his desk and rubbed one hand


tiredly over his face, suddenly exhausted from the
effort of having Marcus and Harry sprung on him one
after the other. He wanted nothing more than to go
and lie down somewhere quiet and not have to think
about any of it. A sudden image came to him, of
Ginny's tiny apartment, her worn and comfortable
couch, the feeling of absolute peace that he felt there.
"Shit," he said quietly. "Shit, shit, shit." Draco rubbed
at the back of his neck and sighed. Del was right; he
was an idiot. After the trial, he promised himself. I'll
talk to her then.
The trial date came too quickly for Neville, who hated
public speaking more than just about anything else.
He was standing in the small room reserved for
witnesses just off the courtroom, drinking the vile
coffee left on the table there by one of the court
clerks, and trying not to think too hard about the room
full of people beyond the door. He paced in a small
circle, waiting for Draco and Harry to show up and
keep him company until the trial began. He didn't
have long to wait - Draco arrived soon after he did,
striding through the door and shutting it firmly behind
him with an air of aloof arrogance. Neville choked on
his coffee. "Malfoy," he gasped out, coughing
violently. He nodded at his partner when he'd got his
breath back. "You look..." he trailed off and coughed
again.

"What?" Draco snapped irritably, glaring at Neville. He


walked forward to lean against the table, frowning
down at the coffee pot. There wasn't anything else to
drink, which made Draco's scowl deepen.

Neville cleared his throat, not quite looking at Draco.


"Oh, nothing. It's just, um, your jacket is very, um." He
tugged at the neck of his own formal robes, which
were a nicely subdued navy blue, and cleared his
throat. "It's very...red."

Draco snorted and brushed at the jacket in question.


It was very red, trimmed with brass buttons, and with
a brown belt at the waist. "It's a dress uniform,
Longbottom. Something wrong with it?"

"Oh, no, no, not at all, it's very...nice. You look...nice. I


mean, you know, you look okay. It's fine, and -
dammit." Neville gave up as Draco raised his
eyebrows in amusement. "You look gorgeous, if you
must know." He glowered at Draco, a slow flush
creeping up his neck. "By rights you should look
ridiculous, but you don't. Sex on a bloody stick.
Happy?"

Draco grinned at Neville's discomfiture. "Thanks," he


said brightly.

"Fuck off."

Draco smirked. "You want me."

Neville didn't think it was possible to blush any harder


than he already was, but his cheeks were making a
valiant effort to prove him wrong. "Whatever." He
scowled at Draco, who leaned back against the table
and smirked some more. "Should have known you
wouldn't just show up in robes like every other normal
person in the world."

"I don't own any dress robes, and I didn't have time to
go shopping," Draco said, still grinning at him.
"Though you don't look so bad yourself."
Neville scowled some more and tugged at his collar
again. He was wearing his official Auror uniform, with
the Ministry crest and his name over the left breast
pocket. He could practically feel them wrinkling. "I
hate dressing up," he said morosely.

"You look fine."

Neville sighed disconsolately. "Easy for you to say,"


he muttered. "God I hate these things."

"You look fine, and after all, it's only a trial," Draco
said calmly. "It's hardly something to get worked up
over. We already know what the outcome will be."

"It's not the trial bit, it's the public speaking bit. I'm
crap at it." Neville glanced at Draco, who looked as
unflappable as always. Of course he wouldn't have
any qualms about standing up and talking in front of
the largest crowd of people Neville had ever seen.
With Neville's luck, he'd get flustered and forget his
own name, but not Draco.

"There's hardly anything to worry about," Draco


replied dismissively. "Though I'm a bit surprised
there's so many people here."

"Of course there's a massive crowd, it's Harry and his


kids. D'you think anyone within apparating distance
would miss it? It's a zoo out there," Neville said. "I've
never seen so many people."
"Wonderful," Draco said sardonically. "All come to
play 'Spot the Hero', I take it?"

