Disclaimer: Okay, I always forget about these things. Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, dance!

Author's Notes: This may seem a bit too morbid in the beginning (god knows it did to me), but if I continue it, I’ll probably ease it up. A lot!

Huge thanks and hugs to the wonderful Jenny-kins (aka dragonsangel68) for the overdue betaing =D

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When

"I love you, Ginny. We will be together forever, I will never leave you and I will never let you leave me…"

When Ginny first heard those words, gazing into Harry's face through many layers of tears, sweat and dirt, she could have sworn her heart exploded. It happened after the final battle against Voldemort, at the end of Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts. A Death Eater threatened Ginny and Harry had saved her from sure demise. Then realizing how close he had been to losing her completely, Harry finally admitting his true feelings - his love for her.

Ginny was covered head-to-toe in dirt, her hair a mess, her eyes red and puffy, she had a runny nose and her face was pinched in fear and pain, stained with tears and blood. The bodies of those who didn't survive surrounded them. Cries of battle curses, charms and spells could still be heard. This wasn't at all the romantic atmosphere she pictured so many times.

As he cupped her face between his hands and gazed straight into her eyes, she forgot everything. Her body tightened and her mind numbed as he pulled her closer veiling her lips with his own. Her knees weakened and she yielded into his embrace, so soft and comforting. Her mind screamed in feverish delight as he trailed his tongue into her mouth, slowly and intoxicatingly granting her a first kiss. This was the best moment of her life and she was sure she would remember it forever.

***

Ginny grinned in sheer joy as Harry said the exact same sentence in his wedding vows. She clung to him as the minister pronounced them husband and wife - feeling as though she were soaring to the top of the world. Unable to withhold her laughter any longer, she giggled as they kissed and hurried from the white chapel, feeling exhilarated by the strong sense of belonging. She was the happiest woman alive - so blessed to have him. After all the years she had carried a torch for Harry Potter she felt almost unbelievably happy, light and above all, loved. He did love her - so very much…

***

In the first months of their marriage she found Harry's grumbling and glaring, whenever she talked to other men, endearing. She laughed at his pricks of jealousy as if he were an indignant four-year-old. She soothed him with butterfly kisses and held him closer to herself, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. "I will never leave you, you hear me?"

His face brightened up and his green eyes twinkled with affection when he replied as always, "I will never let you leave me." He would embraced her tightly, inhaling the soft scent of her tresses and smiled widely to himself. He kissed her, swept her into his arms and would lead the way to the bedroom, where they fell upon the soft white sheets, entangled in their own passion.

***

The first time Ginny witnessed Harry's temper was one night when she was late home from work. He was riled up, screaming and roaring spiteful things, and she found herself cringing away from him. He accused her of sleeping with everyone in her office and claimed to see her go into hotels with many men. He broke all of their dishes, a table, some chairs and a glass bookcase before she could calm him down, swearing on her life she loved him and only him and never even wanted to be with another. She cooed around him, excusing his behavior with the excessive stresses of Auror's position and healed the wounds on his hands. He said he was sorry - claimed to not know what came over him and asked her repeatedly whether she knew how much he loved her and how he would never leave nor would he ever let her leave him.

***

When Harry struck Ginny for the first time it was when he saw her having lunch with her editor - Tomas Brooks. He bellowed like a wild beast, breaking everything in their little house and when she tried to calm him down, to explain it was just a lunch with her editor and that they discussed her next assignment, he punched her.

Seeing the consequences of his own acts, he rushed to kneel beside her, tears pouring from his eyes as he embraced her tightly, apologies flowing out of his lips between his quick and eager kisses. He begged her to forgive his foolish mistake and promised with all his being that it would never happen again. He rocked her in his arms back and forth, while she nursed her swollen eye and wept silently, listening to him chant that sentence over and over.

***

By the time she realized it was enough, it nearly cost Ginny her life.

After the last incident Harry became more gentle and caring, wooing her all over again - bringing her flowers everyday. She took a couple of days away from her job for personal reasons and he couldn't have been happier. For a while everything returned to normal - it was like a second honeymoon. Everything was absolutely perfect and Ginny's eye quickly healed. Harry became brighter, he smiled more and that made Ginny smile more. He would kiss her and hold her in the middle of the living room without any apparent reason. He proclaimed his love in rhymes until she collapsed onto the couch in uncontrollable fits of giggles.

Soon the couple-of-days had turned into a week, then into two-weeks and when the date approached a month since her departure from work, she received a call from her editor saying she had to return to work or clear her desk. She told Harry she wanted to leave for work the next day and, out of the blue, he started raving again.

He shouted in rage and, when she told him she was getting tired of his outbursts, it was her life and she would leave for work the following morning whether he liked it or not, he struck her again. Only this time, he did not stop after only one punch. His fists maimed her again and again, each strike leaving big blue orbs on her legs, arms, stomach and her face, with each blow he chanted, "You won't leave me! I will not let you leave me! "

When she finally broke free, she grabbed a vase and brought it down on his head. She fled out of the house, without looking back, realizing something had snapped inside of her. As she ran through the streets, distancing herself from the man she loved so much for so long, she felt her tears drying out and a strange cold detachment engulfed her.

***

When Ginny ran into Draco for the first time since he had graduated, she never knew it would be the cause of the second major twist of Fate in the same night.

She continued running for more than an hour after she left her house, afraid Harry might have followed. She darted through the night streets, not quite knowing where she was heading. Her legs were sore and she felt she might break soon. Her lungs burned with blazing pain every time she inhaled and though she wasn't crying anymore, her vision was blurry and the threat of stumbling hovered over her, but she did not stop.

Just when she reached the brink of her strength, she bumped into someone with such force it sent her flying backwards. She landed on the cold asphalt and didn't care who it was, when she heard a swift curse escape his lips. She remained on the ground, embracing her knees and refusing to glance up. Minutes passed as she waited for the stranger to bark at her something and go away, but he didn't and she still sensed him standing beside her.

Then she saw his knees bend and he was crouching beside her; his eyes trying to search hers amidst her furious red hair. Reluctantly, she glanced at him over her knees and was about to mutter something, when she froze. Platinum blonde locks tumbled down, framing his aristocratic face; silver eyes were veiled with a thick shroud of coldness; and his lips were carved into impenetrable bleak veneer. All the features gathered up perfectly into a face she knew so well and had learned to hate.

Within only a few moments, Ginny saw his exterior change couple of times - at first, his cold features proclaimed something that resembled concern; then, upon comprehending who she was, his features shifted into a vicious sneer; and finally, when his eyes rested upon her blue bruises, swollen wounds and rolling beads of blood, his expression changed all together into something she could not determine. She saw his fingers fidget slightly and understood he was fighting the instinctive desire to wipe the blood away from the corner of her lip. He tightened his fingers into a fist and remained crouched beside her. She couldn't avert her gaze and allow him to see her weakness. He watched her wordlessly for a long while before breaking the silence.

"Gods, Weasley… you look like crap!" he proclaimed, but his voice lacked his usual mocking tone.

It seems he just stated a fact and not an insult. She also noticed he called her by her maiden name and for that she was utterly grateful. He slowly stood up and Ginny felt a relief flood through her, realizing he was leaving, but he stayed put. He reached down suddenly and his slender fingers laced around her arm, carefully bringing her up.

Ginny allowed him to lift her, but squirmed out of his hold as soon as she was secured in her stance.

He watched her for a while longer and then tilted his head, indicating for her to follow. He moved onwards, but noticing she was not beside him, he turned back to her. "Are you coming?"

Ginny gazed at him with confusion, the traces of impatience in his voice. "W-where?"

"Bloody hell, Weasley!" he rolled his eyes heavenwards, exasperatedly. "I rammed into you, the least I can do is tend to your wounds. Now come on, before regain my common sense!"

Ginny was about to decline his preposition, when sudden wind rushed down her back and she realized how cold she was. She could go to the Burrow, but the questions she would be forced to answer would be too painful. Draco had no intentions of asking those questions, because he thought the wounds were from the fall. Does he really think so? This is ridiculous! She tightened her robes around herself and followed him, keeping her eyes on the asphalt and her mind free from roaming thoughts. Harry would never think of looking for her at Malfoy Manor.

***

When they arrived Ginny remained standing at the threshold of Malfoy Manor. Draco stormed in, barking at the greeting house elf to bring someone named Ora. The house elf scampered away immediately; bowing so low his ears brushed the floor.

After some impatient encouragement from Draco, Ginny followed him into the enormous living room and remained quiet as he showed her to the couch. He told her to wait, while he fixed himself a drink and sat onto one of the two comfortable armchairs before the fire. Ginny sat quietly, trying to see him past the wide backrest, but managing to glimpse only the burning silhouette of his fair hair. Her attempts were stopped by another house elf hurrying into the living room, carrying a bowl of cold fresh water and few cloths. Ginny smiled at her and Ora in return gave her a quick crooked twitch of her lips, before glancing at the backrest of Draco's seat, as if he could see through it backwards. She gently cleaned her face of dried blood, and when the liquid inside the bowl became a dirty shade of red she tugged at Ginny's sleeve and squeaked at her to follow.

After glancing one last time at the backrest, Ginny followed as Ora lead her into a small and comfortable bedchamber on the first floor, where a tub filled with hot water was awaiting her. Ora helped her out of the clothes and aided Ginny in the rinsing of her whole body, being extra careful with the violet bruises. When they were finished, Ora left the chamber, promising to return soon with clean clothes. Ginny didn't say a word when the little house elf left the room, and when the elf exited the chamber, found herself alone for the first time since she'd stopped running. She braced her knees and allowed tears to spill freely down her cheeks.

When Ora returned, she was bearing a clean white robe with Malfoy family emblem on its chest. She helped Ginny's out of the tub and toweled her off, after which Ginny realized her bruises had vanished. She touched her face and only now noticed that the cuts and sore spots were gone. She thanked the house elf as she was helped her into the robe and prodded to leave the chamber.

"Please let me stay here… I don't want to go out there," pleaded Ginny, but the stubborn elf gently declined her attempts.

Ginny huffed miserably and walked out. For a moment she considered fleeing the Manor at once, but realizing she had no clothes on bar the robe, she decided against it. Ginny headed back to the living room to find Draco was still in his armchair, holding a brandy glass. She walked over and sat slowly on the armchair beside him, half-waiting for him to snarl at her to stay away. But he did no such thing.

Ginny made herself more comfortable and glanced at him. His eyes were glazed with shroud of twinkling flames, he was engaged in a staring competition with the blaze in the fireplace. He twirled the liquor in his glass slowly, his eyes not leaving the flames, not even when yet another terrified house elf hurried into the room, carrying a mug of steaming hot tea, which was placed carefully on the small table between the two armchairs. Ginny watched silently as the elf bowed his way out of the room and then glanced at the tea. Hot white fumes were rising sluggishly from the dark amber liquid inside the cup, and the scent of sugar filled her nostrils. Deciding the tea was for Draco, she looked at him and then at the fire again.

"The tea is for you," he said suddenly, not tearing his eyes from the fire, as if in reply to her thoughts.

She looked at him for a while, expecting him to turn and return the stare, but he stayed in his enchanted state with the fire. Ginny reached out and laced her fingers around the mug. A cooling charm had been placed upon it, to keep it from getting hot from the tea. The corners of her lips curved up slightly as she remembered her mother putting exactly the same charm on the cups and mugs at the Burrow. Burrow… oh my god! What am I going to tell my parents? How will I explain my sudden leave? Will they be worried about me? Of course they would, what am I talking about? Harry is probably there right now, looking for me. God, I hope he doesn't hurt anyone else. Oh Harry… what has happened to you?

She was silent, allowing the thoughts, the questions and the disclaimers run through her mind. She brought her knees towards her, perching her feet upon the soft green cushions on the chair; both her hands were wrapped around the mug as she held it beneath her nostrils, inhaling the sweet fumes, absolutely forgetting about drinking it; her eyes caught up in flames, much like Draco's.

About a half an hour after his first visit, the house elf returned to the living room. He froze stone cold beside her, his eyes widen in unspeakable horror when he saw her holding the still full mug. He gulped audibly, squeaking to get her attention, "Is the tea not to your liking, Miss?"

Ginny stirred from her haze and gazed at the elf, dreamily. "What? Oh, umm…" She stumbled for words, realizing she hadn't even tasted it yet.

"She didn't drink it," came a sudden cold drawl from her left.

She glared at Draco, his eyes were still mesmerized by the fire but he smirked slightly. She suddenly heard a quiet fumbling and she turned to watch the elf place the other mug securely on the floor, walk over to the wall and starting banging his head over and over again upon the cold stone. Ginny yelped in surprise, set down her own mug and hurried to the elf's side.

"Oh, no, no, no… please don't do that!" She tried to stop him, by holding him back but he squirmed out of her grip easily. "No, wait. No, don't do that! Come on, no! Stop it!" She finally slapped her hand upon his forehead, forcing him back. She gripped his little figure firmly so he won't break free. Heaving a satisfied breath, she spoke to the self-mutilating house elf. "Now listen… the tea was a little too hot for me, but!" she added fiercely when the elf started wailing pitifully. "But… I like it that way..." this seemed to calm him down. "Now… will you please stop hurting yourself?"

The elf jerked his gaze to Draco, who waved at him dismissively, allowing him to hurry from the room.

Ginny returned to her chair and glared coldly at Draco. "That was uncalled for," she muttered angrily at his provoke of the elf's guilt. "Are all your house elves trained to beat themselves half to death if something is not to your liking?" she asked fiercely, picking up the mug again.

Draco smirked in reply, leisurely breaking his gaze from the fire and staring at her intensely. Ginny cringed under his gaze, but didn't let it show. She stared back at him. Now that she was clean and her body didn't ache anymore, she could face anyone. Even him.

"I sent Potter an owl, informing him of your well being and whereabouts. I told him he can come now, to pick you up," he said abruptly. His silver eyes twinkled with something she did not like.

The sound of shattering china pierced the living room as she lost her hold on the mug, spilling its contents to the polished floor. Her mouth became dry in an instant and her eyes widened in horror, as she comprehended his words. She tried to speak, but fear clawed its way out of the deepest recesses of her mind and took control over her body. She felt her stomach lurch and her heart sink to her feet. She remained silent, knowing that if she tried to speak, she'd fall apart.

Draco's smirk widened, but his eyes lacked glee or malice. "That's what I thought…" He quickly downed his drink and stood up. Averting his gaze to the fire he spoke again, before leaving the living room "You can stay in the chamber Ora showed you. If you need anything don't hesitate to call her."

Ginny stared in shock as he disappeared around the corner, leaving her absolutely dumbstruck. He tricked me! Her mind shrieked in fury. He tricked ME! She growled, agitated with herself that she had fallen for his bluff. She stomped into the small chamber, where the tub had already been taken away and a clean nightgown had been placed carefully on the pillows.

He knows…

Disclaimer: The last time I checked I wasn't disguctingly rich and famous, so no, this is not mine. Well, the plot is, but it's an odd plot and in court I will deny any connection. ^_^ Author's Notes: Muchos thankies to the wonderful Skye for her mad betaing skills =D

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2 :: The Burrow And The Apple Peel

Ever since Ginny was a child, she was immensely afraid of darkness. But along the usual and the more understandable darkness one could discover in his bedroom with the absence of candles, also dwelled the kind that lurked in depths of the human soul, whispering viciously and tauntingly until you can't seem to open your eyes in fear of seeing them as well. She hated the little, almost inaudible, voices from the corners of her room, scratching, hissing, sputtering threats and jeers the moment her mother would leave the room, dimming the lights.

When Ginny learned about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for the first time, she imagined to herself that he was like that darkness, those noises; and that the only difference was the fact that the noises faded when one turned on the lights, but You-Know-Who did not. When Ginny first learned about Harry Potter, she was instantly drawn to the marvelous idea of him, for he was the only one who was able to chase away the darkness. Harry the light that rendered the voices speechless.

To her vast misfortune, Ginny encountered the Dark Lord face to face when she was all too young and highly unprepared to be dealing with her greatest fears head on. As time trickles by and no light was able to chase away the residual darkness, she realized he wasn't like the muffled noises that scratched and whispered and taunted. No, he was the singular vibrant voice that hissed, screamed, cursed and tormented. And mid those jeers and cries, he was also the lingering whisper that sliced it's way through her mind, clawing at her sanity ruthlessly and casting her quivering soul into utter turmoil. A whisper that wafted such cold and malicious concern, she would find herself breathless and trembling violently hours after it had subsided.

"Ginevra…"

At the end of that horrible year, Ginny learned that, once again, it was Harry who ended her nightmare and rendered that voice speechless.

*******

Eyes flinging open, Ginny sprung into a sitting position, clutching her chest in horror while her mind tried to soothe the desperate panting. Feeling uneasy, she swiped at her face with a shaky hand, wiping away beads of cold sweat. Her eyes sought the bedchamber for something familiar while slowly her mind replayed snatches of the previous events. She squeezed her eyes shut, then gulped for air one last time and exhaled already even breath.

It was just a bad dream… everything is alright now… calm down… she coaxed herself, her eyes scanning the room. Inhaling deeply, she held her breath for a moment, her mind still raw from the recurring visions and the images still fresh.

She would find herself back in the Chamber of Secrets again, watching with morbid fascination as the Final Battle repeated in front of her eyes. But everything was horribly different and altered and instead of glorious victory, Harry would undertake a disgraceful downfall, as the Dark Lord would win over and over again in her dreams.

This time however, the dream was different. The Battle finally transpired as it did in reality about a decade ago, and Harry had finally won. Only this time it was as horrible and as mortifying as ever when Harry, basked in cheers and roars of triumph, threw his head back and released a petrifying high-pitch laughter. Then he turned to stare right at her and the green eyes she loved so much were narrowed into hateful slits the color of blood. Her blood.

"Ginevra…"

Ginny slowly climbed out of the bed, noticing her clothes had been washed and folded neatly on a chair near the bed. She grabbed them and headed to the bathroom, absently going through her usual morning routine, though finding it very unnerving to be doing so in the Malfoy Manor. She walked back to the bedchamber and was greeted by the sight of a small house elf making her bed. She cleared her throat softly, not wishing to seem rude by sneaking up on the small creature and stifled a frown of discontent when he was startled and hurried to bow deeply upon realizing the room wasn't empty.

"Forgive Mitzi, Miss. Mitzi thought Miss already went down for breakfast," squeaked the elf at the floor.

"No, no, that is not a problem… I was just leaving anyway. Could you thank your Master for--"

"Oh no, no, no! Master Draco requested Miss to be present at the table when Miss wakes up," the elf hurried to inform her with wide, fearful eyes.

Oh… crap.

Ginny breathed irritably, noticing her hands resumed their shaking once again and asked the house elf, as politely as her peaky nerves allowed her, to show her the dining room. The creature repeatedly apologized for not doing so earlier and even banged her head on the wall couple of times before Ginny was able to stop her. Following the elf hesitantly, Ginny was led through many meandering corridors of elegant and expensive décor. No wonder he was such a stuck-up git back in school…

Ginny walked into the dining room, noticing the elf disappear immediately out of sight and shifted her attention to the man sitting at the table. His posture was immaculate and he held himself perfectly, even in the premises of his own house, even when there was no one to judge him but house-elves, mirrors and the unexpected guest. His hair was neatly tied at the nape of his neck with what seems to be a black silky ribbon and his eyes were skipping along the lines of Daily Prophet's first page with concentrated fervor. He made no indication that he noticed her presence and Ginny was just about to slink out of the chamber and escape the dismal castle of this evil wizard, when his voice cut through her reverie.

"Don't hover over me, I hate it," he drawled coldly and gestured at the chair to his right for her to sit down, his eyes not leaving the paper.

Keeping her eyes on him, she gingerly took the seat, absently inching it just a bit away from him. Suddenly she noticed that the plate before her wasn't empty anymore and instead there were some scramble eggs and a few pieces of bacon. A freshly baked biscuit was buttering itself in front of her before carefully finding a perch on the rim of her plate. The glass beside her made strange gurgling noises and soon enough it was filling up with pumpkin juice out of nowhere, as if someone pulled the plug from its bottom and she was watching a reversed draining process. She eyed the food, than Draco, waiting for some kind of comment.

"Eat," was all he sufficed before he took a sip from his small coffee cup without tearing his eyes from the newspaper, an unnoticed pinky pointing out and away.

