May I present Chapter five? Things may start to make a bit more sense, but that could just be me saying that, considering I know all theh plot holes that you don't yet!

Just one thing to clear up about time transtitions and flashbacks, etc.: When the NARRATOR goes back in time (ie. nine months earlier), that's a part of the story that took place in the past. When a scene is written all in italics, and it looks like a flashback, that is GINNY flashing back. When it's the NARRATOR, it's not Ginny's flashback. This is important to clear up.

For example, all of this chapter takes place in the past arc of this story. It is not Ginny's flashback, but a narrator telling you things that happened in the 'past' of this story. The next chapter will open with an italicized scenethat also takes place in the past - that is Ginny flashbacking, whether through her own conscious memory, through a dream, etc... Any questions?


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Chapter 5: The Medrautian Order

Nine months earlier…

"Miss, I am delighted that you've agreed to meet with me," Ruggiero Ballan said, standing to greet her, as she arrived late and out-of-breath. Quickly casting an appraising eye over the location he'd chosen to meet with her - a little known restaurant on the outskirts of the Alley whose inner decor left a little to be desired. It was dark, the tables spaced apart, and many were obscured by big and bulky booths. It was clearly a place chosen for its limited patronage and thus smaller chance of being overheard.

"I have to admit, sir, that I was a little intrigued by your minister's request that I meet with you instead, when he's the one who initially contacted me. It is a little unusual for met to be dealing with anyone other than the designated diplomat of the country I'm dealing with," she said, after he shook her hand warmly and gestured for her to sit down.

"Now, my dear, that's not entirely accurate. You've been rather successful in charming powerful people in order to put pressure on your real target. Besides, this matter is of a rather sensitive nature, and my history with it gives me a certain amount of qualifications. Also, there is a need to have a more seasoned professional, especially considering your reputation for relentless negotiations," he said with a smile.

"Then one would wonder why it is that you've chosen to speak with me at all. Surely the Minister would be more than willing to be of assistance, and you may find him more accommodating than I am normally given to be," she said, voicing a question that had been plaguing her since the Italian minister had first appeared n her fireplace. If all they were after was assistance in searching for a historical artefact in this country, it would save a lot of time to go through fudge, he'd have more power and influence in that area than she would.

"There are recent additions to your curriculum vitae that make you the obvious choice, discretion being a major prerequisite."

"What exactly are we dealing with here, and what is it that you want from me?" she asked, cutting right to the point, feeling that the delicate dance of ambiguous statements was beginning to waste their time.

"Please understand that this is a very... delicate matter and I need your promise to remain discreet about it. Certain members in your acquaintance, of course, should be privy to what I will disclose to you - in fact, that is part of what makes you such an obvious choice of confidante, but otherwise, this should remain as quiet as possible."

"I'm getting the feeling that there is more to this than simply a missing object. You have my word, sir, I will remain as discreet as possible."

"It is the nature of the missing artefact that is of concern. Tell me, dear, what do you know of a group called the Medrautian Order?" he asked, leaning in as he lowered his voice.

“I can’t say I have,” Ginny said. Sensing the elder gentleman’s obvious discomfort, she pulled out her wand and cast a concealing charm over their table, so that any eavesdroppers would merely hear a rather amusing conservation reporting the latest gossip from The Daily Prophet.

“They are an ancient society, dating back to the formation of civil wizarding society, and they have exited throughout our history. They have only one goal – the recovery of an ancient artefact of untold power that they believe will bring about a revolution that will change the face of the modern wizarding world forever. They have been unsuccessful to date, mainly because there have been those who oppose them and their vision, and have assumed the responsibility for ensuring the secrecy of the object’s location. If it becomes compromised, they remove it to another location and are willing to do whatever it takes to ensure that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

“When you say ‘change the face of the wizarding world forever’, what type of change are you talking about?” Ginny asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“They envision a unified society, brought under the control of their Chosen one – a direct descendant of the first Medraut. It includes the dominance of wizards and magic over the rest of the world’s inhabitants,” he explained gravely.

“So, it’s not a vision we should embrace. You mentioned that this artefact is extremely powerful. Care to let me know what it might be?”

”It caused the downfall of the protégé of the most powerful wizard that has ever been encountered, at least in recorded history. For the Medrauts to discover it would put the terror your country experienced at the hands of your Lord Voldemort to shame – it would be a disaster. And it is one of the most powerful objects ever created. We are not even sure if it was created by wizards – it’s origin is an aspect of it’s mystery,” he said. Ginny was growing frustrated with the lack of answers – what was this artefact and what did it have to do with her.

Ruggiero Ballan seemed to sense her frustration. Using a Muggle pen, he scribbled something on the dinner napkin in front of him, and turned it towards her, his palm resting over what he’d written, hiding it from her sight as he slid it across the table.

“When I show you what is written here, my dear, I feel that your very nature will commit you to agreeing to help me. What I ask is that you help me, and the others who are committed to ensuring that this object remains buried and away from the clutches of those who would do terrible things with it, find where it was hidden the last time. I have some intelligence that makes me believe that a vital clue as to its whereabouts has been discovered by the Medrauts, and we need to find it before they do. But before I do show you this, I want to inform you that the Medrautian Order is extremely powerful and highly dangerous. They will let nothing come between them and their ultimate goal, and they are not overly concerned with who they have to hurt in the process. Even showing you what I’ve written could endanger your life. Do you still wish to know what it is that they seek?” he asked, as if he half-hoped she’d refuse.

“If it’s as important – and as dangerous – as you are claiming, sir, then my answer is an unequivocal ‘yes’. Now please, show me.”