Neville gave him a wry half-smile. "A goodly portion of


them are here to see you as much as him, I'd bet."

"That'd be more along the lines of 'Spot the Death


Eater', Longbottom. I read the papers." Draco shook
his head in disgust and tipped the coffee pot on the
table slightly toward himself, peering into it mournfully.
"It didn't occur to them to give us water, too?"

"We don't rate," Neville said, and sipped at his coffee.


"You're not missing anything, the coffee's
unbelievably vile."

"Harder to screw up water."

"Where there's a will, there's a way," Neville replied,


chuckling, and relaxed minutely. He glanced up as the
door to the hall opened to admit Harry, who shut it
quickly behind him.

"Hullo, Neville. Malfoy." Harry nodded stiffly at Neville,


then raised his eyebrows at Draco. "Nice outfit."

Draco sneered at him. "It's a dress uniform, Potter.


Not that I'd expect you to recognize that." He raked
his eyes over Harry's rather plain black robes.
Harry clenched his jaw and smiled tautly at Draco.
"Actually, Malfoy," he said, "it makes you look a bit
like an over-ripe tomato. But then, I suppose you can't
afford to be too picky."

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'll remember


that the next time you need a spare 5 million
Galleons, Potter."

Harry bristled and started forward. Neville caught his


arm before he got to Draco and pulled him back.
"Stop it," he said sharply, and pushed Harry toward
the opposite wall. "You too," he said to Draco, who
was still sneering. "Quit baiting each other. Honestly."

"You sound like Hermione," Harry muttered sullenly.


He tugged at the collar of his robes to straighten
them, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. Despite
Draco's dig, they were high quality and well tailored,
with his war medals and Order of the Phoenix crest
pinned over his breast. He looked sober and serious,
every inch the hero. Unlike Neville, he wore them well
- but then, Harry'd had years of practice to perfect his
public image.

Neville shook his head again and turned back to


Draco, who was leaning against the table with his
arms crossed over his chest, silently ignoring Harry.
Neville sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
There was a short uncomfortable silence, while Harry
and Draco each pretended the other wasn't there,
finally broken by Justin Finch-Fletchley opening the
hall door and peering around the corner. "Oh, good,
you're here," he said, and came into the room,
shutting the door behind him. "We're about to start.
Just so you know, Malfoy, they've asked you to stay
behind in the room until you're called to the stand. I've
talked to the defense and we all feel your presence in
the courtroom be too much of a distraction for the
spectators. So if you wouldn't mind, we'd like you to
stay in here until you're called upon." He said all of
this without ever quite looking at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes, which Justin missed. "If that's


what you want."

Justin nodded, and beckoned Harry and Neville to


follow him through the door to the courtroom and into
the small area set aside for witnesses. Neville flashed
Draco a small, nervous smile, and the other man
nodded slightly as the door closed, cutting him off
from view.

Ginny and Hermione filed into their row on the


benches behind the desks for the defendants. Molly
and Arthur were seated to Ginny's right, Percy and
Penelope to their right, with Ron, Fred and George on
the other side of Hermione, all of them chatting quietly
with each other while Ginny sat nervously and
clenched her hands in her lap. Angelina and Natalie
had offered to watch the scores of Weasley children
and were at Ginny's flat, as her apartment was the
closest to Diagon Alley. Everyone else in the
wizarding world appeared reluctant to give this trial a
miss, however, and the courtroom was packed to the
rafters with people eager to see Harry Potter and the
infamous Draco Malfoy. The trial itself seemed almost
incidental to the thrill of seeing both men in the flesh.
Ginny could see people pointing at her family and
whispering - they were understandably recognizable,
with the omnipresent Weasley hair.

The buzz in the room finally died down as the


representatives for the Ministry and for the defendants
filed into the room. Ginny kept looking over the crowd
from where she sat, on the left-hand of the room, side
close to the rail that separated the floor from the seats
for the press, searching for a glimpse of white-blonde
hair. Neville, who was sitting with Harry in the
reserved section for witnesses in the case, beside the
defendant's table, caught her eye and nodded
reassuringly. It didn't make her feel any better.