Ginny glanced at the food again, her stomach quietly agreeing with Draco's suggestion. No, she told herself firmly. I don't want any more favors from a Malfoy. I can't stay here…

"I'm not hungry. "

Draco smirked at the paper, placing the cup down. "You are a terrible liar, Weasley,” he said with a hint of amusement when he finally tore his gaze away from the Daily Prophet and looked over at her. “Eat. "

"Malfoy, I'm not in a mood for this. Could you please get on with what you wanted to say so I could leave as soon as possible?" she spoke briskly, her lips pressed in a thin line. Something told her she should at the very least try to sound civil, but a single Malfoy Smirk was all it took to take her back to their school years.

"And where would you go?" countered a quiet drawl.

Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but found no words. She hadn't thought this far yet, all she knew was that her presence in Malfoy Manor wasn't natural and she had to leave. But as far as her destination was considered, she miserably realized there were no plausible options. Her own house was out of the question for it was obvious Harry was still there. Burrow was not a haven anymore, as he would know to search for her there as well. Where to, then?

"Exactly," he spoke, as if hearing her thoughts.

"Exactly what?" she snapped irritably, peeved by the smug undertones of his cold voice. "Where I'll go is none of your business, Malfoy. "

He narrowed his eyes as a sneer graced his previous neutral expression.

"I'm sorry,” she said suddenly, looking away. It was not his fault she was so frustrated, so confused. It was not his fault she was paralyzed with fear, and no matter how uncomfortable the idea seemed to her, she owed him. “It's just… I…” she sighed heavily when no words came and rubbed her face tiredly. Where would she go now? What would she do?

Draco didn't say anything for a while, the sneer quickly fading off his face as he folded the newspaper neatly and left it on the table. Steepling his fingers, he glanced forward for a moment before turning to face her in a business-like manner. "You can stay in the Manor, " he said evenly, his voice detached of any signs of genuine sympathy.

Ginny eyed him suspiciously, trying to see through his facade. "Why--?"

"Do not ever ask that question and my proposition will stay valid,” he warned her through gritted teeth. “Think of it as an annual charity case,” he smirked at her expression of growing confusion and slowly stood up, heading out of the room. "I would recommend visiting your family and explaining the situation. I'm sure they're worried…"

Ginny returned to her breakfast, more unsettled about her presence at the Malfoy Manor than when she first woke up. Chancing glances at the door, she sheepishly scolded herself for expecting a child-sized Malfoy with the same pointy face and mouth too wide, to jump out of nowhere and finally retaliate for the infamous Bat Bogey incident. But seeing him act this way was quite unnerving, if to say the least. His actions boarded on 'Nice…', though his tone and expression still hollered 'Prat!', and if to be completely honest, Ginny wasn't at all comfortable with Malfoy being any shape or form of… nice. Though she greatly appreciated his offer, she doubted if she should accept it, if for the sake of her sanity alone.

She could go to the Burrow, and after a quick explanation, to hope they won't prod any further. But she couldn't place her family in between herself and Harry. He was like another son for her Mother and very close to every other member of the clan. It would be unfair of her to do this to her family and she couldn't ask them to choose sides. Just the mere thought of 'sides' was enough to sent her stomach into a churning fit and any thought of breakfast to flee her mind.

On the other hand - if she to stay in the Malfoy Manor, no questions will be asked and none answered. Harry would most probably not even know where she was and it would give her enough time to figure things out. No one will be asked to choose sides because Malfoy won't be dragged into this since he couldn't care less. It was almost perfect.

This is just for a while, she assured herself. Just enough for me to think…

*******

Ginny borrowed a broomstick from Malfoy's personal collection and headed to The Burrow, all the way contemplating what exactly would she say to her family. Now, as she was standing on the front porch of the house, tightening the robes around her shaking body and gripping the broom tightly in one hand, she realized that she had absolutely no idea. How could she say to her mother, who always loved Harry and treated him like one of her own children, that he raised his hand at her? That he had struck her not once, but repeatedly and that she ran away from their home because she was genuinely afraid for her life? How could she even speak these words if she stuttered mentally whenever she tried to compose the speech in her mind? She couldn't envision their reaction and she was completely petrified that they might not believe her.

Ginny inhaled a deep breath and raised her hand to knock on the door of the crooked-looking Burrow.

She considered the possibility of just running away again and leaving before the door opened. But her thoughts were cut short with a mellow creak of the door and the sight of Hermione's eyes staring at her with surprise and undeniable confusion of unasked questions. “Ginny,” she breathed in relief, embracing the petite redhead in a hug as tight as the pregnant stomach allowed. “We were so worried!”

A wave of gratitude washed over Ginny and she hugged back just as tightly, wanting to hold on to the other witch and not let go. She wanted to crumble and cry right there on the threshold, to tell her closest friend how terribly, horribly, shamefully terrified she was and how she couldn't think about anything, that her mind was in total turmoil and utter jumble and that it was hopelessly difficult to structure sentences without developing a headache.

But she didn't, and instead of that she just held on even tighter.

Finally releasing her sister-in-law, Hermione stepped back into the house, tugging Ginny to follow her, but was greeted with resistance.

"Is… is Harry here?"

Hermione glanced at her strangely, shaking her head lightly as the extremely curly hair bounced about her face. "No. Ron convinced him to go to work…"

Ginny nodded, exhaling a breath, and stepped in, unclasping her cloak and leaving it on the hanger.

"Hermione dear, who is at the door?" carried the soft voice of Ginny's mother, Molly Weasley.

Inwardly cringing at the unusual flatness of her mother's voice, Ginny called out in reply, "It's me, Mum. "

At the sound of the familiar voice, Molly instantly abandoned her fussing in the kitchen and practically ran to the foyer. Seeing her daughter alive and well, she hurried to her side, embracing her tightly as a fresh wave of tears came rushing down, "Oh dear! Oh dear!" Reluctantly releasing her hold on the youngest of her brood, Molly's features shifted from great relief to anger and she swatted at Ginny's arm reproachfully. "Ginevra Molly Weasley, what on earth were you thinking?"

Through the heavy glazing tears, Ginny released a snort of laughter. Smiling her mother, Ginny thanked the higher beings for blessing her with a loving family.

"Okay, come on now… Everything is well now. Why don't we move to the living room?" offered Hermione, motioning them to move further.

"Oh yes, of course," exclaimed Molly, hurrying towards the kitchen. "I'll fix us some tea!"

Hermione led Ginny into the living room and sat down awkwardly, maneuvering her way upon the cushions, so as to not disturb her nine-months old stomach too much. She and Ron had moved back to the Burrow from their London apartment right after Ron got promoted at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Healers discovered some complications with the pregnancy, and though they assured the riotous family that there was nothing critical to worry about, they still advised Hermione to avoid any stress and heavy lifting.

Sitting down beside her sister-in-law, Ginny suddenly doubted whether she should tell what she had to Hermione, since it was most definitely against the Healers' order. But she knew it was too late to think about this as Hermione began to speak in a hushed voice.

"Ginny, what happened? Why did you run away?"

"Harry was here yesterday?" Ginny asked silently, carefully steadying her voice not to crack.

"Yes. He appeared here last night, shouting and ranting, demanding to see you," Hermione began, her voice letting know that he actually scared her. "Ron tried to calm him down, but he was too riled up. After he searched the whole house and realized you weren't here, he broke down. Gin, he cried,” her voice was aghast, as if she still didn't believe what had happened. “I don't think I ever saw him cry. What happened?"

Ginny opened her mouth to speak when Molly returned with three mugs of steaming tea and a plate of freshly made chocolate truffles. She took a seat on a chair across the couch, gazing at her daughter with an unreadable expression. Suddenly, she glanced away and Ginny deemed to see something flash through her eyes, but it disappeared almost instantly and she looked back at her daughter with concern etching in her face.

An odd sensation washed over Ginny and for a moment she thought that perhaps her mother knew. She shook the unfeasible notion out and handed the yellow mug to Hermione. Once again searching for words, she gazed at the steaming liquid in her own mug before her and sighed, tears threatening to brim her hazel eyes.

"Ginny dear, did you and Harry had a fight?" Molly suggested gently.

Ginny nodded slowly, wondering whether it was the right definition of what had occurred. "I… umm,” she gulped hard. “I… I don't know where to begin…"

Hermione smiled at her reassuringly, holding onto her hand, and squeezes it lightly. "It's okay, Gin. Whatever it is…” she didn't finish that sentence when Ginny nodded.

Ginny closed her eyes, replaying everything in her head for the millionth time and fighting the tears. She opened her mouth and willed herself to speak, but no sounds escaped her lips. She tried harder, calling onto all of her will just to pronounce the words she did not believe yet herself. "He hit me," she whispered finally, burying her gaze into the linings of the ancient carpet. She felt a great burden rise from her heart, just now realizing that she'd been holding her breath since the previous evening, and now she was allowed to breathe again. She raised her eyes to counter the shock and traces of anger in her mother's eyes. "He hit me," she spoke again, this time confident in her strength to face whatever's coming, but not noticing the fresh wave of pained tears that rolled down her cheeks, framing her delicate features.

She spoke quietly, as if retelling everything only to herself, but she held herself close to Hermione, needing her support. Her voice was steady though weak, and it was visible she was struggling against the overwhelming emotions. She held her head high, gazing into her mother's and Hermione's eyes, seeing the sheer shock and disbelief on their faces. She told them everything from the beginning; from the first time he burst and trashed their house. She told them how he'd apologized and cried with her after he first struck her. She spoke of the wonderful period of peace and happiness they had when she went on vacation, all up until last night. Then she told them about the conversation with her boss and then finally another of Harry's outbursts. She hesitated for couple of moments after speaking of her escape, then slowly and cautiously explained about her encounter with Draco Malfoy and how he was kind enough to allow her to spend the night in his Manor. She didn't plunge into any details of their conversation and only said his house elves tended to her wounds and bruises. When she finished speaking, she heaved a heavy breath, once again feeling the weight leaving her. She needed so badly to speak to someone, to tell everything.

Silence veiled the living room and no sound was heard except for the crackling of the fire. Throughout her words, Molly and Hermione remained silent, paralyzed from shock, she guessed. The day drifted by quickly while Ginny spoke and suddenly she noticed that it was already dark outside. Dad and Ron should be home soon, she thought to herself. Ginny averted her gaze from the clock to the two witches, who still set quietly beside her. She could see they were both lost in their own thoughts, reflecting the impossibility of everything she just told them. She didn't want to force them to speak, neither was she sure she'd like it, but right now the silence was getting under her skin.

She opened her mouth to speak again, to ask them to speak in order to break the silence, but her words were interrupted by three distinctive popping sounds when three wizards Apparated onto the front porch of the Burrow, and three very familiar voices were carried into the house. Ginny suddenly tensed up, sensing the witches beside her reacting the same way, as the realization dawned on them. Harry…

She felt Hermione squeezing her hand tighter as the door creaked open and the wizards entered the house. There was a sound of robes being carefully discarded onto the rack and some absently laughter, and the three wizards entered the living room. Pausing at the threshold and taking in the present in the room, Arthur and Ron's faces brightened up, and they hurried to Ginny's side, bracing her quickly in bear hugs, thanking Gods she was all right.

Ginny smiled at them quietly, her eyes remaining fixated upon the silent figure at the door. Harry stood wordlessly, making no attempt of approaching her, looking grim and pained to no end. She saw his eyes revealing the shame and sorrow she saw already the first time he hit her. She stayed at the other side of the room, not saying a word, boring her eyes into him. Perhaps he took it as a good sign, because he took a step in her direction, immediately halting to a stop when Molly straightened up for the first time since the three wizards returned.

"I think it'll be better if you leave now, Harry dear," Molly said quietly, but her voice lacked its usual warmth.

"Mum?" Ron glanced at her with incredulity.

"Molly," intoned Arthur, shocked at the words.

Harry bit the inner part of his cheek to sustain his composure. He took a step aback, looking at her with torment in his eyes. "It's okay Ron, Mr. Weasley. I'll… I'll just go…" He turned around and headed to the door, but paused at the threshold and turned again, gazing at Ginny. "I love you, Ginevra… I'm sure we'll work this out. " With these words he disappeared out of the room and a quiet popping sound indicated that he had Disapparated out of the house.

After Harry left, Hermione and Molly relaxed, and while keeping their eyes on Ginny, told the two wizards everything in hushed voices. Arthur insisted that Ginny should stay, but she declined the forcing offers gently, smiling at him for reassurance.

"How bizarre and strange it might sound, but I think I'll feel better at the Malfoy Manor," Ginny promised, noticing her brother's visible disapproval. "Besides, I need some time away from him where he can't find me…"

"Oh Ginny, dear, I'm just so worried… I can't believe this is happening," Molly mumbled in a shaken voice, grasping onto Arthur's arm for support a bit too forcefully. "This is not right. Not right at all…"

"I don't care if he changed or if he's an Order member, I don't think you should stay in his house. Take the keys to our place, rent a room in the Leaky Cauldron, I'll pay for it, just don't…" Hermione stroking hands on his chest hushed Ron gently. He held them closer to his heart and then kissed them softly, smiling at her. He was on a brink of a breakdown. It was impossible for him to believe that his best friend for about two decades, The Boy Who Lived, the one who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Gryffindor's Quidditch team star Seeker, a Head Auror, was the same Harry that struck his little sister. It was unbelievable and unsettling and he couldn't quite comprehend the information.

After Ginny's final refusal to stay anywhere but the Malfoy Manor, Molly insisted that at least she should stay for dinner. Realizing then with horror, that she hadn't made any dinner, because of Ginny's visit, she ushered Ginny and Hermione into the kitchen, where they whipped up some sandwiches instead. The rest of the evening was spent in calm atmosphere in the living room, with Ron and Arthur speaking about their days at work and all wordlessly agreeing to ignore the uncomfortable stretches of silence and not to chance glances at Ginny at every given moment.

When Ginny left, Molly was crying. She gave her a box full of the chocolate truffles and forced her to promise that she would visit soon and owl if anything happens. Ginny smiled at her mother, and after bidding farewell to everybody and promising Ron again and again that she wouldn't let Malfoy torment her, she closed the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she considered Apparating back to the Malfoy Manor instead of flying there, but figured an estate such as that would have magical barriers and wards for miles on end. She tightened the robes around herself, mounted her broom and kicked off, soon speeding in the direction of Malfoy Manor.

*******

Ginny walked into the Manor, careful not to make any loud sounds for some unfathomable reason. To not awaken the ghosts, she reasoned with herself, for it was inescapable to have ghosts in an estate such as this Manor, and no doubt the Malfoy ghosts weren't at all friendly like the ancient Gryffindor ghosts.

She discarded her cloak and the broom to the greeting house-elf and asked him to keep for her the chocolate truffles until the breakfast the next morning. The elf chanced an anxious glance at the living room, and Ginny guessed he was wondering if perhaps it could've somehow displease the Master of the house. Finally deciding that there was no harm done, the elf bowed in front of Ginny and promised to do as asked. Ginny beamed at him thankfully and he, quirking his oddly shaped mouth in a poor imitation of a smile, hurried out of the foyer.

Watching the house elf disappear behind an alcove, she glanced at the living room entrance. She should stay away from Malfoy for the rest of her stay, she really should. There was absolutely nothing to discuss with that man and she wasn't in the right state of mind to listen to his silly scorns regarding her family previous misfortunes. But he was the only person alive in the Manor and if only out of sheer manners she'd have to share some time with him. Why delay the verdict any further?

Running her hands in front of her to smoothen the nonexistent creases on her brown skirt, Ginny headed toward the room she was led to the previous night in a fairly battered shape. Walking in quietly, her eyes instinctively darted to the overstuffed plush armchairs near the Victorian fireplace. Noticing the light silver mane illuminating the left backrest as the flames from the hearth danced on the impossibly beatific strings, she walked over there and wordlessly lowered herself into the chair beside him. A small round table of dark wood stood between them with an odd engraving on its top, and an empty brandy glass and a crafted jagged knife on it. Slowly inhaling, she looked over at the silent wizard, only to notice his eyes once again embedded on the coiling flames.

"I was at the Burrow the whole day," she informed him, immediately wondering why.

A small smirk graced his lips, barely visible in the dimly lit orange haze. "Good for you, Weasley," came the even reply and for a moment the smirk resembled a genuine smile.

Ginny frowned. Why was she here, again?

"How is that red-faced brother of yours? Still a copy boy at the Aurors' Headquarters?”

“No, he is not,” she smothered a scowl, though her voice reflected it perfectly. “He's doing great at work and, in fact, was promoted to a Head of his own division in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. ” Take that, you git!

He barked out in laughter. “Well, what do you know, Peterson was right when he said they're hiring monkeys in the Ministry nowadays, ha!”

Ginny rolled her eyes, decided not to react. The fact that Malfoy had grown into his features and somehow attained a body of a full-grown man apparently did not necessarily mean that he was not the unpleasant child she knew so many years ago. It amazed her actually how he hasn't changed for the most part in these ten years. The last time she saw him, he was a bruised and tattered shadow of his snobby self, lying on an uncomfortable cot in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, a few days after the Final Battle. She remembered feeling an odd pang of guilt when she was finally able to leave after her own injuries healed and she looked at him, still looking as horrible as he did when Neville and Seamus dragged him out of the Chamber. She could also remember him fighting alongside Ron and Harry against the countless Death Eaters, against his own father, against his own beliefs. She remembered being confused by him and sometimes wondering what was it that made him stand against everything he was raised on. She remembered hoping that he would heal soon and despite his spiteful words, she remembered hoping he wasn't in too much pain.

Frowning, she wondered why she remembered it anyway.

An elf scampered into the living room, carrying a woven basket overflowing with fruits on top of his slightly flat head. He offered the basket to Draco and waited while the Master did his pick. Draco chose a big green apple, absently offering a red one to Ginny and dismissing the elf after she declined. He picked up the small jagged knife from the table between them and started peeling the fruit silently, guiding it expertly into a single green spiral.

"So did he finally get that know-it-all he'd been pining about? That mu--uggle-born, Granger, was it?”

Ginny watched Draco quietly as his slender fingers orbed around the large apple and carved it craftily with his knife. She watched as the apple peel descended slowly and couldn't help but to remember the almost forgotten evenings of her childhood, when her father carved an apple with the same excellence, always giving her the peel and telling her stories for hours in front of the blazing hearth.

She couldn't suppress a smile and a chuckle escaped her at the memory. “Yes, actually. But both of them were so horrible about admitting their feelings, it took fatal injury to finally force them together…”

“Lovely,” he murmured absently, obviously not paying an ounce of attention to her words.

She rolled her eyes again. “Why ask if you're in the least interested?”

“Because you have the tendency to screw your face unattractively when you think and I wanted to spare myself the sight,” she replied even, carefully drawing the apple peel to its end. “Don't stress your brain too much, Weasley, you'll damage yourself. ”

Finishing peeling the apple, he tossed the knife and the apple peel carelessly onto the table, returning to his newspaper that was forgotten a while ago and sinking his teeth deep into the flesh of the apple.

“I see you've been following your own advice for the better part of your life,” Ginny shot back, eyeing the apple peel warily, contemplating whether she should give in to the primal instinct and take it.

“Yes, of course, Weasley. That is why I live in a mansion, run a disgustingly successful corporation and have more money than a Goblin would care to count. Because I am inexcusably daft,” Draco rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and snorted, not even sparing her a glance.

“You can't possibly be thinking that you've achieved everything there is if you have loads of Galleons, Malfoy. Not even you are that… hopeless. ”

“Don't give me the 'Money can't buy happiness' bit, Weasley. That sentence was first spoken by someone who obviously didn't have the right amount of it,” Draco spoke softly into his newspaper, biting into the sour-sweet apple flesh with a loud crunch when he finished.

Why do I even try to reason with him? He's a Malfoy! Ginny sighed deeply, finally losing the battle against her logic and reaching out to pick the peel up. She glance at it for a moment, feeling the smooth green texture of its one side and the grainy texture of the other side, before silently beginning to munch on it while slipping her gaze onto the fire.

Draco cocked a surprised eyebrow, obviously watching the occurrence from his peripheral vision and turned to look at Ginny, the smooth pale forehead slightly distorted as he frowned. Ginny, however, seemed to be oblivious to this attention and lost somewhere in the depths of her mind, which required him to cough subtly into his fist in order to bring her back. "I offered you an apple, why didn't you take it if you wanted?"

She blinked slowly against the flames and turned to look back at him. "Because I didn't want one," she replied simply, grinding the peel with her teeth.

"But you are eating a peel," Draco stated, wondering if it was possible for her not to notice that bit.

"I like apple peels," she quipped, allowing herself a small smile at Draco's obvious confusion.

Draco frowned again at her, but dismissed it with a shrug and resettled back into his armchair, flipping the newspaper open again. He sat silently for a few moments, his eyes fixated on the same word as he tried to recollect the oddly scattered thoughts. Chancing a glance at the still visible green apple peel in between Ginny's lips, he snapped his head back at her, staring with narrowed eyes.

"But it's a peel," he insisted.

"It's a very tasty peel," replied Ginny. “You should try it someday…”

Draco straightened in his armchair, shifting his weight to the other armrest. "I don't think so. Though I can understand how you, as a Weasley, might enjoy the leftovers," he sneered, returning to the paper.

Ginny snapped out of her memory haze and scowled at him. "What is wrong with you?"

Draco arched a brow, his exterior chilling in an instant and his grey eyes losing the warmth from the fire. "Is that a rhetorical question?" That was a rhetorical question.

"No," Ginny replied nonetheless. "I really want to know. "

"There is nothing wrong with me, Weasley. Just because I do not enjoy feasting out of a garbage bins--”

“You are insufferable!” she almost shrieked through the rising annoyance. “Money does not determine anything about a person as a person and you have no right to judge others without having a decent clue about them!”

“Everything I need to know about a person I can deduct from the way they carry themselves. Don't take it personally, Weasley, but I am usually very selective when it comes to whom I prefer to spend my time with. ”

"I see… that is why you are twenty-seven years old, haven't been married and currently live alone in your ancestral Manor?"

Draco's face immediately undertook the most disgusted sneer he could muster. He glared at the youngest Weasley, clenching his jaws rigidly and fisting his hands against the newspaper edges, controlling the indignant urge to hex her into oblivion. "My personal life in none of your business," he hissed finally, his voice managing to sound even yet all the more unnerving. .

"So is mine," she bit back furiously despite the desperate knot unfurling at the bottom of her stomach. "So stop commenting about my family's former financial difficulties!"

He paused for a moment, jutting his jaw to a side with a quirk. Glancing at her, he blinked lazily against her rage, showing her that he was not in th least affected, and when he spoke finally his voice was as frigid and as biting as they came. "This is my house and I shall speak of whatever I please. And as long as you are my guest, you will tolerate this. "

Ginny expression changed to one of shock as she backed away slightly, glaring back at him. "No,” she assured him through gritted teeth, her eyes spitting fire. “I won't," she said finally and stood up, storming out of the living room and heading to her small bedchamber on the first floor in order to lock herself in and curse Draco Malfoy to hell and back on the spikiest, most malfunctioning broom there ever was.

Disclaimer: Okay, I always forget about these things. Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, dance!

Author's Notes: Thanks and hugs go to the wonderful Skye for her betaing =)

---

3 :: Weasley-Do

Darkness spread around her, the cold coiling tendrils seeping deeper and deeper into her mind, coursing inside of her and fusing all her doubts and fears. She stood still, wordlessly watching the man she loved battling one of the greatest evil, and losing. He fought fiercely, attacking and defending himself in flawless calculated motions. He moved swiftly, not heeding to the open wounds and gushing blood, his eyes set in unyielding determination. His dark, soiled and bloodied figure contrasted dramatically against the pallid gauntness of the Dark Lord, as they moved across the Chamber with fierce cries and desperate attempts to end their feud once and for all. But Harry was growing weary while the Dark Lord somehow retained his vigor through the struggle and was steadily growing stronger against failed strike of his opponent.

Ginny's stomach lurched painfully as she watched her Hero finally crumbling down onto his battered knees, his wounds overflowing with crimson blood and his eyes reflect nothing but pure hatred and desperation. A frightened cry hitched in her throat as she watched the Dark Lord raise his wand, a gleeful grin upon his hideous reptilian features and his lips drawn back in preparation of uttering the words that will finally put an end to his agony. Suddenly the scarlet slits of his eyes pierced her, catching her off guard and casting her breath away, as the hissing voice ripped through her body, too close for comfort and too familiar for sanity.

"Ginevra!" the voice recoiled from within her, slithering its way through her body like a poisonous snake. "You won't leave me… won't leave… I will not let you… never let you… mine… mine… MINE!"

Hot tears were streaming down her cheeks even before she could comprehend the fact that she had collapsed as well, that her knees were barely supporting her tired weight against the cobblestones and that there was someone beside her. But before she could bring herself to care, her reeling mind was pierced through yet again by the destroying roar reverberating through the vast structure and shakings its very foundations.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"NO!" she screeched out desperately, instinctively launching herself to shield Harry with her own petite figure. If she could just reach him in time, just a split of a second would suffice to save his life, and he would be able to continue fighting, and eventually win just like it was suppose to be. Just like it had already happened! This was all horribly wrong and it wasn't suppose to be this way, but if she could reach him in time, if she could save him, then things would return to normal. She herself didn't matter, obviously. She was such a small pawn in this horrid game they've been participating for the past years, that she was most likely to be forgotten in the history books later on, and it honestly didn't matter. She just had to save Harry. Harry had to live.

To her utter horror, the moment she shifted forward, a vice grip tightened around her waist, yanking her back with an invisible strength no one could posses. Eyes widening in disbelief, she clawed at the arms around her, writing and kicking and crying out in agony when the killing curse hit its target perfectly and the infamous Hero slumped lifelessly onto the cold stones.

Her heart sank with a sickening shattering and for a tiny moment she allowed herself to think that Harry was just resting. That he was so so tired that he just had to rest and now he will stand up again and fight and fight and win and she will get her promised Happily Ever After. But the body remained motionless and no Hero has risen from the ashes that day.

Her lips parted a little and she was plunged into oblivion, for a moment knowing nothing but the fact that her life has ended, simply because he had ended. Fighting the meaningless fatigue, she finally found herself free to move and quickly hurried to his side, pulling his head onto her lap. She rocked back and forth, nursing his wounded forehead with her searing, still believing kisses, until his blood was mixed with her bitter tears and she no longer cared. She wept over the lifeless body, vaguely hearing the shrill laughter echoing inside the accursed chamber, indicating to her that it was, indeed, the end.

============ *~*~*~*~*~*~* ============

A pair of honey-coated brown eyes fluttered open lazily, wincing against the white morning light that penetrated through the opened curtains and the heavy canopy that was pulled back. Stretching groggily, Ginny yawned and swung her legs over the edge of her four-poster, absently looking around the luxurious setting of her Malfoy Manor bedchamber. Her cheeks felt oddly stiff while she worked out her jaw in a morning tick acquired long ago, and she swiped her hand over them only to discover salty tracks of dried tears. Groaning tiredly, she realized she had been crying in her sleep again.

Pushing herself off the overly comfortably bed, she padded to the bathroom, thoroughly washing her face there and rinsing out the clinging cobwebs. Finally straightening up, Ginny glanced at the mirror just above the basin and stared back at the barely recognizable eyes. Her face was splotchy with dark shadows dwelling just under her eyes, which were red and irritated from the constant tears. New pair of wrinkles trailed around the sides of her mouth, drawing her neutral expression into a frown. Sighing dejectedly at the sight of new creases along her forehead, Ginny stuck her head under the faucet, turning the cold water fully on.

It has been a week since she first decided to stay in Malfoy Manor, and each passing day cost her a fair amount of her assurance and sanity. She hadn't spoken to Malfoy since the evening in the living room when he spitefully enough proclaimed that, apparently, she had no choice but to accept and tolerate his smug and tasteless remarks about her family while she was in his house. Well, if that's how he really felt, then he had another thing coming!

She decided to avoid him at any cost, even if it meant spending her days in her bedroom, arriving to breakfasts late, after he had already left for work and occupying herself with scarce books she had found in her room. She didn't think he would actually seek out her company when she was so obviously shunning away from him, just to insult her family. Unless he was indeed that childish.

And although her plan was successful in keeping away from Malfoy's uncalled remarks, Ginny had encountered somewhat of a problem soon after the beginning of her self-imposed exile. The books found in her bedchamber were indeed scarce and after finishing all of them during the first three days of her stay, Ginny found herself rereading the texts to the point of memorization of whole paragraphs. Very soon the desire to hurl the tomes into the living room fire and watch them as they were reduced to meaningless cinder became almost unbearable.

So she tried exploring the vast mansion presented to her in all its empty glory most hours of the day while Malfoy was too busy with his disgustingly successful corporation somewhere in the Diagon Alley. But every time she did try to wander off a bit further down the corridors, to mount an unknown flight of steps, or to proceed into some distant wing of the massive mansion, her attempts were cut short by the house elves, who quickly ushered her back into her bedroom, squeaking something about Master's orders. Malfoy was apparently against the idea of her roaming his house, snooping around as the elves so charmingly put it when she finally confronted them, and had directed to confine the guest to her bedchamber, dining room and the living room.

Ginny scowled at her reflection in the silver-brimmed mirror as the memory replayed in her mind. She was not snooping around! She was bored senseless and if he didn't want a raving Weasley on his hands he should've just let her roam around! Unless, he was hiding something he didn't want her to find, in which case he should really let her roam around! Preferably with specified directions, passwords and all available information regarding the possible booby traps.

The nerve of that idiot! He couldn't annoy her to her face, so he sent house elves to do the job for him! She could just hex him for being such an insufferable git!

But it wasn't his only obvious attempt to irk her into insanity. Each and every evening around 7, Ginny shaken out of whatever she was doing at the moment by shrill drunken giggles emanating the foyer. Oh, please! She couldn't help but to roll her eyes at his juvenile tactics. She put him on the spot with stating him visible aloneness, so he - in all of his Malfoy-ishness - saw it necessary to subdue the Manor to an infantile parade of all his conquests. Which, by their intonations and bits of conversation that carried over to Ginny's room, most probably shared a collective brain amongst themselves.

On top of that, she could've sworn he put a Sonorus charm on all his lady-friends just to spite her, because no human being could ever manage to shriek so ostentatiously that the blasted cries of supposed pleasure carried all the way from the furthest Wing to Ginny's bedchamber. Honestly, she really couldn't care less whom he did or didn't. He could hump trees as far as she was concerned, as long as those were quiet trees that didn't wake her up every blasted night!

She shook her head exasperatedly, plunging her face under the constant stream of warm water in the lavishly decorated shower, washing her nude body from all the sweat and tears that lately accompanied her dreams. She was beginning to become unsettled from all the troubling dreaming as well, mostly the exaggerated affects it was having on her body. She didn't have to search for any reasons of those fearful dreams, though, since Ginny knew very well that surpassed worries could easily inflict these horror visions onto her mind whenever she was unable to avoid them in her sleep.

And try to avoid them she did!

For the past week, all the while she was suppose to contemplate and muse over everything that happened and finally decide what she was going to do next, she had spend reading, dreaming of painful destruction of said reading material and sparring with a metaphorical Draco Malfoy through his house elves and the screams of his nightly entertainment. She had been avoiding the pressing issue with feverish vigor usually directed solely at Quidditch matches, and as of yet hasn't allowed the thought of Harry to cross her mind in whatever concept.

She knew this couldn't continue much longer, though. She just couldn't pretend that nothing had happened with Harry, or in fact pretend nothing had ever happened to her and that it was perfectly acceptable for a Weasley to be living in the Malfoy Manor for the rest of her life. She knew she had to get a grip over herself and start doing some heavy thinking, finally figure everything out for herself so she could continue living her life and actually leave this bloody estate.

But it was easier coaxed than done. Ginny just couldn't bring herself to relive the memories, replay the scene, the emotions - and most of all - the fear. Ever since she remembered herself the thought that day may come when she would be afraid of Harry, the man she loved for so long, never even crossed her mind. How could it? Harry was the Boy Who Lived, the one who fought evil and defeated it on numerous occasions, the person you would trust your life with. He was definitely not the one you'd imagine raising his hand on an innocent, a woman, and most of all - his own wife!

The thought was so absurd and preposterous that Ginny was very close to dismissing everything as yet another nightmare and gladly return to her home, her life and her husband. But each time she opened her eyes to find herself in the same small bedchamber in the infamous Malfoy Manor, she knew she was there for a reason, and that reason was that night.

She closed her eyes, inhaling a slow breath. She hadn't cried since that night while she was still awake and didn't know why. For sure the situation she found herself in was enough to drive even a Malfoy to tears. She was utterly lost, disoriented and as far as she could see, completely hopeless. Her world crumbled and she did not posses the power to recollect the pieces on her own. Yet still, no matter how hard she willed herself to, she could not cry, leaving all the emotions cooped up inside of her, smothering her with the heavy cloak of uncertainty.

She sighed silently again, climbing out of the shower and wrapping the soft towel around herself. She stepped out of the bathroom, walking over to the burgundy chair near her bed, and eyed desperately the garments that were washed and folded neatly by the house elves every day. She hadn't returned to her house since the night she ran away, admitting to herself that it was fear that prevented her from making her way back, even when she was in need of basic necessities such as clothes and her wand. So she possessed only these cream colored turtleneck, the flimsy brown skirt and one plain black cloak. She was getting sick and tired of these clothes, and the lack of her beloved wand left some sort of void inside of her. Still, she couldn't yet return to that house. Not just yet.

Huffing exasperatedly, she rolled her eyes and caught a glimpse of the dark green purse perched on top of her nightstand. She picked it up, quickly undoing the silver lace holding it closed and her eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of over a hundred galleons. Picking up the piece of parchment that was placed beneath it, she scanned the neat and elegant handwriting, correctly guessing its owner.

Weasley,

Swallow your pride and go buy yourself some new clothes. I know Weasleys don't spend this much money on robes and such (probably because you don't have this much money to spend it on anything), but it seems Christmas came earlier this year for you. You can shower me with gratitude later.

Malfoy.

Ginny scowled at the parchment, fisting it into a tiny paper ball and throwing it into the nearest bin. That slimy git… she snarled to herself, tossing the purse onto her bed. I cannot believe this! I avoid him at all cost, so he won't be able to hurl stupid remarks at my face, and he has the audacity to do that in a friggin' letter? Well, you've really done it this time, Malfoy…

She quickly dressed and grabbed the purse, walking out of the room. Marching to the dining hall, her mind seethed with anger that simmered through the thick fog of confusion, deeming to be the only salient emotion in her right now.

"Master Draco had already left," she was informed by the house elves. Great! Just when I do want to see the prat to slap him, he's not home… typical!

She slumped down onto her usual seat and frowned at the bowl of porridge in front of her. Small dark-brown raisins and bits of various fruits peeked through the gooey texture and the sight of the traditional Weasley breakfast seemed to soothe her reeling mind. She tossed the purse onto the table, picking up the spoon and plunging it into the porridge with a squelching sound. She took a deep breath, stirring the bowl expertly, fighting off the ancient instinct of emanating noises of Muggle machinery that always seemed to brighten up the sulkiest of moods and the gloomiest of mornings.

She instead settled for making those noises in her head. Vrooooooom! Choochoochooh, choo! Whee!

She wasn't sure how exactly, but for the past week she noticed that her meals were consistent of all her favorite courses, prepared with suspicious skill of one Molly Weasley. She was quite sure that her mother hasn't been sneaking in and out of the Malfoy estate just to make Ginny her favorite meals, so she had to hand the house-elves the deserved credit. She didn't know how they knew, but they did and she was thankful for this tiny piece of normalness in her newly awkward existence.

By the time Ginny finished her breakfast she was so homesick she decided to visit her favorite twin brothers. She asked a house elf to retrieve her cloak and made her way to the living room's fireplace, leaving the purse on the dining table. Few moments later the house elf scurried into the living room, carrying her cloak and the silver tin filled with the cyan Floo powder. She thanked him with a smile, taking the cloak and a handful of the powder, tossing it into the fire and draping the cloak over her shoulders.

Only after she stepped into the green leaping flames and shouted "Diagon Alley!" did she notice the extra weight of the emerald purse in her cloak pocket.

============ *~*~*~*~*~*~* ============

Ginny stepped into the cold autumn morning in the middle of Diagon Alley, deeply inhaling the crispy cold air. A broad smile crept across her lips and she all but forgotten her momentary irritation at the house elf who slipped her the purse without her noticing. She gazed around herself, comprehending that she has been surrounded be people, actually real people, with no relations to the Malfoy family, for the first time in an entire week! People all around her, rushing to and fro, oblivious to her attention, surrounded her and now she realized just how much she missed everything - the noises, the shouting, the brisk politeness and the utter commotion.

As she made her way towards her brothers' prank shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Ginny hoped they would use their usual tactic of dealing with important and uncomfortable issues - simply and reverently ignoring it. She would much rather them to fill her in on their new stock or late Weasley gossip instead.

Stepping into the colourful shop filled with everything from Firecrackers to Exploding Toilet Seats that was run by the infamous Weasley twins pranksters to the core, she yelped in surprise as the bells above the door roared with the sound of thunder rolls. In her distraught she didn't notice Fred stealthily sneaking up behind her, skillfully hoisting her over his shoulder. Cackling madly while his petite baggage dissolved in peals of giggles, he carried her to the counter, calling out to his brother.

"Oi! Looks like I got myself another one of those-- how'd you call 'em?"

"Oysters?" offered George helpfully, grinning at the familiar derriere of his only sister.

"Nah, mate! The small ones with the voices!"

"Blast-Ended Skrewts?"

"They have voices?" came the giggling inquiry from the bundle of laughter and red hair under discussion.

"Hush, oyster!"

"Not oysters! Not skrewts… You know, the muggle ones! With the lolly poppers!"

"Munchkins!" George exclaimed finally.

"Yes! Them buggers! I got myself another one of those Munchkins!" proclaimed Fred, patting Ginny's shin, which prompted wriggling of attacked legs and demands of repositioning.

"And what will you do with this Munchkin, brother dear?" asked George, ignoring the propelling feet.

"I was thinking she would make an exceptional soup, don't you agree?"

"Nah, I'm afraid she's too bony for a decent soup…"

"Hey!" cried out Ginny with a frown, stopping her writhing. "I resent that! I would make an outstanding soup…"

Laughing out loud, Fred finally released Ginny from her uncomfortable perch, positioning her firmly on the ground. "You're right, Gin. You would make an outstanding soup…"

"And quite a delectable main course," George added supportively, walking over the counter and embracing her in a bear hug, which Fred soon joined.

Ginny held onto her brothers tightly, feeling at peace for at least this short while. After couple of moments, noticing no attempt to move away from the hug, Ginny began to feel the two bulky bodies working together in an ancient torturing technique. "Umm, guys," she tried to reason first. "You're crashing my wind pipes. "

Another few moments passed and quiet companionable sniggering could be heard overhead. Ginny sighed, reminiscing this tendency of theirs to try and crash her tiny body between themselves in their twisted idea of humor. Rolling her eyes, she wondered why they never remembered her counter-attack. She shifted her weight quickly before they could remember and stomped painfully, first on Fred's foot then George's, then quickly leaped up, hitting both their jaws with the top of her head, resonating a loud unpleasant clunking sound.

Yelping in pain and defeat, they staggered away from her, rubbing their jaws and shifting from their stomped feet. "Why, on bloody earth, do we always forget this?" fumed George, pushing his jaw with a crick into the right position.

"Maybe because I don't hit strong enough," mused Ginny cheekily.

"No, no!" assured her Fred. "You hit with just the right amount of strength…"

Ginny chuckled and hopped onto the counter, finding a perch between the register and a line of flamboyant jars containing various candy, which can be only described as evil. "So, brothers… what's new in the business?"

The Weasley twins exchanged wide secretive grins and Fred hurried off into the back room.

"Sister dear, we are standing on the brink of an entirely new era of pranksterness!" George announced in a loud significant tone.

"Is that even a word?"

"Hush, oyster!"

"Okay…"

"Era," he carried on as if there was no interruption. "That shall provide an outlet for the sickest and the most twisted senses of humor that ever graced the face of the earth!" he erupted in a wave of sinister laughter, halting abruptly only when Fred reentered the room, carrying a multihued box, and gave him a funny look. "That is…"

"You need to lay off the Muggle movies, George my man," Fred patted him on the shoulder, placing the box on the counter. "Or I'll complain to Holly and she'll cut your Viaress rights…"

"It is called VCR and you wouldn't dare!" George stared at him outrageously.