The preliminary proceedings had been taken care of


the day before, and today would be for the meat of
the trial - witnesses and presentation of all the facts of
the case, and, hopefully, a judgment. Harry was
sitting near Neville, in the witness section, and he,
too, smiled at Ginny reassuringly when he caught her
looking. She smiled feebly back, and Hermione
reached over to pat her hand gently.

The defendants were brought in, two


unprepossessing young men, one with sandy blond
hair, the other with a shock of orange curls. Ginny
stared at them with ill-concealed dislike, not inclined
to be charitable toward the two. The noise from the
spectators spiked as the defendants took their seats,
and once the court was called to order, Neville was
called to the stand by Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was
acting as the representative for the Ministry.

"State your name for the record, please."

"Neville Horatio Longbottom," Neville said clearly. He


looked a little flustered. Ginny knew how much he
hated speaking formally, and thought he was doing
rather well.

"Occupation?"

"I am a senior Auror for the Department of Magical


Law Enforcement."

"And your involvement in this case?"

"I was assigned by my supervisor, Cecil Dobbins, to


track the defendants. We suspected their involvement
in a series of crimes against the Muggle community,
and were asked by the Muggle police to provide a
liaison to the wizarding community in order to help
track them down."

"Thank you," Justin said politely. "Now, if you don't


mind, could you tell the court what you know of the
events leading up to the capture of the defendants?"

Neville went through the events of the case, seeming


to relax as he spoke. Ginny guessed that it was
because he was on familiar ground, talking about his
work. He was periodically interrupted by both Justin
and the lawyer for the defense, Terrence Higgs.
Higgs, a Slytherin who had been on the house
Quidditch team in the early '90s and narrowly
escaped prosecution after the War, tried mightily to
poke holes in Neville's testimony, but Neville was hard
to phase.

Finally Higgs barked, "Nothing further," at the judge


and slumped back in his seat. "Next witness."

That was Harry, who ignored the buzz of the audience


and the flash of the reporters' cameras as he took the
stand. He submitted to the questioning stoically,
relating the events of the kidnapping with calm
efficiency. Higgs was surprisingly tame, perhaps
knowing that neither Harry nor the large audience
would stand for any of the bullying tactics he'd tried on
Neville. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as Harry
stepped down and retreated back to his seat - she
hadn't been asked to testify herself, and she was
profoundly grateful for that. She had never liked being
the focus of attention, and hated public speaking
almost as much as Neville did.
There was a brief pause, then the judge nodded at
Justin Finch-Fletchley, who cleared his throat and
said loudly, "Draco Malfoy."

Loud murmurs rose from the crowd as the entire


audience began to whisper and crane their necks,
trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous Malfoy. His
involvement in the case and his return to the
wizarding world was well known by now, but he was
adept at avoiding reporters, and few had seen him
since the War. Every wizard in the courtroom was
desperate to see him in the flesh. Ginny scanned the
room quickly, but she didn't see Draco anywhere; she
tried to get Neville's attention, but he wasn't looking in
her direction. He was looking toward the door behind
the reserved witness seating expectantly. The door
opened and Draco stepped into the room.

He had gotten his hair cut sometime in the last couple


of months; it was now cropped close to his head, and
shone like a silver halo as he started across the floor
of the courtroom. He'd lost weight as well, Ginny
thought, which combined with the hair made him look
younger; it was as though he'd been whittled down to
essentials. He was wearing a scarlet thigh-length
jacket with a high collar and brass buttons that stood
out like a beacon in the room full of dark-clad Aurors
and lawyers. It was belted at the waist, and he wore
black jodhpurs with a yellow stripe up either leg, and
had a brown hat tucked underneath one arm. The
heels of his knee-high brown boots rapped against
the wooden floor as he walked steadily toward the
stand in the centre of the room. Draco turned sharply
on one heel and stood facing the courtroom, face
impassive, back straight, his left hand resting lightly
on the wooden rail in front of him. The crowd of
spectators, most of whom were craning their necks to
get a good view, whispered loudly to each other as
they stared at Draco.