"This morning you were talking about putting Muggle elcetrial holes around the shop cause you like the look of them," Fred reminded his brother with a rare air of seriousness about him. "Oh, I'll dare alright. "

Ginny laughed at her brothers' bickering, realizing just how much she it. George had married a muggle-born witch a couple years younger than him, Holly Blackwood, and almost immediately developed his father's obsession for Muggle objects. His recent obsession was a black box he kept raving about, but not quite succeeding in explaining the wonders of it to his brother.

Ginny glanced at George sympathetically, averting her attention to the other twin when he tugged her sleeve. "See this one," Fred proudly offered her a red cellophane pouch filled with red chocolate beans out of the box.

Taking the pouch, Ginny eyed the label and smiled at the winking faces of her brothers hovering around the jagged font that proclaimed the name of this product - Weasley-Do.

"What is it?"

v "We believe demonstration is always more persuasive than mere explanations," Fred grinned, prodding her to try it out.

"Do I look seven? I'm not eating this," Ginny declared, placing the pouching onto the counter and pushing it away from her.

"Oh, come on, Gin. Be a sport!" George smiled at her most innocently, pushing the pouch closer to her. "Word of a prankster, it is reversible…"

Ginny squinted at her brother, knowing well enough that she'll regret this in a minute or so. Still, she picked out a rather large bean and popped it into her mouth, expecting smoke to come out of her nostrils, to cough out phoenix feathers or something much worst. But nothing so drastic happened while the chocolate melted away and some odd zinging sensation slithered along her jaw line and up to the top of her head. She narrowed her eyes at her brothers, who burst into uncontrollable feats of giddy chortling. Ginny nudged Fred in the ribs, frowning at him.

"Frederick Ormond Weasley, you better tell me right now what you did to me…"

The twins continued laughing, their voices growing hysterical amidst random glances thrown at her. After another painful nudge, this time directed at George, he recovered long enough to retrieve a hand mirror and offer it to her shakily, one hand clutching at the counter for support. Ginny frowned at her brothers once again and, mentally preparing herself for the worst, glanced into the mirror.

Her eyes widened in horror while her eyes trailed her startled reflection, smothering a whimpering sound of despair at the bottom of throat. Her regal mop of red hair, distinctive sign of a Weasley - which was always a bit brighter than the others, but dulled over the years - was now burning a lovely shade of neon-red.

She blinked at her reflection and then at her brothers. Seeing them roaring with new waves of laughter caused by her reaction, she slammed the mirror down and reached out towards both of them in a well-practiced imitation of their mother. Grabbing both by their ears, she jerked them closer to her from the opposite sides of the counter.

"Change it back…" she hissed at the two yelping idiots.

The twins guffawed harder, paying no attention to the shooting pain in their ears. "Sorry…" snorted out Fred. "But… but… we… haven't… got… antidote… yet!" at this they both burst in laughter once again, this time Fred losing his balance and plopping down onto the floor.

Ginny's eyes shot daggers at her brothers as she released their ears, burying her hand into Fred's long hair and yanking it up painfully, bringing him onto his knees. "Change it BACK!" she roared into his face, feeling another flash of anger simmering inside of her.

"Don't worry, Gin," George interrupted, trying to reassure his murderous sister. "It will wear off by itself…"

"Yeah," agreed Fred. "In a day or two!" his laughter thundered again and this time he collapsed onto the floor completely, rolling around and clutching his stomach.

Ginny snarled, kicking him as painfully and as sisterly as she allowed herself and heaved a deep sigh. You should've known… she shook her head and turned to the other boxes, checking out her brothers' new pranks, while they kept laughing maniacally.

She occupied herself for about fifteen minutes until the twins' laughter turned into constant hiccups and they finally calmed down, able to control themselves from bursting again whenever they glanced at her. She stayed at the shop for couple of hours, sitting and talking to her brothers as peacefully as it was possible. The twins didn't try anything else on her and if needed an example, used the tricks on themselves, feeling Ginny wouldn't hesitate to maim them the next time.

They hadn't talked about Ginny and Harry, and she was grateful for that. The only reminder of the whole situation was when Fred offered her to have a dinner at his house, saying that Angelina was worried about her stay at the Malfoy Manor and just missed her. Ginny accepted the proposition with a smile, but wasn't sure when she would be available.

She smacked herself mentally, reminding her that she had nothing but spare time, but she wasn't sure that a dinner with Angelina was the ideal proposition in her current emotionally fragile state. She liked the sister-in-law very much, adored their children and appreciated the changes she did in her brother to tame him a little; but she also knew that a worried Angelina is a zealous Angelina is an obsessed Angelina is a very annoying Angelina. Not to mention frightening.

Changing the subject, Ginny told them about the owl she received a few days ago from her editor, in which he stated that she was fired. To their loud interjections and wholehearted suggestion to beat the snot out of her boss, she assured them that she was not about to go down without a fight. She was one of the best journalists that the newspaper had and had single-handedly managed to raise the selling percentage by twelve percent since she first started working there, and finally if reviewing the situation regarding her forced resignation from the law's point of view, he had absolutely no right to fire her. Finally, pumped up by her brothers howls of encouragement, Ginny left the prank shop with rejuvenated spirits and headed towards the Daily Prophet office down the street with all the intentions of getting her job back.

Disclaimer: Okay, I always forget about these things. Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, dance!

Author's Notes: All the thanks go to Skye for her betaing assistance. Thanks, bebah! ^_^

---

4 :: Armaund Café

A timid knock echoed in Tomas Brooks' office a moment before Ginny opened the door and stepped in. She searched the office for Brooks' penetrating green gaze that she expected to be drilling into her mind, but found him hunched over some papers on his desk, not noticing, or most probably, ignoring her. Penny, the secretary, just announced Ginny's arrival mere minutes ago right in front of her. Why on earth was he playing as if he didn't know she was standing right there?

She remained silent, waiting for him to raise his eyes up at her or at least give some indication that he was aware of her presence. But he kept his posture studiously unflinching, though Ginny caught a sight of his glare darting at her from under the black lashes. Sick of being silent and realizing this daft game might take all day, she cleared her throat loudly and watched him finally avert his eyes from the - blank, she noticed - papers.

Tomas Brooks, former Slytherin and now the Daily Prophet's editor, allowed himself to remain silent for a long time, while his eyes slid up and down Ginny's dainty frame. His black hair was slickly combed back, his clothes as tidy and well suited as always and his fair features, sculpted so expertly to resemble an ancient Greek beauty, were twisted into that familiar Slytherin sneer, though it did not deprive from - and perhaps even added to - his sheer attractiveness.

Ginny knew him since she first came into the Daily Prophet's editorial, her mind still fresh and keen from the cross-Europe trip and heart blooming with countless possibilities of changing the world. He had never paid her much attention when she was hired as a junior copywriter and mostly regarded her with cold politeness a true British gentleman regards a stranger. It was only when she got utterly sick of being bossed around by idiots who didn't have an ounce of writing ability or style in their blood, that she slipped one of her own articles about the speculated machinations in the 'Department of Magical Games and Sports' into Brooks' editing stack and got his individual attention.

He was, of course, the typical Slytherin, never admitting to her that he was intrigued or pleased while offering her a junior reporter position. But he personally edited her articles and after only a short while as a trainee, was giving her bigger assignments than most novices got. As the time passed and she became a permanent member of the journalistic staff, she even noticed he seemed to be personally offended on the rare occasions when she did not live up to her usual standards.

This was why she knew persuading him into rehiring her would be so easy. Over the past six years he had become something she dared calling an acquaintance and she was sure that her departure had affected the editorial and perhaps even him. Yeah, maybe even the sales dropped… she halted suddenly at that thought and scolded herself for such uncharacteristic pompousness. Oh my god, I've got Malfoy-ish thoughts… help!

"Mrs. Potter… how strange to see you," Tomas proclaim in an exasperating casualty, leaning back on his leather chair, perching his feet on top of the writing desk made of dark polished wood and steepling his fingers together. "I was quite sure you forgot your way back to the offices. "

Ginny narrowed her eyes momentarily at the reference of that particular surname, but washed away the expression quickly, sitting down on the chair in front of him. "Mr. Brooks," she smiled curtly. "No, I haven't forgotten my way--”

"Well, you might as well have," he cut her off suddenly, his cold green eyes flashing with something eager and unfamiliar, though his whole exterior continued being cool and collected.

Ginny paused mid air, scanning the handsome editor, her eyes lingering on his tensed fingers that were now clutched together. Tomas was well trained, as many other Slytherins, to hide his emotions under the cool facade and he was somewhat perfect at that, except for the little twitch in his fingers that seemed to give it all away.

Ginny decided to let the comment slide and opened her mouth again to finish what she was saying. "I scheduled an appointment to see you so we could discuss my return to the Daily Prophet's staff."

Tomas raised an eyebrow in an almost amused manner. "You did? Well than, I'm afraid you have wasted your time, because the issue is not open for discussion. Now, if you don't mind to closing the door on your wa-- "

"Excuse me, but that is unacceptable," Ginny stated firmly.

Tomas' eyes flashed once again with some unrecognizable heat that could've easily make Ginny recoil in her seat. But she maintained her poise, evenly staring him straight in his honey-coated jade eyes.

"Unacceptable, it is?" In one fluid motion he withdrew his feet back onto the floor and placed his slender fingers on the top of his desk, slowly rising to his feet in an obvious attempt to loom over her. "Would you like me to share with you my version of 'unacceptable', Mrs. Potter?" he paused for a moment, but obviously wasn't waiting for her reply. "I deem 'unacceptable' the fact that an employee of mine had the sheer audacity to disappear completely for over a month. Forgetting about obligations, dead lines and an editorial article that was bestowed upon her as a gift from above. Forgetting about her responsibilities to this newspaper, this staff, to herself and most of all - to me!"

He paused for a moment, staring intently into her hazel eyes and Ginny deemed this as the opportunity to speak up, but was cut off abruptly when he spoke again. "This, Mrs. Potter, is what really is unacceptable. You were granted those responsibilities and were expected to take care of them, but instead you were revealed as a disappointment," he finished, lowering himself back into his chair, and grabbed some papers, keenly organizing them.

Ginny sighed, for a moment afraid the infamous Weasley temper would have the last word. But she clenched her hand into a tight fist and that seemed to calm her down a bit. "Mr. Brooks, I understand that what I've done was completely irresponsible and utterly unprofessional, but lately I was just preoccupied with a personal matter that required some time away from the editorial. But now that the matter is taken care of - " she lied lightly, " - I assure you my work will not suffer anymore. I oblige all of my time to the editorial and I promise you, you won't regret hiring me back," she finished, quite satisfied with her little speech. But the chill wafting from Tomas was enough to send her into uncertainly again.

Tomas narrowed his eyes, gazing at her for a long while. "A good journalist never allows her personal matters to reflect on her work, Mrs. Potter," he said quite calmly, but Ginny couldn't help but notice a tiny crack in his expression. Was that concern? "Let it be a lesson learned," he said finally and returned to the papers, waving his hand at her dismissively.

Ginny made a gesture to stand up, then stopped in her tracks, confused. "Does this mean you give me my job back?" she asked hopefully.

Tomas raised his bleak green eyes to bore into her, his nostrils flared and Ginny suddenly had the feeling he might shout. "No, Mrs. Potter,” his voice was calm, though. “I will not rehire you because you promise me you won't do it again. You are not five years old child, who can squirm his way out of a mess with big pleading eyes and a coy smile," he spat out, his eyes glistening venomously.

Ginny hardened her posture, glaring at her angered editor as he referred to her speech as an attempt to squirm her way out of a mess. "If you're implying that I elaborated my reasons for my latter absence--"

"I do not imply a thing, Mrs. Potter. Now would you do me a favour and leave my office? I have plenty of work to do and if I'm not mistaken…" he paused, glancing at her with a smirk. "The entrance is for members of the staff only, so you are trespassing…"

Ginny's eyes widened in rage as she felt her self-control crack completely. "You have absolutely no right to fire me! I was absent for 36 days that can be easily deducted as sick days or as a vacation since I haven't had one or taken the others in three years! I am the best damn journalist you have and I will not allow you to discard me like this! I demand the proper respect and immediate rehiration!"

Tomas raised an unnerved eyebrow, momentarily noticing the sudden silence from the usually buzzing editorial outside of his office. He leisurely pulled out his wand and muttering something under his breath, the room was covered with magical silencing field, guaranteeing that those beyond the editor's offices wouldn't hear a single word. He waited a moment longer until the editorial reclaimed its' usual buzz and averted his attention to the flushed redhead in front of him. He stared at her wordlessly, as if assessing her or trying to read beneath her furious rind, but was unable as Ginny's doe-like eyes became as cold and steely as Malfoy's.

"Rehiration is not a word," he said casually after an excruciatingly long pause.

Ginny felt her cheeks burn more fiercely when his calmness and amendment reverberated like a stinging slap to her face. She was about to open her mouth once again to let out another flow of shouting - most probably obscenities - but he stopped her before she began with a swift motion of his hand.

"I understand your agitation, Mrs. Potter," there was something strange in the way he pronounced the surname, hissing or spitting it out, Ginny wasn't sure. "But my mind is set. You will not receive your former position as a journalist on this staff. And," he added, seeing Ginny's eyes dart to his withdrawn wand, as if reading her thoughts, "I would solicit you to refrain from cursing or hexing, since that'll be quite hard to perform without your wand and mine will backfire, I can assure you."

Ginny glared at him indignantly, berating herself for being so transparent with her malicious wishes, and huffed indignantly before hurrying out of the office and slamming the door behind her so hard, it partly flew off its' hinges.

============================ ------------------------------------------- ============================

Ginny stormed down Diagon Alley's main streets, tightening the robes around herself hastily and glaring dangerously at all the pedestrians that dared to cross her in her foul mood. She had been mumbling to herself even since she left Tomas's office, cursing and sputtering spiteful words, wishing she could just wrap her long fingers around that git's neck and wring it!

He had never acted so hateful and malevolent with her and she was utterly taken aback by his sudden atrociousness. She was so sure she had this in the bag, she never even considered the possibility that he might decline her. And he was so mad at her, so angry, as if she disappeared intentionally just to spite him, so he was punishing her for something way serious and hideous than taking this unexpected "vacation".

How dare that Slytherin prat do this to me? she fumed to herself, slicing her way through the thickening crowds. Damn it, I'm his best reporter! What the hell was he thinking to himself? He cannot afford himself to lose me--oh hush, humbleness!

She stopped abruptly, her eyes still spitting fire, when she noticed the familiar sign just above her head - Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. She scowled to herself, absently patting her pockets in search for the purse Malfoy left her this morning, and deepened the frown when she finally found it. Growling dangerously just because she felt like it, she stomped into the shop, her eyes darting around for the cheeky seamstress.

"Mrs. Potter!" the chipper voice carried to her from the back room of the shop as the small, plump older witch stepped out to greet her with the widest and the most pleasant smile Ginny had seen in a while. "How absolutely delightful to see you again!"

Ginny felt the anger slowly seep away as she smiled to Madam Malkin and inclined her head curtly, "Good afternoon, Madam Malkin."

Madam Malkin lead her deeper into the shop, ushering her to the expensive robes' section. "I know the perfect textile for your new robes, I just had it delivered this morning, I'll show you right now. Mr. Malfoy was here in the morning and informed me of your arrival, so I took the initiative and had already chosen the colours that would go absolutely stunning with your red locks. Oh, such a pretty mop of hair! You know, when I was younger I once bewitched my hair to be exactly the same shade, but, alas, it did not suit my complexion…"

Ginny wanted to shoot the cheerful seamstress a dry glare. Was she kidding? Her head was still flaming the same acid red caused by their brothers' stupid prank candy, and Ginny was quite sure she could easily glow in the dark. The hair already gained her few gawks, stares and whispered sniggering. But she was sure the shopkeeper meant nothing malicious by her words and let it slide. Suddenly, though, something suddenly caught on with her. "Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy informed you of my arrival?" Ginny began to feel the same anger that overtook her this morning boil it's way outwards. She stared at Madam Malkin intently, waiting for her reply, inwardly hoping she misheard.

"Well, yes!" the witch replied cheerfully, apparently oblivious to Ginny's inner rage. "He told me you were coming today, said that you might look reluctant, but that should disregard that and show you only the finest and the most expensive robes I have in my store. I, of course, wasn't that pleased about the 'disregard' part, but when a man like Draco Malfoy tells you to offer only the best, you tend to comply…" she trailed off, sharing a secretive wink with Ginny. Giggling jubilantly to herself, Madam Malkin hurried into the back room and carried back a heap of the most luxurious robes and fabrics Ginny had ever seen.

But she was too furious by now to actually notice any of it as Madam Malkin flashed them before her eyes, babbling to herself nonstop. Ginny's jaws were clenched as she stared onwards, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms and she wondered how the hell she happened upon two Slytherin gits, allowing them to ruin her day. And it started so nice in the twins' shop too, she thought to herself miserably.

Finally, taking a deep breath and averting her attention to the chirpy witch that continued flashing the fine fabrics in front of her, she glanced at the prices and her eyes widen. "Madam Malkin, am I buying robes or small islands?" She knew it was quite rude, but she couldn't stop herself from blurting it out.

Madam Malkin seemed confused, as she didn't understand this particular quip. "Er, robes, dear. Are you feeling well?"

As well as one can be in my situation, she thought to herself, shaking out of it and giving the seamstress a reassuring smile. "I guess I'm a little bit tired, I apologize. I missed breakfast today…"

"Oh you shouldn't do it, dear! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day! And it's almost lunchtime now," the witch preached concernedly. "Anyway, about this robe… I was thinking we could tighten it a bit in the waist area, since you have such lovely curves…"

Ginny smiled at the compliment, but stopped Madam Malkin from further discussions. "I'm sorry, Madam Malkin, but I'm afraid Mr. Malfoy gave you the wrong impression when he came by earlier. I did not come here to buy expensive robes, nor custom made ones. I'm here to buy just few plain everyday robes and some clothes."

Madam Malkin looked as though Ginny had slapped her across her face with those words. She recovered quickly tough, taking away the costly robes and materials, and lead Ginny to the stack of everyday robes, continuing her casual chatter.

When Ginny finally left Madam Malkin's shop, she was carrying two bags filled with simple and satisfying clothes and robes. She smiled to herself, content at the fact that she managed to spend less than half of what Malfoy had left her, though she had no idea why she was so pleased about it. She shrugged sheepishly and glanced at her watch. She had spent a whole hour at the robe shop and now she could clearly hear her stomach rumbling sulkily. She turned to the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, wishing to get from there to Malfoy Manor as soon as she could. She was getting cold, hungry and tired and she decided she had enough excitement for one day.

============================ ------------------------------------------- ============================

Ginny passed down the overcrowded streets, smiling peacefully to herself and those that brushed past her. Her mood was now much better than when she had left Daily Prophet's editorial and she was cheered up by the thought of returning to the Manor and changing out of her clothes. Oh, how she longed for the day she could change out of these close…

Passed by a small cozy café, she didn't give it more than the casual glance of a pedestrian and was about to continue onwards, when she heard someone's rushing steps behind her. Heart leaping into irrational dread, she squared her shoulders and clutched her bags tighter, preparing herself to whack whoever it was senseless.

She whipped her head around and what she faced made her feel something even worse than the foolish fear. When she saw a waiter from the little café run over to her side, taking his time to catch his breath in the crisp autumn air, she felt hot flashes of embarrassment creep up her neck. She was beginning to develop a serious case of paranoia and she knew it couldn't be all that good.

She waited for the waiter to straighten up and face her with a flushed smile. "You got some legs on you, Miss," he said jokingly, but seeing Ginny's blush deepen, he hurried to correct himself. "I meant that you walk very quickly! I wasn't saying that you have beautiful legs," he paused, blushing himself. "Not that there is something wrong with your legs! I'm sure they're very nice--legs-- I haven't even seen your legs!" he blurted in panic, his voice hitching desperately. Feeling his cheeks burn furiously and the heat creeping up to his ears, he tried to again. "Not that I ask you to show me your legs, I wasn't-- I-- oh bugger!" he slumped his head dejectedly, feeling defeated.

Ginny's blush softened and she laughed at the young man's attempt to amend himself. "It's okay. Just stop talking for a minute, gather your thoughts and then try again," she coached him warmly. Her heart went out to the young man since she knew all too well the blushing and rambling as she had experienced all that on herself before. She watched him take a deep breath and give her a grateful smile when he spoke again.

"My name is Derek, I am a waiter in the 'Armaund Café'. And I was asked by Master Malfoy to invite you to join him for lunch," he said in the perfect manner, adding proudly to himself. "Yeah…"

Ginny's features stiffened immediately at the mention of Draco's name and she scowled unconsciously. That prat wants me to dine with him? He cannot be serious! I can't believe that git! Then, suddenly noticing the surprised look on Derek's face, she softened her eyes and smiled at him. "Please tell Malfoy that he is the most stupid, obnoxious and detestable being, and if he really thinks for even one moment that I wi-- you know what, I'll tell him myself!" she said, turning around completely and marching in the direction of the small café with Derek at her heels.

She walked into the warm establishment, scanning the room for the familiar white-blonde hair, finally spotting him in the outmost secluded part of the room. Derek curtly took her bags and cloak away, then escorted her to Malfoy's table. Ginny kept her gaze away from him while Derek offered her a chair and asked what would she order, since Draco apparently just ordered and was waiting for his meal. She was about to decline when Malfoy cut in non-too patiently, ordering for her the same as he was having and dismissing Derek with an irritated wave of his hand.

Ginny glared at the fair-haired man across the table, who was extremely interested with his own glass of water. "That," she hissed at him. "Was uncalled for. I am not staying, as I'm not hungry," she proclaimed.

“Merlin's beard, Weasley! What on earth happened to your hair?!” he sound incredulous, amused and shocked all at once, ignoring her attempt to decline the invitation, and Ginny couldn't help the crimson that crept across her face, eager to match her lurid hair.

“Nothing,” she grumbled, glaring daggers

"You're a terrible liar, Weasley," he stated, his steely eyes gleaming.

"You're repeating yourself, Malfoy," Ginny countered calmly, hoping she would be able to control her temper at least now. He didn't deserve her lashing out and she never could understand how exactly he always managed to cause her stoic to crack.

Draco paused for a moment, his smirk comfortably crowning his handsome features. "Well, wouldn't want that, would we?" he chuckled, obviously deciding to drop her hair.

Ginny couldn't help herself from rolling her eyes. Who do you think you are, you idiot?

"So," he drawled in a bored manner, his lips quirking into a shadow of a smirk. "By the bags you carried in, I take it that you took up the opportunity to spend my money…"

Ginny felt a small flush trace its' way up her neck and down her ears. Gods, please make it legal to wring people's necks if they're asking for it, she prayed silently, sensing her anger slowly simmering up. She grabbed the purse from her pocket and tossed it across the table. Luckily it didn't land on his plate, which would've probably broken it. She watched him scan the purse with one perfectly shaped brow raised up in surprise.

"So, the Weasley pride didn't allow you to succumb yourself to the mercy of your worst enemy," he said, his smirk turning into a sneer. "Fine, walk in your rags…"

Ginny raised both her eyebrows at his reply, tilting her head to the side. Are you kidding me? Is he offended?

"What?" he snapped irritably.

"Are you hurt I didn't use your money?" she asked him finally.

He glared at her with disbelief and snorted. "Please! I couldn't care less, Weasley. I just thought you'd like to get our of those clothes, but I guess you're used to wearing the same garments for weeks on end…"

Ginny clenched her fists again, feeling the anger slip up another notch, preparing to overflow her rational thinking again. "I cannot believe you are the same hateful childish brat you were in school," she hissed at him. "Why can't you grow up, Malfoy? Why can't you, for once in your miserable life, just shut your mouth if you haven't anything besides insults to say?"

"Because then I wouldn't be able to talk to most of the riffraff that surrounds me, Weasley," he intoned evenly.

Ginny glared at him and heaved an angry quivering sigh. "I don't understand you, Malfoy," she declared suddenly, her voice soft and inquiring. "You fought against the Dark Lord, you've helped out Harry in the Final Battle, you've risked your own life for my father's… why the hell are you still acting like the Death Eater's son?!” she was becoming frustrated, though she wasn't quite sure he was fully responsible for her peaky state. "I-- I just don't understand you…"

"It is not your place to understand me, little weasel," he countered, smirking at her in amusement.

"And whose place is it, then? One of your shrewish lady-friends?”

Draco snorted as a reply and leaned onto the table, tipping his head closer to hers. "Is that jealousy I detect in your voice? "

In an instant Ginny looked appalled and any desire her stomach might've expressed mere moments before was thwarted by the idea. "And you expect me to eat after such a question?"

Draco smirked at her reply, leaning back again. "Touché, Weasel…"

There was a silence for a moment and Draco scowled to himself. Ginny raised an eyebrow, but he ignored her silent inquiry.

"So what was in those bags you carried in?" he asked indifferently when was finally sick of the silence.

"Some robes and clothes," Ginny said casually, tilting her water glass from side to side, watching the water swirl around.

Draco narrowed his eyes a little, scanning her neutral expression. "I thought you didn't use my money…"

"I never said such a thing," she countered evenly, watching him clench his jaws in what seemed to Ginny as an attempt to hold himself back. "I just didn't buy the expensive robes you prodded Madam Malkin into offering me."

He did not reply, just watched her more closely as she sipped her water, glancing over her shoulder towards the kitchen and wondering what was taking so long with their meals. Just as if on cue, Derek returned, carefully carrying two plates with the best-looking pasta Ginny had ever seen. She gave Malfoy a surprised look and smiled at Derek, thanking him politely.

What was she expecting of a typical Malfoy lunch? Well, definitely not pasta, she was sure about that. She thought there might be more blood to it; perhaps even some virgin's vital organs or body parts. This? This almost put Malfoy in a human light. Almost.

"So what did you do today?" he inquired quite indifferently, his features expressionless as he picked up his fork. "Reread your books for the tenth time?"

Ginny eyed him over her plate. "How do you know what I do in my spare time?"

He smirked at his plate, busying himself with the food. "I know everything that's going on in my house, Weasel…"

Ginny shuddered at that. There was something in his intonation that inclined she had nowhere to hide, not even in her own mind. She decided not to reply to this comment and just returned to her meal for the time being. A silence spread between them, but Ginny couldn't call it awkward or stressful, since he wasn't someone she felt awkward or stressed about. She knew very clearly about what she had felt for the man in front of her. She also knew that most of it was hammered into her mind by her older brothers and later on proofed to be absolutely true, except one thing - he wasn't the evil incarnate. He was just a very pompous, spiteful and indignant five-year-old; quite like her own brothers at times, but she resounded that thought only to herself - she needn't have her brothers out for her blood.

"I went to the editorial today to ask Brooks for my job back… I work as a journalist for the Daily Prophet," she added to clarify, knowing Malfoy probably had no idea about her current occupation.

“Considering the fact that I scan that paper from cover to cover everyday, I have to say that I knew that already,” he droned, taking a sip of the offered wine.

Ginny blinked, then nodded. So he did know… "He refused though," she said around her spaghetti, resettling into silence with a frown as thoughts of Tomas' inevitable painful death flashed through her mind.

Draco was silent and Ginny didn't think he's react to her words, so it startled her a bit when he intoned offhandedly, "Tomas Brooks?"

"Uh, yes. He's my editor," she said almost evenly and glanced at Draco for a moment. His face was bleak and so were his eyes. It seemed he hadn't spoken at all and she just deemed to hear him. She shook her head and wordlessly finished her meal, disposing any further attempts at speaking with him.

When they'd both finished their meals, Draco beckoned their waiter to bring the check and when that returned, Draco reached out the leather bound notepad to Ginny and quirked up an eyebrow. "Would you mind?" he leered maliciously, watching her face shroud in deep crimson shade yet again and releasing a mean cackle to himself as he reached into his pockets for his purse. He paid the bill and eyed Ginny superiorly. Ginny couldn't miss the sudden uplift in his mood.

"I couldn't help myself," he commented almost sheepishly.

"I do not appreciate the remarks or actions such as this one, Malfoy," Ginny hissed at him, feeling her anger return full force.

"Yes, well, you seem to find the perfect way to avoid them," he pointed out, reaching out his long, pianist's fingers to wrap around the stem of his wine glass and bringing it closer to his lips. "By avoiding me," he added above the crystal rim.

Suddenly through an odd wave of horror, Ginny found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the man in front of her, namely his lips. Those finely shaped pale lips, curved tentatively to accommodate and please his numerous drunken giggling conquests. Her eyes slipped from his upper lip to the bottom, noticing the slight arch at the lower part of his upper lip and the soft camber of his lower one. Those lips seemed so gentle and tender, Ginny had a hard time admitting that they belonged to this cruel man.

Ginny, honey, you've been cooped up in that Manor for way too long… She closed her eyes and gingerly shook her head, tired for some reason.

"Well, what would you suggest me to do, then? Stick around you and listen passively while you insult my family? I know you know nothing about me, Malfoy, but even you know better than to expect me to act timidly when you trash my family," she spat at him, hoping to sound as venomous as he.

Malfoy was quiet for a long while, glaring intently at Ginny. "If you actually expect me to act differently just because you're staying in the Manor, you have another thing coming, little weasel," he said slowly, as stating nothing more, but a simple fact.

Ginny narrowed her eyes, her mind seething with sudden anger and rage. She spoke out, still trying to control herself as much as possible. "You are nothing, but a horrid child, Draco Malfoy! You are an insufferable git and I wish I'd never had the misfortune of meeting you!"

"Oh, you do, do you?" he hissed, leaning closer to her again, his face crowned with an unpleasant sneer. "And what would have happened to the little rodent, have I not happened on her way that fateful evening?”

Ginny blanched.

“I'll tell you what would've happened,” he pressed, finding delight in her reaction. “You would've returned to your home sweet home and allowed the not-so-saint Potter to grovel for forgiveness in an utterly and disgustingly sappy way, which you would've believed because you are so idiotically in love with the lowlife. What you don't know is that he would've struck again, I can assure you, and the next time you might've not survived his tantrum. And still,” his voice was losing its permanent nonchalant note, becoming pregnant with loathing and disdain one barely was able to harbor without exploding, which he did now.

“Still! You wouldn't have left him, because you would've continued believing that he truly is sorry, that it really isn't him who strikes you, that he could never ever do something like that! And maybe, most probably, most definitely, you might've even started blaming yourself! Thinking that he couldn't have ever done something as horrible as hitting his lovely little wife if she had done everything right! And maybe you haven't done everything right? Maybe it really is your fault he decided to pummel you?!” the last words were barked out, finally drawing attention of the other patrons, while he continued to steadfastly glare at her.

Ginny gaped at the shouting wizard, watching his fair skin undertake the loveliest shades of scarlet and the chords in his throat straining under his tirade. Glaring, she tried to ignore the terrible tremble in her hands and lips and narrowed her eyes dangerously, nostrils flaring and fists clenching tightly.

"Why you little--“ she bit her tongue before saying anything else. Her hand subconsciously rampaged her pockets, but she once again realized her wand was not with her. Her throat tightened painfully and she felt her eyes begin to sting. Clamping her mouth shut, she sprung up so swiftly that her chair flew back and hurried away from that heartless man. Grabbing her robes and bags at the entrance she did not glance aback when she ran out of the café, cursing the fair-haired man with all her might.

5 :: I Don’t Sleep




Ginny's mind was still reeling fifteen minutes later as she snaked her way through the overcrowded street, her dainty figure and bright red locks salient in the sea of drab cloaks. Her hands gripped the handles of her bags, nails sinking into her own flesh as she futilely tried to prevent the hot and furious blush. The lump in her throat grew bigger and the thick veil of miserable tears hazed her vision. She could not believe Malfoy had said those words, that he was actually able to pronounce such mean and hateful things. She shivered, not knowing whether from the cold, from her rage or his remorseless abhorrence.

She could feel her tears freeze in their tracks and soon afterwards her eyes dried completely. She could not afford to break so easily every time he spoke his blasted mind. She wouldn't be able to survive in his house for much longer if she did. Her eyes darted onwards aimlessly as she coaxed herself gently to breathe and let his meaningless words slide off, like water from duck’s feathers.

When she suddenly saw a familiar figure coming into the view amidst the faceless throng, she instinctively smiled and hurried that way, wishing to hold onto that man tightly and complain about Malfoy's idiocy. But when the green eyes caught her approach and something foreign glinted in them, she halted to an immediate stop. Her heart skipped a fearful beat and she wished with all her might that somehow Harry had not noticed her. Perhaps amidst the crowd he had spotted some other familiar face and not her. Oh, please, please, let it be so…

But when his smile broadened into that well-known welcoming grin, she knew it was her that he had seen. She momentarily considered the idea of turning around and running away, but she wasn't raised that way and she would not start acting like such a coward now. She squared her shoulders and gripped the bags even tighter, walking closer to him with as casual expression as she could muster. She hated feeling this way. The fear and the discomfort caused by the man she loved should not at all be in existence. It was ridiculous and unbelievably foolish, but she could not shake the fidgety feeling in the pit of her stomach. She became unnerved in his presence and she was afraid it was her fault; her moronic overreaction that led her into this unneeded panic.

She walked over, towards the extremely colorful window display of "Flourish and Blotts", managing a polite smile and nodded at him curtly. This sudden sense of detachment, as if they were nothing more than mere acquaintances, made her even more disgruntled with her own behavior.

"Hey," he said sheepishly, noting her choice to stand at some distance. "Umm, how are you?"

Ginny sighed, her smile widening slightly at the ludicrous situation. They were acting like strangers so timid, and stupid, that she couldn’t believe herself. This was her husband, for Merlin’s sake! "I'm… fine, I guess. You?"

"Okay,” he nodded in response. “You know - work, house…”

Ginny saw the brief scowl before he managed to hide it and decided to pointedly ignore the bitterness lacing his voice. He was suffering as much as she was, and she wanted so much just to hold him close right there and tell him to take her home.

"What-- what are you doing here?" he asked after a stretch of silence.

"Needed some robes,” Ginny supplied, showing the bags in her hand. “Wanted to talk to Tomas about my job."

"And how did that go?” he inquired evenly. “He took you back?"

"Err, no." She couldn't help but notice the tiny spark in his eyes. "He… umm, didn't." She glanced away, watching the countless nameless strangers passing them by as if they didn’t exist.

"Gin, look," Harry suddenly fired at her, obviously deciding to cut to the chase. "Are you avoiding me?"

Ginny heard the anxiety in his voice and her heart bled. How could she tell him that she was afraid of him and had spent the last week locked up in the house of his school archenemy mostly because she dreaded the possibility of running into him. She couldn’t bring herself to cause him anymore pain. "What are you doing here?" she asked instead, wincing at the awful change of subject.

He motioned toward the bookstore, thankfully deciding to play along. "Work stuff. Bakely is in there talking to Blotts about the shipment of cursed books they god last week." His voice grew impatient and exasperated and when he stopped, he pressed his mouth into a tight line and took a deep breath. He obviously gave up on the small talk and made an effort to catch her wandering eye before speaking up again. "I miss you."

He took a step closer, and Ginny’s body reacted on its own accord, stepping away from what it deemed a threat. He stared at her incredulous, devastated, but was unable to say a word. She bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair, wishing she could stop the sudden tremor in them. "I-- know. I’m sorry. I miss you too— "

"Then come home, Gin. Just… come home"

His plea was silent and desperate, spoken solely to her despite the constant flow of people around them. His voice was traced with longing, his loneliness was visible in the shade of his eyes, and his need for her emanated from his very body.

She shivered in her warm cloak, suddenly noticing how very close he came to stand. Her heart beat rapidly and she inhaled slowly, drawing in that earthy familiar scent that was everything Harry. She should have never run. It was immature, and cowardly, and so absolutely uncharacteristic of her. She had never been the one to run away. Ever. What had happened that night was a regrettable mistake. It was awful and despicable and utterly unpardonable, but he didn't mean to raise his hand. She knew it to the marrow of her bones, that he had never meant her any harm. He loved her so much. She knew his love - it was comforting and soft and brilliantly warm. It could never be the harshness and cruelty she witnessed that evening. She knew him, and the man that struck her wasn't him. She looked up into his eyes and inhaled slowly. What she needed right now was to lean into his arms, cry away Malfoy's insults and go home with him.


The thought circulated pleasantly through her weary mind, assuaging the raw wounds left by the blond’s accusations. Accusations that she would cave, relent, go back and place herself in a more dire situation than she was in now. Ginny felt her heart give a frightful skip as those accusations ran rapidly through her mind

"—You would've returned home … he would have struck again, no matter how sorrowful… you'd still stay by his side… think you know him and that the man that struck you wasn't really him. …"

Ginny became rigid for a moment, yet somehow managed to take a step away from Harry. She could not go back without having everything figured out and she wasn't anywhere near figuring it out. She was still as confused as ever, if not more so, and she was sure Harry would benefit from their time apart as well. He was hurting, she could see it in his eyes. She hurt too, but she dreaded her pain would not dissipate into thin air if she ignored it long enough.

"I can't, Harry," she finally whispered, keeping her eyes firmly away.

She could feel his entire body tense. She was still so attuned to him and that made this so much harder.

"What?" His voice was laced with a calm demand, but a demand nonetheless.

Ginny shook her head, biting her lower lip. "I can't. I just can't yet. Please understand this." She shifted her weight uncomfortably, inching away.

"You can't?" he echoed in a voice that sounded foreign and unfamiliar. "Is someone stopping you?"

"No," she replied, glancing nervously at the people around. no one seemed to be paying them much attention, and she really didn’t wish to change that situation.

"Then? Why can't you come home?" he insisted. "Or are you afraid that returning home would interfere with your screwing around?"

Ginny snapped her head up, staring into his emerald eyes, not believing what she just heard.

"How stupid do you think I am, Gin?" Harry demanded, grabbing her arm and hauling her closer to him. "You're not staying at the Burrow, not in the Leaky Cauldron, not in any other inn in the Diagon Alley. So where do you live? And how exactly are you paying for your stay?"

He shook her roughly, glaring down at her frightened expression as if she was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen. She saw in his eyes the same flash of brutality that dominated them that night and she couldn’t help but tremble. She tried to push his away, yank her arm out of his grip, but his fingers were like vices, digging painfully into the flesh of her arm. She dropped the bags and tried to shove him away, struggling again his, but all was in vain. He simply shook her once more, as if she was nothing but a pitiful ragdoll. Her frightened gaze searched the crowd, but not a single looked their way and a ghost of a suspicion crept through her mind, fueling the hastily growing terror.

"Tell me, Gin! Who is it?" he shouted right into her face, jerking her again when she provided no answer.

With a sinking sensation in her stomach, Ginny finally noticed the pale blue ripple of magic around them. He had cast a cloak around them – none could see them until he decided otherwise – and she had stepped right into it of her own will.

"Tell me!" She wished desperately for her wand, hand sneaking through the folds of her robes, but just like in the café, she realized she did not have it. But she had to do something, she had to get away!

She stomped onto one of his feet and when he grunted at the unexpected strike, she sent a fixed punch toward his face. She hit his nose and with morbid satisfaction heard the crunch and saw the spurt of blood that covered her fist, ignoring the subtle pain resonating from her own hand. Perhaps it wasn’t particularly so, but it had made Harry stumble away and gave her enough time to spring into the surging crowd. Her petrified dash for freedom luckily was not followed, and as she ran tears stung her eyes. But she attributed that to the throbbing pain in her probably broken fingers.


________________________________________


Ginny glanced at the wooden door that slid silently into its place. She closed her eyes with a wince, wishing that the door had made a sound. . She had been wandering about Muggle London for the past six hours - her feet ached, her muscles burned, her head swam with lightheadedness and her fingers still throbbed painfully. Her mind was veiled so thickly with gloom, she could scarcely find her way back to the Malfoy Manor. Her eyes were sore from the incessant tears and the cold wind. Her throat was tight and she could hardly drag her breaths anymore. Her cloak and clothes were smeared with dirt, she wasn't sure from where, and her whole body was in a state of numbness.

She spent the afternoon trying to explain, understand, excuse and finally deny what had happened with Harry in the Diagon Alley. But no matter how hard she tried to think clearly, she was unable to. The moment she tried to, her mind blurred immediately and all trains of thought were lost in the darkness. She trudged onwards into the massive foyer, only half aware of her surroundings. As she reached the staircase that lead into her bedroom, she glanced up and seeing it stretch to a seemingly unreachable destination, she plopped herself down onto the lowest step and gathered her knees in a tight embrace.