Draco, for his part, didn't look at the crowd, and barely
glanced up when Justin Finch-Fletchley called for
quiet and moved to stand in front of him. "Name?"
Justin asked brusquely, much less politely than he
had spoken to Neville.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy"

"Occupation?"

"I am a corporal for the Royal Canadian Mounted


Police, in Alberta, Canada." This statement caused
another ripple in the courtroom, and Justin had to wait
impatiently while quiet was restored. By the set of his
shoulders, Ginny guessed that Justin wasn't happy
about the spectacle Draco was making.

"Your involvement in this case?"

"One of the suspects in question was a known


criminal in Canada. I was assigned to keep tabs on
him, and when the suspect came to England, I
followed, working with both Scotland Yard and the
Ministry to apprehend him."

Justin fired a few questions at him, his lips pressed in


a tight line, and Draco answered them all calmly, with
barely a change in inflection. The crowd muttered
restlessly as Justin finished and retreated to his seat,
as though the questioning was far more boring than
they had expected or desired.

After Justin sat down Terrance Higgs rose silkily to his


feet. He smiled unpleasantly at Draco, brushing at the
hang of his robes before walking closer to where
Draco stood, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Draco Malfoy," Higgs said softly, pure venom in his


voice, and a thrill of apprehension crawled up Ginny's
spine. "Welcome home. You've no idea how happy
we all are to see you alive."

Draco gazed back at him impassively and didn't reply.


Higgs smiled nastily and paced in a very small circle
in front of the stand. The room was silent for the first
time since Draco had entered, all attention focused on
the two men. "Tell me, Malfoy," Higgs said finally,
"where have you been, all this time?"

"Canada," Draco said expressionlessly.

"Indeed. And what were you doing in Canada?"


"As I said, I work for the RCMP."

"Ah," Higgs said. "The RCMP. And what do they do


again?"

"We are the Canadian national police force."

"Oh? I thought the Canadian force was called the


Department of Magical Inquiry. I didn't know they'd
changed their name." Higgs widened his eyes
innocently at Draco.

"The RCMP is not a wizarding police force." Draco bit


off each word sharply, but he didn't change
expression or raise his voice. It was hard to tell from
where she was sitting, but Ginny thought he was
beginning to be angry.

"Not a wizarding police force?" Higgs gasped in mock


astonishment. "You mean to tell me that you've been
working for Muggles all this time?"

"Yes."

Higgs rocked back on his heels and waited for Draco


to continue. When he didn't, Higgs paced very slowly
in front of his seat. "And how did this come about?" he
finally asked. "A Malfoy posing as a Muggle seems
terribly unlikely, if you don't mind my saying. How on
earth did such an unusual state of affairs come to
be?"
Draco set his jaw and glared. "I hardly think that's any
of your business."

Higgs met his glare and nodded. "Yes, well," he said


airily, waving a dismissive hand. "So. From the review
of the details of this case, it appears that you've
become quite the hero. By all accounts -" Higgs
retreated to his desk to shuffle through his papers, "-
you actually put yourself into danger to prevent Harry
Potter from being injured when one of my clients
allegedly pulled a weapon."

"Allegedly?" Draco raised one eyebrow. "Is that what


they're calling it?"

Higgs smirked back. "Innocent until proven guilty,


Malfoy. But as I was saying, by all reports you rather
heroically put yourself into danger for Harry Potter."
He looked at Draco for confirmation. Draco nodded
warily. "And you expect us to believe that?"

"That's what happened."

"Really. We're to believe that you risked your life for


the man who killed your father?" Higgs asked softly,
his words dropping into the silence of the room like
pebbles in a pool. "How very noble of you."