Mere moments later, Ora appeared with a soft popping. Ginny glanced up as the little house elf placed a gentle bony hand on top of her flaming locks and stroked her head tenderly. Then, Ora smiled at her fondly and ushered her to stand. Obeying the elf's caring assistance, Ginny climbed up the stairs and into her bedchamber. There, Ora discarded her of her clothes and led her to the already prepared bathtub filled with warm water. The house elf rinsed her carefully just as she did the first night and healed most of her various aches. But when the kind fingers reached the four violet bracelets on Ginny’s right arm – the bruises left by his painful grip –and was about to vanish them, Ginny stopped her, covering them with her hand.

"Leave these," she said quietly. She didn't know why she asked, but she wanted those bruises to stay.

"Master Draco--" the elf began to squeak a protest, but Ginny hushed her with glance stare.

"These stay. "

Ora closed her mouth with an indignant huff and proceeded to towel Ginny's body off. She then dressed her in a white crisp nightgown and led her to the bad, tucking her in and wishing her goodnight before disappearing.

Ginny inhaled slowly and shakily and closed her eyes, Ora's care and kindness bracing her in an air of now-unfamiliar tranquility, as her mind blurred once again and she sailed into a deep slumber.

.
________________________________________


Pain dominated her world, sinking its claws into various parts of her defenseless body, hissing and ripping her muscles as she tried to move. Around her the Chamber of Secrets was filled with furious blazes, lashing uncontrollably at the both sides of this seemingly lost battle. Red and green sparks wheezed over her and the smoldering air was filled with curses and hexes flung from all around her. One of her legs was broken and popped in an odd angle; thick blood oozed down her face from the fierce blow to the head she received a while ago; her clothes and hands were smeared with blood, and her entire body sported cuts and bruises. Still gripping tightly her hazel wand, she spit curses at every Death Eater within her range. If I die tonight, I will leave a trail of dead bodies in my wake!

Suddenly she felt a pair of forceful arms wrap her waist, yanking her up and hauling her away from the battle. She was dropped behind a pillar for cover, insulted for her stupidity by a faceless voice and left along just as quickly. She didn't recognize the man but she had a feeling she knew him; he was probably a member of the Order. Trying to move, she hissed loudly when her broken leg twisted excruciatingly, grounding her completely. She was well hidden behind the massive column and was impossible to spot in the current commotion unless searched for specifically. She couldn’t see much from her position, but she saw enough to keep her breath hitched and her heart hammering.

Harry and Voldemort appeared in her view, moving almost beautifully in their own personal battle - attack, retreat, defend, attack again. Harry was always beautiful with his salient features and the undeniable bravery, but at the time of an encounter he shone with golden regality. Ginny couldn't help the little shaky puff that escaped her lips as he underwent another successful attack. The war will be over tonight and Harry will be victorious, there was no doubt about it in her heart.

Suddenly Ginny stirred out of her reverie, hearing the dreadful words ring through the walls - "Avada Kedavra". Her gaze shot up to find Harry's lifeless body lay at the feet of the Dark Lord and Voldemort himself laughing triumphantly, his crimson gaze piercing her unerringly. Her heart tightened painfully and somehow she knew she was dead when he called for her in that unnerving manner that never failed to make her feel small and hopeless.

"Ginevra…"


________________________________________


Growing up with six big brothers whom during various periods of their lives were most frequently characterized by sadistic behavior, taught Ginny to bear pain and alarm silently. Ever since she could remember herself she always stifled cries of terror, biting them down and burying them deep. So even though her nightmares were often almost unbearable and she always woke up with a startled jump, she would always smother the scream before it had the chance to leave her mouth.

Sitting up on her bed, Ginny gripped her chest tightly, feeling an ache where Voldemort's curse hit Harry in her dream. Her heart beat faster and her stomach churned as always. Her nightgown was soaked in sweat and so were her sheets and pillowcase. She swung her feet over the side of her bed and walked into the bathroom, still rubbing her chest and breathing shallowly. She rinsed her face, glancing into the mirror to see the haunted look in her eyes that scared a bit more. She closed her eyes and gulped hard, suddenly having the urge to whimper in utter despair.

She shook her head and walked back into the bedroom, noticing that it was still dark out side; a quick glance at the grandfather clock informed her that it was about passed two and that she had slept for over six hours. She rubbed her eyes, yawning.

Suddenly she caught sight of three large bags from Madam Malkin's robe shop, perched on top of the writing desk. Holding her breath, she walked over to the desk, for a moment dreading that Harry had discovered her whereabouts. The bags were indeed filled with her robes, and in one of them a thin prolonged box wrapped in brown paper rested atop a bundle of fabric. Over it lay a small note. She reached in and took out the box and the note, examining the strange cursive handwriting.


What I did this afternoon was out of place. You have every right to avoid me.
PS - I noticed you were searching for this.


Not signed, the note was obviously from Harry. The box contained her hazel wand inside of it and though she was somewhat reluctant to accept any consolatory gifts from him at the moment, her heart swooned with relief at the sight of her cherished wand.

It must have been brought while she was sleeping, but Merlin! What kind of a bird carried three bags filled with robes?

She got dressed and pocketed the much-missed wand, heading out of the chamber; she needed to eat something now that she was awake. She felt a little bit better now that her wand was safely placed within her pocket. Harry's note seemed strange to her in its briskness, but Ginny knew Harry never was the one to place his feelings on paper. She knew he was extremely sorrowful and pained, but this time she regarded the fact from somewhat of a distance.

She strolled into the dining room, meaning to call for a house elf to prepare her something to eat, but she stopped in her tracks, finding Draco sitting by the table and reading the 'Daily Prophet'.

She turned around and was about to walk straight out when Draco's familiar drawl stopped her in her track. "Come in, Weasley. I don't bite."

Ginny turned back to see the sides of his mouths quirked up. She sighed, knowing this conversation will turn out into an ugly argument as well. "It's you're bark that bothers me," she replied quietly, walking to the table and sitting down on her usual chair.

"Oh?" he inquired, intrigued, but Ginny decided to ignore it.

She waited for the food to appear on her plate and then started to eat silently, hoping that by disregarding Draco, she would prevent any further discussion. After his words at lunch, the last thing Ginny wanted was for him to talk to her. I will be the bigger person and just ignore him.

"So, what happened after lunch?" Draco asked the paper, but Ginny assumed he expected her to answer.

She paused with the fork halfway to her mouth and chanced a glance at him. Ora must have told him in what state she had returned earlier. "Nothing much."

Draco did not reply immediately, but after a while his gaze left the paper and turned to scan her her tensed features while she continued her meal. "Ora said there was blood on your hands… and that your fingers were broken."

Ginny momentarily considered saying 'I walked into a door', but the cliché faded with a mental snort. What she did manage wasn’t much better. "I slipped," she said shortly, keeping her eyes and flushing cheeks hidden behind her hair.

"Slipped?" he questioned her suspiciously. "Well, aren't you a clumsy one?" he added after a long pause, returning his gaze to the paper. His eyes slipped upon the letters aimlessly, glancing now and then at Ginny.

When she showed no intentions of starting a conversation, Draco cleared his throat. "I see the fact that you're a Weasley did not deprive you of a sense of style," he said finally, glancing over her new attire.

Tightening her grip on her knife and her fosrk, she slammed them onto the table, making the plates shudder. "You are unbelievable," she breathed in irritation, standing up and storming out of the dining room, leaving her meal unfinished. She stomped into the living room, grabbing a book she read four times already and collapsing onto the right chair before the blazing hearth.

"What?" she heard Draco's voice carried into the living room as he followed her. "I paid you a blasted compliment!"

"Your definition of a compliment is twisted, Malfoy. That wasn't a compliment," she fired rapidly into her book. "Besides, you're the last person I would want to hear a ‘compliment’ from."

"Why?" he drawled casually, lowering him into his armchair.

"'Why?'" Ginny glared at him, slamming the book onto her lap. " I have to remind you of the verbal diarrhea you experienced at lunch? How can you even dare to look at me after what you've said?"

"Not as difficult as you might think, little weasel," he replied in a monotone.

"Your tongue should be ripped out for the things that you dare to say, Draco Malfoy. "

Draco smirked at her, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket an elf just carried in and a small jagged knife, starting to peel the apple again into a long green coil. "Be my guest, little weasel, rip away," he said, finishing with the peel and placing it absently onto the little table between the two armchairs.

Ginny's hand grabbed the peel and, just to spite him, started munching on it again, her lips fluttering around a silent muttering of a curse under her breath. Allowing her lips to curve into a smile, she tuck her wand back into her pocket and opened the book again, allowing her eyes to scan the familiar lines peacefully while her lips fondled with the sour-sweet apple peel.

Draco, not noticing the wand and the recent curse, quirked an eyebrow at Ginny and opened his mouth, drawling, "Eating leftovers again, Weasley?". Or at least he would have, if any sound had escaped his lips. His eyes narrowed in confusion and he glared daggers at Ginny, who was gritting her teeth against the apple peel and trying hard not to burst in laughter.

"What was it, Malfoy?" she asked innocently, averting her eyes from the book to look into his darkened silver orbs. "I didn't quite catch that."

Draco most probably tried to mouth some intricate cuss word, but it was to no avail. Ginny kept smiling at him. Finally, he narrowed his eyes menacingly into tiny angry slits and mouthed slowly, "Undo. Now!"

Sighing dejectedly, as if he was ruining all her fin, Ginny took out her wand and murmured the counter curse. "I got my wand back."

"So I've noticed." That was all he said before turning to the 'Daily Prophet' that he had brought from the dining hall.

This time Ginny couldn't stifle the giggle that escaped her lips and drew Draco's attention back to her.

He watched her intently while his fingers gripped the edges of the paper. He gazed at her as she finished the apple peel and as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, leaned over his armrest towards her. "Okay, you have to tell me, Weasley - and by gods, control your temper, I am not out to get you - but, the peel… come on! Why are you eating the damn apple peel?"

Ginny glanced at him from the corner of her eye and shrugged. "Dad used to give me the apple peel when I was little. It usually involved an entire flourish ceremony of storytelling,” she said simply, hoping he would not find it appropriate to belittle her sentimentality. "I guess I just like it."

Curiosity satisfied, he pursed his lips in a moment of contemplation and returned to his newspaper without saying a word.

Ginny returned to her book as well, but soon her mind was distracted by a flickering thought. "Malfoy, why aren't you sleeping? It's--" she glanced at the clock. "—half past two. Aren't you tired?"

"Why? Am I bothering you?" he purred in a mocking tone.

Ginny rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "The usual nag of your presence, but I'm getting used to it by now." After a pause and a glance toward him, she prodded further. "It's just-- most people sleep in this time of the night."

Draco tore his eyes from the 'Daily Prophet' lazily and looked at her for the longest moment before responding. "I don't sleep."

"You don't sleep," she echoed slowly. "Don't you get tired?"

Still looking at her, he smirked. "Apparently not," he said, lowering the paper and letting his eyes wander to the hearth. "Little sleep seems to be sufficient. Father was also that way."

Ginny allowed herself to study him closely, somehow knowing that his eyes won't leave the fire for a while. She decided to herself that he was an embodiment of the ancient Greek beauty. His eyes were the pure shade of silver with scarce white streak and long black lashes; he had a perfectly shaped nose; his platinum blonde locks were an almost exact color of his eyes and hung loosely, framing his features; his lips were an exquisite masterpiece of their own. Draco possessed the beauty of a marble god, Ginny admitted to herself. And a heart of an Ice King. She sighed solemnly and glanced at the fire as well.

"So,“ she dragged the word through the silence. “Do you know why you can't sleep? Maybe it’s a sickness or something."

Draco eyes were glazed with the orange warmth and it took him a little while to part his lips and form a reply. "You have your familial characteristics – your hair, your temper – I have mine. Leave it"

Ginny raised an eyebrow and returned to her book, "Fine." She read for about two hours and when the book became unbearably familiar, she fell asleep in the comfy armchair, wondering how long was Draco going to stare into the blazing flames. And what other familial legacies he was burdened with to this day.

6 :: Mikul Dracushor


Ginny sprang up into a sitting position, choking down the cry that threatened to escape her. Her heartbeat jolted, but soon began to lose its unevenness as she rubbed her chest, consciously taking deep calming breaths. Clutching the blanket beneath her for some measly grounding, she realized she was no longer in the armchair before the fireplace, but in her own bed at the small bedchamber. She was still clad in her clothes, which were now soaked in cold sweat, but her shoes were neatly placed near the bed and her hair was disentangle from the hairpins, which were piled on her nightstand. The house elves, she decided.

She got out of the bed and headed for the bathroom, discarding her clothes and indulging herself with a hot shower. Her dreams were becoming more vivid and far more difficult with every passing night, making it hard not to wake up screaming. Last night’s dream, as she recalled, detailed her struggle against someone who prevented her from jumping in front of the killing curse aimed at Harry. She fought and thrashed desperately, but still was not a much for her captor. So she was forced again to watch, to see the defeat and the death of the man she loved.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shot, dipping her head under the steaming stream, trying to wash away the dreamy cobwebs from her mind. Finally, once her muscles were revitalized by the almost scalding water, she stepped out and carefully toweled herself off. She had nowhere to hurry and by the sun peeking through the frosted window, she assumed it was somewhere around midday. Half the day was already wasted in sleep anyway. She dressed in her new clothes, the crisp fabric settling around her stiffly for the first time as all things unfamiliar, and headed downstairs. Malfoy was supposedly at work, so the meal schedule was hers to play around with. She asked the elves for a breakfast and settled in the dining room with the Malfoy’s newspaper and a bowl of porridge strewn with fruits. Once she was finished, she dallied over the paper, having nowhere important to be, but soon a small presence caught her attention. One of the house elves hovered by her side and kept looking at her expectantly. She chanced a glance at it, but looked away, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

Finally snapping, she turned to face it point blank and forced a smile. “Yes?”

“If Miss is done, Cilli will lead Miss into library,” piped the elf.

Ginny frowned in confusion and looked at the little creature. “What library?”

“Master Draco’s order,” the elf hurried to explain. “To show the Miss into library and allow her to go there whenever she pleases”

Ginny’s eyebrows arched at the gesture, quite taken aback by the… well, niceness of it. Niceness was not a part of Malfoy’s vocabulary as far as she was concerned, and it actually unsettled her a bit to understand that he, indeed, did something nice. The closest he ever got to ‘nice’ was ‘tolerable’ and that was mostly when he kept his mouth shut, staring into the fireplace. Now he was allowing her access into the family library and she was probably obliged to act grateful. Well, bugger. She left the table and followed the elf down the winding corridors and labyrinth-like recesses of the manor. No wonder she could never find a thing in this place – the Minotaur would have lost his way around here.

When they finally reached the library, the elf opened the door for her and bowed its way out, leaving a gaping Ginny to stare at the massive chamber. Before her very eyes sprawled perhaps one of the vastest collection of printed books she had ever seen. Mazes upon mazes of bookshelves, spiral staircases leading up to the second and the third floors of the library, overstuffed armchairs strewn everywhere, and immense windows that allowed the dark wooden décor of the library to be bathed in golden glow. The scent of ancient tomes wafted around the room, broken only by a cool breeze
from one of the slightly opened windows.

Ginny gulped hard, wondering whether this library was as big as the one at Hogwarts. Probably not, but to her criminally jaded mind, this chamber looked like heaven. Getting a grip on herself, Ginny finally took a step further and proceeded to explore. As she guessed, the library indeed was enormous and possessed colossal collection of volumes and manuscripts on any subject, genre or literature preference. It even contained a section of Muggle literature, to Ginny’s utter shock. And of course most of the third floor was the expectedly substantial assortment of Dark Arts texts, which Ginny decided to steer clear of.

She gingerly picked a book from the Muggle classics section and chose herself a green armchair near the open window, making herself comfortable. Beyond the windowpane spread out the emerald planes of Malfoy grounds, which Ginny promised herself to explore as soon as the rain stopped for a little while. She sank into the soft chair and opened the book, a smile crowning her content expression.

“Well, well! Never thought I’d see the day a Weasley would step into this library. Again.”

Ginny jolted upright by the sound of the voice, scanning the place around her. She was alone, and a pointed sound of throat clearing drew her attention to the walls. Just behind her hung a portrait of a fair-haired, smirking man. She stood up and passed her armchair, approaching the painting and scanning the small metallic tablet beneath it – Sir Lynus Malfoy. Her eyes slipped up to his face, noting the familiar smirk and the patrician features. He was an almost exact replica of Lucius Malfoy, with the exception of his eyes, shining deep blue instead or the cruel gray.

“Stop gawking, lass!” the painting barked at her. “Have you no manners?”

Ginny frowned and pursed her lips into a displeased line. “I refuse to discuss etiquette with individuals who should know better than to startle people.”

Stunned by the plucky respond, Sir Lynus arched an eyebrow, so perfectly performing the familial motion that had been elevated to a form of art. “Have I startled you, little one?” he asked, and she could feel the mocking ooze behind his concern.

Folding her arms across her chest, Ginny responded with open irony. “Yes, quite. I tend to get frightened by inanimate objects. The coffee table in the living room still gives me the most terrible case of heebie geebies.”

The fair image curved its lips into a smile. “My, my, the lady has a tongue. How on earth did a nice girl like you master such sharpness?”

“Communicating with your… descendents, I presume.”

“Draco?” he inquired briskly. “Indeed the boy had done a marvelous job, I have to admit. Honing one’s wit is one of the greatest challenges a man of intellect would encounter in his life.”

”Or a woman,” Ginny injected pointedly, and dared him with her stare to disagree.

Sir Lynus smirked. “Of course. So, my grandson finally lured you into the den," said Sir Lynus cryptically.

Realizing the wizard meant Draco finally allowing her into the library, she nodded and pulled the armchair closer. Something told her this would develop into a conversation. “Yes, he finally stopped acting like a child.”

The illustration barked with laughter. “Infantile behavior runs in the family, apparently. You weren’t acquainted with his father! The imbecilic rat!”

Ginny felt her back stiffen against the backrest. “Unfortunately, I was acquainted with Lucius Malfoy, and I’m afraid his behavior never seemed ‘infantile’ to me. Hateful, vicious, soulless…”

Scanning Ginny’s features carefully for a long moment, Lynus nodded slightly to himself. “Yes, my son was all of that. And then some.” His eyes slid down for a moment and seem to darken in his silent reverie.

Ginny considered asking what had made Lucius the way he was, but decided against it quickly. Instead, seeing as the subject upset her conversant, she decided to change it into the first thing that popped into her mind. “So did you know Draco when he was a little?”

Lynus’ face brightened and he smiled at her suddenly a small smile while his eyes gleamed oddly. “Knew him? I practically raised the brat!”

Ginny grinned at the uproar in the wizard’s voice. “How was he?” she asked, propping her feet on the window seat next to the painting.

“Fast,” replied Lynus. “He was the only three-year-old I ever knew who could outrun his grandfather.”

Ginny giggled, imagining a small Malfoy running away from Sir Lynus on his little chubby legs. Somehow the thought of a child Draco and his chubby legs was enough to send her into a laughing feat.

“Also was a curious little bugger,” Lynus continued, encouraged by Ginny’s chuckles. “By the age of eight, he knew more secret passages around this Manor, than I know by now. And I lived here for more than half a century before I—“ he stopped there, glancing behind his shoulder into the pastoral background. “Moved.”

Ginny smiled tentatively, guessing it was strange to talk about one’s death. Though the thought of Malfoy knowing secret passages around the house unsettled her, Ginny gave no sign of such emotion.

She spent the rest of the afternoon there, listening to Sir Lynus’ numerous stories from Malfoy’s childhood and his own life. Though Sir Lynus tried to keep his expressions impartial through the storytelling, Ginny could see his dark blue eyes glaze over once in a while as he remembered something. He kept his posture firm and features neutral, just like any other Malfoy Ginny knew; but he was somewhat different from his descendents, perhaps a tad more cordial, a bit more human.

He spoke easily about Draco’s life in the Manor – about Lucius’ total lack of interest in the boy, unless it was to scorn him; about Narcissa’s undying affection and care for her son and his attachment as well; about the usual childish pranks he played on the house elves. When the timeline reached Draco’s final years in Hogwarts and he spoke of those summer vacations at the Manor and how the elder wizard took the role of his grandson’s confidant, Ginny noticed some strange roguish twinkle in the ancient wizard’s eyes. He kept smirking and sniggering silently to himself, until Ginny couldn’t take it anymore.

“What?” she demanded.

“Pardon me?” Sir Lynus responded coolly with a cocked eyebrow.

“You’re snickering and giggling like a giddy school girl. Now I want to know why. ”

“Miss Weasley, you’re overstepping the lines of amiable conversation,” he warned her strictly.

“I don’t care, I want to know why you were giggling!” Ginny prodded further.

“I was not giggling,” Sir Lynus insisted, glancing at her down his nose.

“Alright then, not giggling. Now tell me why,” she continued.

“‘Why’ what?” he asked in fake innocence.

“I begin to understand the whole ‘infantile behavior throughout generations’ bit you mentioned earlier,” she quipped through tight lips. “Why were you snickering?”

“I do not believe I’m in any position to divulge that information.” he said cryptically.

Ginny pouted in annoyance and folded her arms over her chest. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll find out anyway.”

Another strange gleam flashed past his blue eyes as he smirked at her, nodding his head curtly. “I am sure you will.”

Ginny glanced at him from the corner of her eye, knowing the wizard was hiding something, but realizing there was nothing she could do to squeeze it out of him. She made a mental note to look into the issue later on. Perhaps prod Draco into revealing whatever it was that amused his grandfather so.

She remained in the library with Sir Lynus until the ancient grandfather clock proclaimed the time for Draco to return home with his flavor of the day. She parted with Sir Lynus, taking the forgotten book from the armchair, promised to drop by soon and headed to the dining hall, hoping to grab something to eat and go up to her bedchamber without an unnecessary encounter.

---

Without bothering to knock, Draco stepped into the office of Tomas Brooks, brusquely waving off the diffident secretary. Surveying the formal and impersonal décor, Draco could easily assert that the man was a Slytherin even if he hadn’t known Tomas previously, which he did. Tomas Brooks was the eldest son of Victor Brooks, one of the Dark Lord’s major supporters in his first reign and one of the Death Eaters who spied for Dumbledore after his second upsurge. Draco wasn’t personally familiar with Tomas, but knew his father very well and was under the impression that Tomas was a younger replica. If so then, Draco’s visit would be shorter than planned.

“Penny, I said no visitors,” growled the black-haired editor over his papers.

“Very proficient. But she didn’t really have a choice,” drawled Draco, closing the door and approaching the desk.

Brooks lifted his head to meet Draco’s cold gray eyes and rose to his feet, extending a curt hand. “Mr. Malfoy,” he said with a slight inclination of his head.

“Mr. Brooks,” Draco acknowledged in return. “How is your father?”

“As well as could be anticipated. His heart has weakened over the years, but the healers say it will be taken care of,” replied Brooks.

“I’m glad to hear this. I hope he will feel better and would be able to leave the St. Mungo’s soon,” said Draco, nodding his head.

Brooks eyed him for a moment and beckoned him to sit down, before speaking. “Did we have an appointment?”

Draco took a seat on one of the chair in front of the desk. “No, not that I know of.”

Brooks looked confused for a brief moment, but cleared his throat and sat down as well, leaning aback in his leather chair. He studied Draco for a silent minute before speaking again. “What is the reason for your visit?”

Draco paused and unnoticeably bit the inning of his cheek. Gods, I can’t believe I am doing this. “I want the ‘Daily Prophet’ to publish an article about the company,” he began calmly, feigning interest in the surrounding office. It was obviously what company he meant. “To tell the inside story of the company, so to speak. We had a bout of bad publicity as of lately, and I wish to do some damage control. Perhaps even give an interview.”

The idea was brilliant, really – no other newspaper yet had been granted full access to the company’s materials since Draco took change of it, and to dangle this opportunity before a journalist was equal to dangling a chunk of meat before a hungry dog. There was no way Brooks would deny him. And yes, Draco had never in his entire life felt so ridiculous and uneasy. He faced death a few times, faced his father even more often, but this situation was far worse than anything else. His features were the personification of indifference and composure, but inwardly Draco was
quite unnerved.

Brooks barely managed to veil his interest behind that calm veneer, but Draco was too familiar with the signs. He cleared his throat and spoke in an artificially nonchalant manner. “Well, all right. I see no problem with that.”

“Wonderful,” drawled Draco with a certain note of finality, though he knew it wasn’t over. “I want Mrs. Ginevra Potter to write the article, so if you could send her first thing tomorrow morning,” he added matter-of-factly and stood up, heading for the door.

“I’m afraid–” Brooks hurried to inject before Draco reached the door. “—that Mrs. Potter does not work for this newspaper anymore. ”

Draco paused at the rushed voice and turned back to see Brooks fidget with his fingers almost unnoticeably. “Oh? And I was under the impression that Mrs. Potter was one of your best known reporters.”

Brooks seemed to stiffen slightly in his chair. “Yes, she was. But— she was fired recently. ”

“Well, then I don’t see a problem here. Just rehire her,” Draco intoned casually.

Brooks cleared his throat once again.. “That is impossible.”

Draco arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the statement. “Nothing is impossible, Mr. Brooks. Some just require greater pressure to relent,” he added with an vague caveat in his voice.

Brooks’ expression turned suddenly into a bleak mask, his green eyes flashing at the threat. Clutching his fingers behind his back as he rose to his feet, Brooks stared Draco straight in the eyes, matching that indifference with his own stubbornness. “This is not your decision, Mr. Malfoy. As an editor of this paper I have fired Mrs. Potter and my decision will not be reevaluated.”

Draco smirked at the vehement editor. “I don’t ask for explanations, Mr. Brooks. I’m just telling you to change your decision,” he said coldly, keeping his posture firmly. If Brooks wants to play hardball, it is his funeral.

Brooks’ eyes blazed again, though his expression was well trained to remain aloof. “You also cannot tell me to change my decision. I do not own explanations about this to anyone but the owner”

Draco’s smirk donned on an unpleasant twist of his mouth. “I can own this paper in less than an hour, Mr. Brooks. Let us not test each other. Rehire Miss Weasley .”

Brooks’ eyes flashed something different as he shifted his posture slightly into a less defensive stance. “Miss Weasley?” he echoed inquisitively. “Why this sudden interest in Mrs. Potter’s journalistic talents, Mr. Malfoy?”

Damn. “The interest is my wish for the best journalist to write about my corporation. I cannot afford an amateur ruining a promotional article with lack of style. And… Mrs. Potter is your best journalist. I want her to write the piece,” clarified Draco with just the right amount of impatience and irritation in his voice to garner obedience.

Brooks nodded, but when he spoke to Draco, his words were final. “I understand your desire for the best, Mr. Malfoy,” he started formally. “But I cannot rehire Mrs. Potter.”

Gray eyes narrowed in concealed suspicion as Draco studied Brooks’ features carefully. Cannot? His eyes bore into the editor’s. There is no such thing for a Slytherin. He remained silent for a long while, trying to read Brooks’ shuttered expression. There was something strange in his eyes, something important to see, but too rapid for him to comprehend. Draco stood his ground, watching the man before him doing the same. Wordless war was unwinding between the two Slytherins as the gray eyes battled the green. Green…

“I have seen Harry Potter exiting the ‘Daily Prophet’s editorial a few days ago. I did not know Aurors now willingly conduct business with the press.”

This unexpected and irrelevant remark brought Brooks’ fingers into another fidgeting feat. He clutched both hands together tightly and matched Draco’s stare, though his glare now were cracked and the intensity was broken. “I’m afraid I do not recall a visit from… Mr. Potter,” he obviously lied.

“Really?” Draco inquired wryly. “Your secretary was under the impression that you two had some sort of a heated argument,” he added, lying through his teeth. He had not spoken to the secretary at all, but guessing by the another crack in Brooks’ expression, he was pretty close. “Yes, an argument… concerning Mrs. Potter?” His voice almost deemed a question as he shot in the dark and had absolutely no idea where he was headed. Perhaps, Draco mused to himself, shaping the first notion that came to his mind. Potter must’ve thought that Brooks would know about Ginny’s whereabouts. Maybe he thought she was cheating on him with Brooks. Maybe she was.

This thought made Draco scowled.

Brooks’ exterior broke down completely as he sank into his black chair, shielding his face with his hands. Despair wafted from him in heavy waves and Draco deemed in horror to hear the older man sob. He drew out his wand, casting a silence shield around the office; the employees didn’t need to hear their superior – Gods, please don’t let it be – cry.

“I had no choice, Malfoy,” Brooks said suddenly, casting away the formality like a dirty washcloth. He lifted his head up to face Draco’s stare and Draco was relieved to see no tears brim those eyes. They were, however, veiled with deep shame and misery. “You would’ve done the same if he threatened your mother.”

Draco’s back became rigid instantly. A thought began to shape itself, its unpleasant form coiling and twisting like a snake in the shadows of his mind. “What are you talking about, Brooks?” he demanded firmly.

“Potter!” exclaimed Brooks. “The ingrate dared threatening me to frame my father for shielding fugitive Death Eaters if I refused to fire Ginny.” Seeing the visible surprise and outrage in Draco’s eyes, Brooks realized that he had spoken too much.

Draco became deadly still, hearing Brooks speak about Potter’s threat. His fists were clenched tightly and the cold composure was too close to exploding. Potter made Brooks fire her? Potter?

Rage bursting forth, he had to fight himself for everything he was worth not to slam the desk and curse like a schoolboy. Reining himself in for the meantime, Draco clenched his jaws and made a show of clasping his hands behind his back. Taking a deep breath, he then spoke to Brooks calmly, evenly, his voice not rising in volume. Composure was his ruler. “I see. Well, this indeed takes care of our problem. Rehire Mrs. Potter immediately and I will personally make sure that your father will not be harmed.”

Brooks was shaking his head when Draco leveled him with a cold stare. “I cannot. I cannot! That runt—“

“Can do no harm,” Draco injected piercingly, his eyes growing colder. “Neither to you, nor your father.” He held the stare of the other Slytherin and fought to suppress the rage within him. He felt his head swim for a moment, but there was still resistance in Brooks’ expression and Draco could not bear the sight of that for much longer. Glaring the other man down, he seemed to tower over the desk. “I on the other hand…”

The short flicker in Brooks’ eyes told him he had won this battle. Sparing him a curt nod, Draco then stormed out of the office and out of the building before he began to lose his poise.

When he reached the evening-quiet Diagon Alley, Draco barely comprehended that his hands were shaking with anger. His mind seethed with some raw emotion as he tried to apprehend the new information. Harry Potter, the bloody Boy Who Lived, was not only an abusive husband, but also a manipulative son of a bitch! Draco stomped down the streets, his head reeling with all the excruciating pain he wanted to inflict on Potter. He could feel hatred boiling through his veins like poisonous venom.

Pictures of yesterday’s afternoon, when he saw a petrified Ginny appear from nowhere and run away from an enraged Harry Potter, flooded his mind. The moment he saw the horror deep in her eyes, he turned to follow her, but couldn’t snake his way through the overcrowded streets. And then he returned to find Potter still standing in the same place, his face and glasses stained with the blood oozing from his apparently broken nose. His eyes seemed to glow red as he watched the direction Ginny disappeared to and Draco had to muster all his will not to draw his wand with retribution on his mind. He knew that Potter would understand if he decided to attack him right then. So he waited patiently until Potter escaped the gathering crowds staring at his nose, and went over to take the bags before leaving.

The image of purple bruises on Ginny’s face was still burned into his mind and every time he remembered it, he couldn’t stop the small recoil in his stomach. It felt like he was five-years-old again, looking at his own mother trying to hide the blue marks from him. He hated this feeling of helplessness that brought forward the weakling in him, the side he was sure was erased from his soul forever. But now it had returned when he looked at Ginny, whenever he heard her toss and turn in her chamber from the nightmares that refused to let her go.

Draco wasn’t able to prevent the horrible dreams too, no matter what he tried. He ordered the elves to add soothing potions into her dinners; he warded her chamber against dreamlings and nightmares; he tried to wake her up once, but the dreams clung to her like fevered babes to the breast of their mother. And when the previous night he laid Ginny onto her bed after carrying her tired form from the living room, he had this almost uncontrollable urge to stay by her side and maybe fight her dreams himself.

Draco sighed silently, raking tired fingers through his hair and feeling his tremors subside. He couldn’t quite remember when he first began to notice the youngest Weasley – whether it was when she retorted to him and managed to say the last word in their verbal quarrels in Hogwarts; or was it when he discovered she was the one to open the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, interacted with Tom Riddle, and survived to tell the tale; or was it when she fought Death Eaters in the final battle, and though her leg was broken, she continued to hex and curse any opponent she laid her eyes on.

Draco respected Ginny and considered her as a fighter and an equal. But when he saw her petite figure tumble onto the ground that night, covered in bruises and blood, he knew than that she needed protection as well. More than that - she needed his protection. Again.

Draco tightened the robes around him and, only now realizing where he was, changed his course and headed home.

---

Ginny was on the way to her bedchamber when
she heard the entrance door slam shut behind a storming Malfoy. Not wishing to come face to face with Draco’s new conquest, Ginny quickened her pace up the stairs until she was taking two steps at a time. But hearing a flow of obscenities and no drunken giggles made her pause. She turned around to see a brisk flash of silver head disappear into the living room alone. Contemplating the decision only for a short moment, she changed her course and hurried after him. Noticing the outline of his light hair near the fireplace, she walked over and sat down on the armchair next to his, watching him tentatively.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he barked, his eyes locked on the fire once again.

“It was scientifically proven a few years back that ‘nothing’ can’t cause hissy feats,” she replied dryly, frowning at his sharp impatience with her. Oddly, she realized, she had gotten used to his brand of politeness, which rarely involved barking.

Draco tore his gaze abruptly from the fire and glared at her. His gray was seething with visible fury and his face contorted suddenly into a vile sneer. “This is not a hissy feat, and you are not welcomed to inquire into my business,” he hissed, for some reason directing his anger at her. “Go hide in your room away from my corrupting Malfoy influence. God forbid the little Weasley princess will be forced to endure the company of the Evil Incarnate, spawn of Satan himself, manifestation of all that’s rotten in this world!”

Ginny eyes widened in surprise at his outburst. “What on earth are you babbling about?”

“Nothing,” he barked again, grabbing an apple from the tray a little house elf just brought in. Clutching the knife from the table, he started peeling it. It seemed that rage and wrath had seeped into his fingers as they started fidgeting slightly, breaking the coil of the apple peel into numerous pieces. Irritated, he tore off chunks of it and tossed them onto the table to be picked up by Ginny, half-mindedly expecting her to help herself to it just like in previous times.

She, however, gave the apple peels a glance, and quickly turned her attention back to him. “Draco, there are two ways to do this – either you talk, or I force you to. Now which is it going to be?”

Ginny blinked at her own words, slight scarlet blush gracing her cheeks. Oh Merlin! Did you just call him ‘Draco’?

Draco tore his eyes from the hearth and looked at her, his eyebrows arched in surprise. Chewing the apple wordlessly, he stared at her in silence, perhaps trying to unnerve her. But the more he looked, the calmer his posture became and Ginny did not allow herself to break the eye contact. Eventually, he did it himself, glancing at the apple peels. “Not in the mood for childhood memories?”

Quickly changing her whole composure, Ginny sank deeper into the armchair and cast the scattered piece another look, scrunching her nose up. “I don’t like the bits. Just the whole coil.”

Draco accepted her answer, eyeing the house elf that bowed its way into the living room and offered a roll of parchment to Ginny. She cocked an eyebrow, taking the parchment from the elf’s tiny hands and thanking him as he scurried away. Unrolling the scroll, Ginny looked even more stunt to read its content.




You’re rehired. See me tomorrow morning.
Brooks.



“What is it?” Draco inquired indifferently over his copy of ‘Daily Prophet’, breaking her out of her astonishment.

“Huh? Oh, I’m… rehired,” Ginny replied, frowning in confusion. He was stubborn as a mule yesterday… and now he caves in? Just like that?

“I thought your editor refused.”

“I did too,” mumbled Ginny. “I guess he realized what an amazing asset I am to the paper and that he couldn’t afford to let me go,” she added in fake haughtiness, folding the parchment and tucking it into the pages of her book. This is almost not right.

Draco smirked at the tone of her voice and returned to his paper. “I see you’ve visited the library. I hope it was enough
to relieve your boredom.”

“Oh, yes,” she suddenly smiled slyly, stroking the spine of her book as her concerns about Brooks faded beneath amusement. “I wanted to thank you… Mikul Dracushor.”

Ginny watched closely as Draco’s posture abruptly became rigid as he slowly lowered his newspaper, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits and fixated on her smiling face. She saw him clench his jaws and grip the frail pages tightly, crumpling them. Ginny could actually see him mentally kicking himself. She batted her long eyelashes innocently at him, smiling sweetly when his lips twisted into a scowl.

“Kibit!” Draco roared all of a sudden, his glare darting to the little entrance for the house elves.

A timid creature hurried into the living room, bowing deeply and brushing the floor with his ears. “M—master?”

“Have you removed Sir Lynus’ portrait from the library before showing Miss Weasley in?” Draco hissed forebodingly, boring his eyes into the quivering elf.

“Uh… we— we tried, Master Draco! But… but Sir Lynus… he— he— kept–” Kibit wailed suddenly, throwing his tiny body to the nearest wall, and started to bash his head against it.

Ginny yelped in surprise and rushed to the house elf, trying to haul him away from the wall. “It’s okay, Kibit! You’ve done nothing wrong!”

The elf continued to wriggle from her grip, every time he succeeded, smacking himself as hard as he could against some furniture.

“No! Wait-- stop! Stop! Malfoy!” Ginny called to the indifferent man who watched her chase the house elf around the living room, trying to prevent him from hurting himself. “Make him stop!”

Draco grunted irritably and dismissed the house elf with a wave of his hand.

“So you’ve met my grandfather.”

Ginny huffed, seating herself back onto the armchair and patting down her disheveled hair.. “Yes,” she smiled at him chirpily. “And we had the loveliest conversation I ever had with a Malfoy.”

“About my childhood pet names,” Draco glared at her.

“Not just, Dracushor.” Ginny burst into a fit of giggles at the scowl on his face. From the corner of her eye, she could see him throwing her murderous looks. The moniker ‘Mikul Dracushor’ meant ‘Little Devil’ in Romanian, and was Draco’s only souvenir from his great-great-aunt whom he had seen once when the Malfoys had visited their family back in his childhood. His mother adored the name and adopted it, and it had haunted him ever since.

Ginny knew why. It sounded absolutely ridiculous and adorable, and yet somehow summarized him so well that she just couldn’t hold herself together, seeing Draco’s expression.

“So what else you talked about?” Draco demanded softly, his voice laced with apprehensive iron.

“You and your chubby legs,” squeaked Ginny amid giggles, plunging into another uncontrollable feat immediately.

“I’ll burn that damn painting,” Draco murmured exasperatedly, raking his fingers through his hair, making Ginny laugh even louder and at some point wriggling right out of her armchair and onto the floor. Not that it bothered her in any way; she continued laughing until she no longer had the air.

Draco watched her wordlessly for a while, waiting patiently until she calmed down. When she did, he leaned in, his mouth twisted viciously. “If you speak word of what you heard from my grandfather to anyone, I will make sure you pay dearly,” he said evenly, his voice ominous.

Ginny listened silently, her expression deadly serious. It lasted for all of ten second, before her lips cracked into a grin. “I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I know you took ballet lessons and I’ve seen the pictures from your recical. You can’t unnerve me anymore.”

Draco was still for a long while, scanning her grinning and jovial self. Suddenly the silver in his eyes darkened and he leaned even closer to her, thus closing the space between them until their noses nearly touched. “Don’t tempt me.”

In this split of a moment, the air had changed. Oxygen flittered away and Ginny became suddenly away of how interesting it was to stare up into Draco’s eyes from such a close and dangerous distance. Something sizzled between them and she became aware of her position – at his house, at his feet, at his mercy.

Eyes subtly wide, she inched away and dragged her eyes to stare at the carpet. "I didn't," she replied plainly, and moved away from him, the jubilant air between them gone. She didn’t leave though, but crawled back into the armchair instead and opened her book.