"I swore an oath, to serve and protect the people who


fall under my care," Draco replied steadily, locking
eyes with Higgs. "It happened, in this case, that Harry
Potter and his children were those people. I keep my
promises."

"Really. Like you kept your promises during the war?"

Draco stiffened, narrowing his eyes. "I made no


promises during the war," he said icily. "Whatever you
might be implying."

"I'm not implying anything," Higgs said smoothly. "Just


curious, that's all." He paused, and walked away from
Draco before turning back again, raising his voice
slightly. "So. I admit, I am curious, Malfoy. If, as you
say, you're not and never were a Death Eater, and
you don't have a Dark Mark, and you were never
involved with He Who Must Not Be Named...why did
you leave England? Surely you weren't afraid, were
you?"

"That is none of your business," Draco said coldly.

"Oh, come now," Higgs replied integratingly. "Am I to


believe that the son of Lucius Malfoy vanished from
the wizarding world out of cowardice? Was it fear of
Azkaban, maybe?"

"No."

"No?" Higgs repeated. "You weren't scared that some


overzealous Auror would decide that arresting a
Malfoy would be a coup and drag you off to prison,
protesting your innocence all the way?"

That made Ginny smile, because it was fairly close to


the reason Draco had first given her for wanting to
leave England after the war, but Draco merely shook
his head. "No."

"So why did you leave?"

"That's none of your business," Draco replied again.

"You've said that a lot, Malfoy," Higgs sneered.


"Lucius Malfoy was the top man for He Who Must Not
Be Named. Don't you think it is the business of the
wizarding public to know where you have been the
last twelve years, when your own father was killed at
Voldemort's right hand?"

"Actually, I don't," Draco said flatly.

"Really?" he asked. "Now that doesn't seem like the


Draco Malfoy I remember. In fact, I remember you
saying at Hogwarts that you planned on being the
right-hand man of He Who Must Not Be Named."

Draco visibly rolled his eyes and raised his voice over
the rising noise from the crowd. "And I recall you
saying that you were going to play in the Quidditch
World Cup, Higgs," he replied mockingly. "Whatever
happened?"
Higgs smirked. "You mean you've changed your mind,
then? No desire to conquer the world anymore?"

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched, as though he


were suppressing a smile. "It didn't seem like a career
with much of a future."

There was a small ripple of laughter through the


audience. "Indeed," Higgs said with a glare. "Yet isn't
it true that you were invited to become a Death Eater
in the summer of 1997?"

That quelled the laughter. Draco raised his chin and


stared at Higgs venomously. "I was invited to, yes."

"You don't deny it?"

"The invitation was extended, and I turned it down."


Ginny could see, from her vantage point, that Draco
had gone rigid, his eyes cold and hard.

Higgs raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"That's none of your business."

There was another small murmur from the crowd.


"Cor, he doesn't half look like his father," whispered a
blue-haired old witch behind Hermione and Ginny.
"He puts on a good show, but he's rotten to the core, I
bet, just like all o' them Malfoys."
Ginny stiffened and whipped her head around, but
Hermione caught her arm. "Don't!" she hissed. "That's
exactly what Higgs wants...he's trying to sway opinion
against Malfoy, get people thinking that he was
secretly a Death Eater or something. Trying to get
people to doubt that he'd act for anyone's best
interests."

"That's not fair!" Ginny whispered back hotly.

"I know, but I'll bet Higgs is worried. Half the jury
probably wanted to hang them on sight, because it
was Harry's children they took...he's just trying to use
everything he can against Harry. If discrediting Malfoy
will help, he's going to do whatever it takes."

Ginny nodded and swallowed against the surge of bile


in her throat. It felt like the war had happened so long
ago, it was easy to forget that thirteen years isn't a
very long time in communal memory. She glanced
down at Harry, whose face was set in angry lines, his
hands curled into fists. Neville leaned over and
whispered something to him, but Harry shook his
head abruptly, and Neville leaned away. He glanced
up, caught Ginny's eye and shrugged. Harry looked
up too, and even at this distance, she could see the
rage in his face.