She didn’t manage to read through a single page for the entire evening, though. She kept turning the leafs, hoping to find a scene that would fascinate her enough to draw her from the fact that Malfoy was now watching her instead of the fire.

7 :: A Biscuit, a Bacon, and a Black-Haired Man

Heart hammering savagely against her ribs, Ginny sprang upright. Clutching the sheets beneath her and breathing raggedly with eyes wide open, she scanned the bedchamber anxiously, ignoring the cold sweat trickling down her forehead as she searched for any sign of danger. Remnants of her nightmare gnawed at her, trying to claw their way into her conscious mind and terrorize her wakeful self as well. She could still hear his insane voice, maddening her with the sound of her own name reverberating through her mind, threatening to burst out of her skull and unleash its malice fully. "Ginevra…"


She stared at the windows, an almost full moon glowing peacefully through the transparent pane, bathing the desk beneath the window in silver luminance. Glancing at the grandfather clock that informed her it was about three o'clock, she grimaced in exasperation and took deep, soothing breaths in an attempt to calm herself. Soon her heart returned to its natural pace and her breathing slowed. Just another nightmare, she thought to herself grimly. Another. . .


Ginny closed her eyes, murmured something under her breath and slowly climbed out of bed. The white sheets did not seem comfortable and the thought of trying to fall asleep again was not a welcomed one. Dragging the burgundy coverlet from the bed, she wrapped it around herself, tightening it against the brisk chill in the air and headed out of the chamber. As she descended the stone staircase leading into the foyer, the walls radiated a bitter coldness that penetrated the velvet quilt around her, making her shiver slightly and quicken her pace into the living room.


Pausing at the threshold she was not surprised to see Draco still up as he turned and glanced at her from the armchair. Receiving nothing more than a quick appraisal of her improvised garment, Ginny waddled to the armchair beside his - now secretly considered as 'hers' - and slumped down, snuggling in front of the blazing fire. Reaching out her hands to the flames to warm up, she caught Draco's silent attention and was startled when he raised his voice slightly.


"Kibit!" The name reverberated through the cold stonewalls and a small house elf scurried into the room.


"Yes, Master Draco?"


"Bring Miss Weasley some blankets and a cup of tea. There was supposed to be some biscuits left after the dinner, bring those too," Draco drawled out absentmindedly, dismissing the elf with a wave of his hand.


Ginny gazed at him for a long time, her expression mildly surprised. "Thank you," she mumbled as he tore his eyes from the fireplace and glanced over.


He waved at her dismissively as well before turning back to the fire, as if she was but another house elf, and all Ginny’s warm gratitude dulled.


She rubbed her hands together to ward the cold, sinking deeper into her chair and stifled a yawn just as the small elf returned carrying two blankets twice his size. She relieved him of his burden and wrapped herself tightly with the soft warmth before plopping back into the chair, scanning the quilts' patterns of delicate dark blue roses strewn about. She watched as the elf wheeled a trolley in with two cups of tea and some biscuits, then placed everything carefully on the table between the two armchairs and left the room.


Picking up a cup of tea, Ginny laced her fingers around it and gazed into the fireplace, observing the rippling tongues that hissed and crackled with pleasure. Her eyes grew warm from the distant contact and she took a sip from her tea, without moving her gaze from the fire. Not for the first time she wondered what was in the hearth that kept Draco so captivated, so engulfed in the heated dance. Does he spend all his nights in here staring at the fire? Is this why he doesn't sleep?


"Why aren't you sleeping?"


His unexpected voice ripped through her musing and she turned to find Draco's gray eyes boring into hers, searching for something. The sudden question ambushed her and she found herself grappling for words, not quite wishing to tell him she was driven from her warm bed by a recurring nightmare.


But nothing came to mind and she resigned herself to the truth. "I had a nightmare."


The silver in his eyes darkened instantly. She noticed his jaw quirk imperceptibly and he looked into the fireplace once again, his icy gaze glinting warmly while the fire reflected in them. "Must have been some nightmare."


Ginny gazed at him, her eyes narrowed as she tried to untangle the mystery that he was. She could not figure Draco Malfoy out and that fact was starting to get on her nerves. He was so easy to read and understand in Hogwarts - smug, spoilt, cowardly brat whose rich father possessed just about everything and mostly anyone, and was the Dark Lord's closest supporter. It was so logical to believe that Draco was as evil and as heartless as his father, that he would follow Lucius' footsteps becoming a Death Eater, and therefore would eventually position himself beyond the red line that divided 'them' from 'the enemy'.


But not everything was meant to be simple or logical, Ginny thought to herself, continuing to look at him, wondering whether he noticed her stare and preferred to ignore it. As a matter of fact everything got very complicated when Ginny discovered Draco was the one responsible for her father's escape from the Death Eaters, that he has been spying for the past two years in his own fathers' circles for Dumbledore and was actually risking his own life for the sake of— Whom? Dumbledore? Muggles? Muggle-born wizards and witches? Why on earth would this spoilt brat risk his own life for the sake of anyone else?


Everything wasn't as simple as it was suppose to be. Suddenly Draco no longer was no longer securely placed behind the red enemy line and was now occupying a position among those he once spent endless time making fun of, protecting those he openly swore to despise. What logic or simplicity was there in such a thing?


And now, Ginny thought to herself, stifling another demanding yawn and sinking deeper into the soft fabric of the blankets. I'm living in Malfoy Manor and oddly enough, starting to consider Malfoy as— Her gaze wandered back to him, watching his pallid features glow in a subtle golden radiance. Allowing herself to smile, she shook her head and took a sip of her tea. Human.


"Stop gawking, Miss Weasley, it is most inappropriate," he drawled suddenly, his low voice seemed to jolt the room out of its stillness.


Narrowing her eyes into a brief glare, she turned to look into the fireplace. Smug bastard, she thought to herself, shaking her head with a small smile. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw him finally place his full attention on her, so she glanced at him sideways.


"Yes?" he drawled when she remained silent.


Innocence marred her face like a mask. "What?"


"You were in deep contemplation of my person. I am interested in your conclusions. "


She smirked at him, taking a sip from her tea. "How dreadfully arrogant. You cannot possibly be certain of that. "


“Ah, but I am, look at that,” he countered, his voice mockingly playful. “Magic.”


Laughing, Ginny shook her head once again. “Whatever’s going on in my head, Malfoy, stays there.”


"Really? I believe I rather remember an awful blabbermouth back from Hogwarts days,” he jibed. “Gossipy little whelp too. No wonder you became a journalist, but I still cannot fathom how you manage to keep your stories secret before their publishing.”


“Har bloody har.” She scowled good naturedly in response. “I was not a gossip. I simply had an inquisitive mind.”


“I believe I once caught you hiding in the bushes on one of my rounds, eavesdropping. The image is so vivid because you had camouflage paint all over your face, Weasley.”


Ginny’s eyes widened with horror. She had forgotten all about that episode. There was a rumor back then that Cormac McLaggen was selling inebriating potions to the First Years and she was crazily adamant on unveiling his entire hideous operation. Of course in the end it turned out that his mother had secretly smuggled loads of extremely rare and delicious chocolate for him and he was trying to get rid of it before he lost his figure. The encounter with Malfoy was short and inconsequential, resulting in just a week of snide remarks that never left a lasting impression.


“I was doing research,” she finally defended herself feebly.


The expression on her face – the haughty tilt to her chin and the righteous pinch of her lips – was apparently enough to fracture his icy exterior as his lips quirked almost involuntarily into a full-blown grin. His chest quivered slightly as he repressed the feat of laughter that threatened to erupt from him and the silver in his eyes sparked with satisfaction that she had never seen in them.


Ginny scowled at his jubilant expression and drew the covers closer around herself.


"Prat.”


He laughed harder. And as the atmosphere changed, Ginny noticed a subtle strangeness about it. I had never heard him laugh before. Cackle, snicker… evilly at that! She glanced at him in time to see him settle down. His features still contained that imperceptible fracture, so his appearance did not seem as icy and detached as before, but was composed enough for Draco to remain himself. He seemed calm and content in the orange blaze of the hearth in front of them, his eyes for the first time not glazing over as he watched the fire.


"Laughter suits you," she said suddenly, surprising not only him.


He raised a perfectly shaped brow at her, smirking in the process. "Weasley, are you going soft on me?"


"Shut up, Ferret," she huffed, throwing a biscuit at him. His former Seeker reflexes seemed to be as honed as ever, because he caught it effortlessly without tearing his eyes from her, which made her all the more miffed. "Ugh, you’re insufferable!"


Draco chuckled, and bit into the piece of bread. "Much better. Don’t think I could’ve endured it if you’d decide to adopt me as a stray pet."


She shot him a piercing glare over the rim of her teacup and leaned her head on the backrest. Stupid, arrogant, little bastard. All right, so perhaps not that little anymore. Or stupid for that matter. Or a bastard, if you wished to be technical. But still!


Soon her eyelids became heavy and her yawning more consistent. She finally gave in an hour later, bidding Draco goodnight before going back up to her bedchamber and falling onto her four-poster, fast asleep long before her head hit the pillow.

---

Ginny entered the 'Leaky Cauldron', a smile gracing her face as Hermione followed her out of the cold streets. Warmth shrouded them caringly, such a contrast to the spearing cold in the Diagon Alley. Taking in the sudden change in the air, they removed their gloves, greeting acquaintances on their way to a table. The pub was overfilled with loud yet jovial conversations as wizards and witches exchanged pleasantries over mugs of hot butterbeer, cold pumpkin juice or warm mead. Here and there, in more quiet areas, people sat around small tables consuming delicious everyday delicacies Tom - the owner of this establishment - was known for. It was at one of those small tables where Ginny and Hermione finally settled down after they managed to make their way through the packed inn.


Quickly enough Tom appeared by the side of their table, giving them a great toothless smile. "Hi there, girls! My, how you have grown! It seems like only this morning you've passed through this place on your way to buy Hogwarts supplies… and now look at you!" he exclaimed delightedly motioning with both of his hands at Hermione's round stomach that was very visible now that she discarded her cloak.


"What did you expect, Tom? Can’t stay in Hogwarts forever," commented Ginny, removing her cloak as well while Hermione laughed.


"Oh no, no," he dismissed the notion with a wave of his hands. "It's just good to see you well and–" His eyes wandered to Hermione's belly once more and he gave out a bark of laughter. "—and growing! Ha! Okay, let’s see - double bacon sandwich, scrambled eggs with tomatoes and pastrami and couple of butterbeers, am I right?"


Hermione nodded her head, smiling widely at the pleasant taverner.


Tom laughed, tapping a finger on his forehead. "Never forget an order, I tell ya. Okay, then. Coming right up!" He gave them both a wink and disappeared back into the crowds on his way to the kitchen behind the counter.


Ginny smiled at Hermione, shaking her head slightly. "He hasn't changed one bit."


"No, he hasn't," Hermione agreed, scanning the people around them.


Ginny glanced at her best friend and saw concern edging her soulful brown eyes that were deliberately scanning the room so she wouldn't have to meet Ginny's questioning stare. Ginny was glad she'd accepted Hermione's lunch invitation this day; it had been too long since she'd seen her and she missed her friend terribly.


This morning Ginny awoken considerably early to find Pig, her brother's hyperactive owl, knocking on her window. After finally being able to untie a small roll of parchment from his little twitchy legs – a process which involved a Stupefy spell since she could not catch him otherwise – she revealed a note from Hermione, saying she would be in the Diagon Alley later on today and she wondered if it could be possible to meet up. Ginny replied immediately, agreeing with great pleasure.


After an uneventful breakfast, Ginny headed to the Diagon Alley and the Daily Prophet's offices, where she had to meet Tomas Brooks. Tomas acted odder than usual and was brief and brusque with his words, overpowered by the constant flow of endless papers he had to take care of himself, since his secretary had taken a sick day. All she managed to understand from his aggravated tone as he threw almost hostile looks at her was that she was rehired – but no reasoning for that was given – and that her next assignment would be an in-depth article about 'Malfoy Inc.'.


Her first day, thus far, was spent tying some loose ends remaining after she was fired – reorganizing her office, contacting her informants, checking the datebook she remembered leaving in the office only when her eyes happened upon it, and other small semi-important details. Her colleagues congratulated her on getting her job back, saying how much she had been missed, and how they were glad Brooks regained his senses before it was too late. Ginny accepted the compliments with a beaming smile, but was all too happy to break her way out of the building by lunch, to meet with her best friend.



And now sitting across her friend who was still consciously avoiding eye contact, Ginny knew there was something Hermione wanted to talk about and she feared she knew exactly what.


"Hermione, keep your eyes on one spot. You're starting to remind me of Mad-Eye Moody. "


Finally focusing her gaze on Ginny, Hermione gave a small smile. "How have you been?" she asked almost solemnly.


Ginny's eyes slipped to her hands and she spoke halfheartedly, starting to pick her nails. "I'm… all right, I guess."


"Gin, come on. I'm your best friend. 'All right, I guess' isn't a good enough answer," Hermione countered gently.


"But it is the only one I can give to this question. I truly am all right," said Ginny, smiling to Tom as he placed their order on the table in front of them.


"How are you handling Malfoy? He hasn't been totally unbearable I hope," she asked, picked up one of her bacon sandwiches.


"Oh, no." Ginny shook her head while picking up a fork. "He has been as bearable as he can be. And on some occasions his behavior could've even be considered cordial. "


Hermione's expression reflected her skepticism. "We are talking about Draco Malfoy, right? The blond conceited, spoilt, evil prat we attended Hogwarts with."


"Yes, we are," Ginny assured her, digging into her eggs.


"And Malfoy has been acting nice?" Hermione probed further with doubt clearly heard in her voice.


"Don't overstate it. He's been—" she paused, looking for the right word. " –civil, as hard as that might be to believe," she added quickly to her friend's sake.


"It is not hard to believe, Gin. It borders impossible," Hermione said, still quite shocked by the revelation.


"Don't exaggerate it, Hermione! It is not impossible for Malfoy to be— well, human," said Ginny in response, surprising herself by defending Draco. "He did fight on our side in the war." She ignored the sudden sharp looks she received from the diners beside them at the mention of war. "And he did save my Dad."


Hermione looked startled when she realized Ginny's stance. For a moment she looked unsettled, but then quickly regained herself, as she always did so well.


"Yes, I suppose you're right. I just wouldn't trust him completely if I were you. You just… never know."


"That's okay, I won't." Ginny smiled at Hermione, who hesitantly returned her own smile. Of course if Ginny had taken a moment to ponder this statement, she would've discovered that it wasn't as truthful as it sounded. "So how are you? How's the baby?"


"Oh, don't ask!" Hermione exclaimed, pausing to order another double sandwich after finishing the previous. "It doesn't seem like it’s planning on coming out any time soon! And I don't think I'll be able to carry these extra pounds for much longer. My back is killing me, my ankles are swollen and I can't stop eating! Of course the eating part pleases Mrs. Weasley to no end, and Ron is very generous with the massages. "-


Ginny snorted out a short laugh as Hermione wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. -


"I should consider charging rent. Per hour!"


Ginny laughed out loud as another plate was placed in front of Hermione and she picked up the sandwich.


"Yes, Ginny. Laugh at the poor fat incubator. We’ll see how you cope—" She paused abruptly, stopping herself before she could say something else she intended to say.


The two friends spoke enthusiastically as they finished their meals, laughing heartily through the conversation and conveniently avoiding any subject that was linked to Ginny's situation with Harry.


Finally, when they settled down after another uncontrollable feat of giggles, Hermione heaved a sigh. "Anyway, we finally received an owl from Bill and he said he and the family will visit this weekend. The twins also said something about stopping by and your Mum obviously decided to blow the whole thing out of proportion. So,” she breathed heavily, her face etched with subtle lines of despair. “I hereby invite you to the Weasley Family Epic Reunion this weekend. And by epic, I mean colossal. The owls had infested the Burrow from all over the country and the world, and I do believe I had seen one from Aunt Muriel also.” Hermione was referring to the one-hundred-and-forty-five-year-old aunt who had lived most of Ginny’s life in seclusion and rarely accepted an invitation. This meant Mrs. Weasley was talking business.


"I’ll be there," Ginny assured her without a second thought, before a notion bright her up short. "Oh, umm—"


"Harry is not invited," Hermione provided abruptly.


Ginny glanced up from her plate immediately to find a pair of chocolate eyes boring into her. Hermione's expression was unreadable, a fact that unsettled Ginny a bit and made her stomach clench strangely. She held Hermione's stare without flinching, waiting for her to blink first or avert her concentration. Her best friend was dear to her heart, but she had never allowed herself to cave under anyone's stare. Finally Hermione blinked, loosening the intensity of the moment as she rubbed her face tiredly. She let her hands drop onto the table and looked at Ginny, her eyes reflecting concern, exhaustion and a pinch of frustration.


"I spoke to Harry yesterday," she stated frankly. "He's been slacking off on the job, unable to concentrate or do anything for matter. He hasn't slept for the past four days and was on a brink of tears when I saw him. He misses you, wants you back—"


"Hermione, don't," Ginny said suddenly, holding up her hand. "Don't try. Don't— just don't. "


"He says—"


"I don't want to know, Hermione," she cut her off, a bit louder than she intended. Ginny tore her gaze from her best friend and looked down to her hands. "I kept my distance from him, so I could think. But every time I try to think about the situation, my mind refuses, focusing my attention on something else." Ginny sighed, scratching her forehead. "A part of my brain says I should return home and forget it ever happened." She paused, seeing something flash through Hermione's eyes, but gave it no meaning. "And the other part… makes me want to run away and hide from him."


"You're confused," Hermione stated meaninglessly.


"Yes, I am," agreed Ginny. "In a way. But one thing remains even when I think I begin to see things clearly." Her voice drifted off as she heaved up a sleeve of her shirt, revealing four morbidly delicate bracelets gleaming in a vague violet hue around her arm.


Hermione fell silent, her eyes scanning the still-purple bruises tentatively, as if afraid of causing Ginny pain with her stare. It was undeniable – the mauve marks, though softer than before, were still clearly visible to her. Finally looking away as the sight became somewhat unbearable, she gulped hard and her face paled to a sickly ashen shade.


Ginny glanced at her and returned her eyes to the sleeve, heaving it back down. "Are you okay?" she asked hopefully, praying Hermione would snap out of it.


"What? Oh, yes, yes, of course I am. It's just—" Her gaze drifted away and for a moment became glazed as horrid images played in her mind.


Ginny closed her eyes, sighing tenderly and slightly shaking her head. When the lunch was over and they parted, she couldn’t help but be haunted by the notion that Hermione wished to deny everything, wished that things were as simply and good as they had been before. Ginny shouldn’t have shown her the bruises. It upset her too much. Perhaps it was better not to confide in Hermione about this anymore. Ginny could never forgive herself if the stress somehow caused problems with the delicate physical state the other witch was concerning the baby.

---

Ginny rubbed her eyes tiredly, releasing a yawn that had threatened to overpower her for nearly an hour. Stretching to free the cricks in her neck, she yawned once again. Collecting various papers from all over her desk and placing them neatly in a blue paper-folder she slowly stood up, shaking her numb legs and picked up the folder. Grabbing her cloak from her chair and turning off the lights in her office, she made her way out. Pausing at the door with the metallic sign "Tomas Brooks; Editor" she turned the knob and opened the door to discover an empty office. Walking into the shadowy room, she noticed the open windows allowed enough white light to filter through for her to see the desk. Placing the blue folder on the desk on top of other similar folders Ginny took a moment to pull on her cloak.


She had stayed late today and managed to finish the article she had intended to submit before she left. With the article now securely tucked in the folder on Brooks' table, she smiled. At this moment, if only for this moment, everything was right and in its place. She never noticed how much this job meant to her until it was taken away. The sight of a completed story quenched a strange sense of thirst she hadn't felt anywhere else. The smell of dried ink on yellowing parchment made her giddy with excitement and the empty office this late in the evening was a simple and quiet haven.


Raking her hands through her fiery hair she stepped out of the office closing the door behind her and smiling warmly at the guard who stayed overnight. Humming a soft tune she opened the door to the chilly isolated streets of late night Diagon Alley and skipped down the first few stairs.


Stopping suddenly she felt as though her smile had been slapped from her face when her eyes landed on a raven-haired man standing at the bottom of the stairs, wand in hand and green eyes blazing with something that could be only described as malice.

________________________________________