Higgs was still silkily trying to lead Draco into saying


something - anything - that would be incriminating.
Harry, however, had had enough. He surged to his
feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor.
"I don't think," he said loudly, his voice ringing across
the courtroom, "that this is necessary." Higgs whirled
around to face the other man, and Harry glared at
him, green eyes sparking. The judge himself had
given up all pretence of being in control and was
watching as avidly as everyone else as Higgs stalked
toward Harry, eyes narrowed dangerously. Harry
continued, "Malfoy is not the one on trial here. Air
your personal grievances elsewhere, Higgs."

"And how do you know that this is personal, Mr.


Potter?" Higgs replied smoothly. "I find it hard to
believe that you, of all people, would stand in defense
of the son of Lucius Malfoy."

"You have spent the last ten minutes asking him


about everything under the sun but the one thing he is
here for. Which is to give evidence against the people
who kidnapped my children. Whatever private issue
you have with Malfoy has nothing to do with that."

"And what if I say it does?"

Harry didn't give an inch. "I say it doesn't," he replied


firmly. Harry glanced at the judge who, along with
everyone else in the courtroom, was staring at him. "I
suggest you speed this process along, Justice
MacGregor."
The judge nodded quickly and cleared his throat,
banging his fist on the edge of his chair. "Mr. Higgs,
please keep your questions to the issue at hand."

Higgs scowled darkly and clenched his fists, glaring at


Harry with undisguised hatred. Harry ignored him and
glanced at Draco, who caught his eye and held it for a
long moment. Draco gave him a small nod, which
Harry returned stiffly before returning to his seat.

Higgs spun around and walked back to his desk,


where he shuffled some papers sullenly before curtly
demanding that Draco recount his version of the
events leading up to the kidnapping. Draco did, calmly
and without a hint of emotion, but he seemed relieved
to Ginny when he was finally allowed to step down
from the witness stand and join Neville and Harry.

The rest of the trial was actually rather dull.


Statements from Ginny and the children were read
out, statements from the Canadian Ministry and
Muggle police. The two kidnappers weren't allowed to
take the stand at all, which left Ginny confused until
Hermione whispered that it would probably be very
bad for the defense for them to be cross-examined.
After all, there were half a dozen eyewitnesses that
said that those two were the kidnappers, not to
mention the damning tape Draco and Neville had
gathered during their investigation. The outcome of
the trial was almost an anticlimax; no one was very
surprised when the verdict came back guilty for both
of the men. Ginny breathed a huge sigh of relief as
the Weasleys swarmed down from the seats after the
announcement, to stand in a great crowd on the
courtroom floor, near the sectioned off seats for the
witnesses. The rest of the spectators were being
ushered out, although Colin Creevey was dodging the
guards quite nimbly, sneaking forward to snap
pictures of the family.

Molly was in tears, hugging everyone within reach.


She bustled up to the rail, dabbing at her eyes, and
pulled first Neville, then Harry, into fierce embraces,
even dragging a startled Justin Finch-Fletchley into a
tight hug. Ginny had accepted her own hugs from her
brothers and sisters-in-law, beamed a smile at Harry
and Neville, then leaned against the rail a little way
away from the crowd as Molly exclaimed over how
well they had done and how proud she was.

She could feel him standing there, a few feet away


from where she stood, and Ginny looked up. She
caught Draco's eye almost unintentionally, and gave
him an uncertain smile. He nodded back and walked
toward her slowly, almost reluctantly. Draco leaned
against the wooden rail and looked down at his boots.
"Can I speak with you?" he asked softly.

"Of course," Ginny replied. He looked tired, and she


was sure that there were a few lines around his eyes
that hadn't been there before. He wouldn't quite look
at her, and her heart contracted.
Draco raised his head and glanced at her family.
"Would you mind if we went somewhere else? I'd
rather not have this conversation with Harry Potter
trying to drill holes in the back of my head with his
eyeballs."

Ginny glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough,


Harry was glowering at them both. Neville had
noticed, and was looking at all three of them
anxiously. She bit her lip and ducked her head, hiding
a grin. "Do you think they might let us use the witness
room?"

"Good idea." Draco pushed himself off the railing and


walked over to the door. He opened it slightly and
poked his head in. "It's empty," he said quietly, and
motioned to her, pushing the door open further.

"Just a minute," she said, and went back to the rail,


tapping Hermione on the shoulder. They spoke for a
moment in low voices, then Ginny turned and came
back. Hermione was making her way over to Harry,
who was still glaring at Draco. Draco couldn't help
flashing the other man a smirk before he followed
Ginny into the room and shut the door behind them.

Draco walked over to the table and rested one hand


on the tabletop. He took a deep breath and turned to
face her; she hadn't moved beyond the closed door,
watching him with wide brown eyes. Now that she
was here, standing in front of him, he had no idea
what to say.

"How have you been?" she asked finally, her tone


extremely polite. It made Draco's chest tighten to hear
her.

"Well enough," he replied quietly. "Not entirely back in


shape, but I'm doing all right, all things considered."

Ginny nodded politely, her face unreadable. It made


his heart constrict, to have her so close, but not with
him. He'd refused to let himself look at her in the
courtroom - he had missed her so much that he didn't
quite trust himself to be able to get through the trial
without doing something embarrassing if he had to
watch her. Not that having her stand there looking
collected and aloof, like she was simply waiting for
him to say what he had to say so that she could get
back to her family, was any less embarrassing. Draco
cursed himself silently; if this were a movie or one of
the ridiculous romantic books Del devoured he would
simply know the right thing to say and she would stop
being so distant and fall into his arms or something
equally silly. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "Before I say
anything else, I owe you that." Ginny didn't say
anything, just stared at him, her face unreadable.
Draco gazed back at her steadily.

She nodded vaguely and looked down at her shoes.


"Why didn't you call?" she asked finally. "It's been
months."

Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I didn't think...I


thought you wouldn't want to talk to me."

"I wouldn't want to talk to you," Ginny repeated flatly,


jerking her head up sharply to stare at him. "I thought
that you weren't talking to me because you were
angry with me, because I didn't stay."

Draco stared at her, stunned. Why on earth would he


think that? He opened his mouth, then closed it again,
lost for words. "Oh," he finally said, inelegantly. "Um,
no."

Ginny stared back, her brown eyes alight with what


might have been laughter. She took one step toward
him, then another, then another, until she was flying
across the room. He met her halfway, scooping her
up in his arms, as she clutched at his back and buried
her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered into
her hair. It felt as though a huge weight had been
lifted from him, just to be able to hold her again.
Draco grinned. All things considered, having her fall
into his arms wasn't really that silly.

"I swore I wasn't going to cry," she said finally, moving


her head slightly and shifting back a bit, untangling
one arm to wipe her cheeks with the sleeve of her
robe. Her cheeks were wet, but she was half-laughing
at the same time.
"I'd offer you a handkerchief, but I don't have one with
me," Draco said.

Ginny laughed shakily. "I brought my own, actually.


Just in case." She dug around in the pocket of her
robes and fished out a tissue, which she used to wipe
at her cheeks, one arm still wrapped around Draco's
waist. He wound his hands into her hair gently,
running the bright strands over his fingers.

"I am sorry, you know," he said softly.

Ginny crumpled her tissue and looked up at him. "I


am too. I wanted to stay, to see if you were all right,
but with the children..."

"John told me about that," Draco replied. "And I


understand why you went home...I wouldn't have
expected you to stay."

"I wanted to. It was so horrible, being here all alone,


and not knowing what was going on. Neville is terrible
at details, and I had Mum and Dad and Percy and
Ron all trying to convince me that I didn't really need
to know, and I felt so badly about not being able to be
there..." she trailed off and sniffled, blinking. "I'm
sorry. And then you didn't call or anything, and I
thought that maybe you didn't want to talk to me, that
you were horribly offended that I didn't come back,
and I half-convinced myself that you probably hated
me for it, and I was too frightened that it was true that
I didn't want to call you and find out for certain. Silly
really, but there you are."

"It's not silly, I - " Draco stopped and laughed ruefully.


"Actually, I had almost convinced myself of the exact
same thing. That you must have thought me a
hopeless failure and didn't want to speak to me."

Ginny looked horrified. "Why would I think that?" She


stared up at him, aghast. "Please don't tell me that
you've been thinking, all this time that -" she stopped
and shook her head. "I never thought that." She
leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around
him, holding on to him tightly. "Never."

The last knot of tension unraveled itself in Draco's


chest at her words. "That's good to hear," he
whispered into her hair.

Ginny raised her head and looked at him, raising one


hand to cup his cheek lightly. "You look tired," she
said softly, her smile fading.

Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm all right. Mostly


just stress from the trial."

"And you cut your hair," Ginny continued. She


sounded disappointed.

"Don't you like it?" Draco asked teasingly.


"I don't mind it short, but it's not...it makes you look
younger." Ginny frowned thoughtfully, sifting her
fingers through the short hairs at the base of his neck
and sending small, distracting shivers down his spine.
"Not that you look old, with long hair. It's just
different."

"I had to cut it when I went back to work. Not allowed


long hair, it's unprofessional. I only got away with
growing it because I was far away from my
supervisors." Draco grinned at her. "It was a bit of a
rebellion thing."

"Well you looked very official today," Ginny replied,


running one hand over his red serge jacket. "I like the
uniform."

That made Draco flush slightly. "Really? I think it's


horrid. Makes me feel like I'm wearing a big sign
saying 'Shoot me!'" He shifted self-consciously.

"Oh, no, it's terribly sexy." Ginny grinned


mischievously and glanced up at him through her
eyelashes.

"You can't possibly be serious. It's ugly, it makes me a


walking target, and it itches something awful."

Ginny laughed delightedly. "It is sexy! I imagine


Neville had fits when he first saw you in it; I know
Lavender did. And she was sitting three rows behind
me."

Draco rolled his eyes. "And I suppose Lavender is a


good judge of what's sexy."

"Well, she was the boy-crazy one," Ginny giggled.


"And anyway, it wasn't just her...more like three-
quarters of the women in the room."

"Hah," Draco snorted.

"It's true! I daresay you've made a few converts to


your side amongst the witches, just based on the fact
that you look edible in that uniform."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Edible?" he purred.


"Really."

Ginny blushed, but smiled. "Something like that. Not


that you don't most of the time, mind you."

"I'm going to get a big head if you keep this up,"


Draco grinned. "But don't let that stop you."

Ginny giggled again and hugged him, resting her


head against his shoulder. Draco held her close,
savouring the feel of her in his arms. It felt right. Ginny
tightened her arms around him. "What do you plan to
do now?" she asked softly, her voice slightly muffled.
"I don't know," Draco replied quietly. "Cecil's offered
me a position again if I want it, but I haven't given him
an answer yet. I wanted - well, I wanted to talk to you
first."

Ginny raised her head to look at him, her eyes


searching his face. "Do you want to stay?"

"I want you," Draco said honestly. "I want to be where


you are. Here, or anywhere else."

"You -" Ginny stopped and hugged him tighter, taking


a shaky breath. "I love you," she whispered, and
blinked, tears sparkling on her eyelashes. "My mother
will likely die of shock, but I do. I know we never really
talked about what would happen after... but if you
want to stay, I -" Ginny paused to look up at him
earnestly."I would like you to."

"Nothing would make me happier," Draco murmured.


"Nothing. I love you," he said softly, and kissed her.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood


as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a
man, I put away childish things. For now we see
through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I
know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am
known. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three;

But the greatest of these is love.


- 1 Corinthians 13

~*~

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