He nodded, and slowly removed his hand. Ginny’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief, looking from the one word scrawled on the napkin to the man seated in front of her, seeking confirmation that it was the word he’d meant to write.

“While you be of assistance in this matter, my dear? Will you help keep this away from the Medrauts?” he asked.

“My answer, sir, is once again an unequivocal ‘yes’,” she said without any hesitation.

The world of the napkin was Excalibur.


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He was sitting in the comfortable leather armchair in his study, where they often took naps together on Sunday afternoons, snuggled together, warm and drowsy from the fire beside it. She walked into the room, and smiled when she saw him reading a book, looking serene and engrossed in whatever it was he was reading.

“Honey, I’m home,” she said, rather wearily, walking towards him. He didn’t look up or make any move to acknowledge her presence. Slightly stung, she stood above him, petulantly glad that she blocked his light and hoped it made it more difficult for him to read, and waited for him to say something.

Minutes ticked by, punctuated only by the snap of the pages as he turned them, studiously ignoring the woman standing in front of him. She hovered over him, waiting some acknowledgement and he ignored her rather convincingly. She finally sighed, too tired to guess why she was getting the silent treatment. The only sound in the room was the thick rustle of parchment as he turned the pages in his book.

“The time, Weasel. I know it’s still rather difficult for you to grasp, having never seen a proper clock at home while you were growing up, but I’d hoped that I’d been able to have some sort of influence on you in that matter. You can tell time, can’t you?” he asked sarcastically, as he viciously snapped the pages of the book he was reading.

Ginny felt a hot wave of embarrassment shoot through her.

“Oh bloody hell. We were supposed to meet for dinner at six,” she said, wincing.

“Yes we were. As you will note, it is demonstrably past six, and you this is the second time that you have stood me up this month. Be warned, a Malfoy only waits for his woman twice,” he said with a cocky grin. Ginny felt relief flood through her – she’d been putting him off so much lately, and his display of habitual cockiness was his way of telling her he wasn’t angry. Irritated, yes, and distinctly warning her not to let it happen again, but not angry.

“I’m sorry. I’d say it won’t happen again, but we both know that’s unlikely,” she said, dropping into his lap as he tossed the book aside and pulled her to him. She sighed, as her body relaxed against his.

“It bloody well better not happen again. I was serious about only waiting on your twice. So, what’s a man to do when the woman he’s in love with can’t show up on time, even if the fate of the entire wizarding world depended on her punctuality? He makes certain that she at least owns a decent watch, and sets it a good 20 minutes ahead,” he said, shifting slightly, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a slim box and handing it to her.

He frowned, slightly perplexed at her stunned expression as he nudged the box into her hands. She rather looked as if she’d been hit by lightning.

“That’s the first time you said that,” she said softly, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“That you need a watch? I’ve been telling you that for months. Honestly, how does a women like you, with suck a tight schedule, manage to function properly without any clue as to what time it might actually be?” he asked, popping off the top of the box, taking out the watch and beginning to fasten it to her wrist. Detachedly, Ginny noticed that it was nice and simple – a slim leather band, a small face trimmed with gold, exactly her preference.

“No, not that I have a bad punctuality… but that … that you love me,” she said, in a hushed voice. Her face flushed bright red as she said it, and she had to look away from Draco, especially as he started to laugh.

“I asked you to spend the rest of your life with me – I rather thought that it was implied,” he scoffed with amusement.

“But you’ve never said it, not really.”

“Some things are just so true that they don’t need to be said, or they go without saying,” he said.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing that you’ve never said it – I know you do, of course I know you do! – but well, it was nice to hear,” she said, face burning, feeling silly for bringing it up. He chuckled, then pulled her close against his chest, nuzzling her neck. She relaxed against him, feeling the stress of her day melt away at his touch, and the familiar sparkle of electricity heat her skin as his lips met a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

“Ginny?” he breathed, sending shivers down her spine. “I’ll promise to say it everyday if you promise to start showing up on time.”

“That’s a deal I think we can arrange,” she said with a smile.


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More later in the week. I've been dealing with school-related stress by writing scenes in my notebook instead of, like, you know, taking notes in class.

Massive update! Oh the angst, it’s killing me! This chapter kicks off back in the present arc, later in the day after the press conference where she was harassed by those journalists, which was a few chapters ago, just in case you’ve all forgotten.


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Chapter 6: Fading

Present…

“I heard about your appearance at the press conference,” Darien said, as Ginny opened the door to his insistent knocking.

“I didn’t appear at the press conference. I attended it. It’s a slight nuance that everyone seems to be forgetting,” she muttered angrily to herself as she stepped aside and allowed him to enter her flat.

“Many are wondering if it’s a signal that you’re about to return to work,” he said. She led him into the kitchen, gestured for him to sit down while she filled the kettle with water.

“Fudge would never allow it. I honestly don’t know why that man is still the Minister. He’s been ousted twice, and for some reason, he manages to drum up enough support to weasel his way back in. For the most part, he’s harmless, but the man sure knows how to hold a grudge.”

“You miss it.”

“Of course I miss it. It was huge part of my life,” she said. She paused, a faraway look in her eyes. “For a long time, it was my whole life, but I was cured of that particular disease. In any case, I’m starting to go a little mad, sitting around all day, trying to figure out what to do with myself.”

“Guess you have a lot of time to set up secret meetings with Ruggiero Ballan?” Darien asked, causing her to curse under her breath.

“How the bloody hell did you hear about that? We didn’t even ‘set up’ a meeting – he asked to speak with me later in the week, and he asked me in private!” Ginny said, her temper flaring. “There’s no way that anyone could have overheard that!”

“Virginia, magic has a mysterious way of making the impossible completely possible,” he answered. “But the question remains, and one that you are deliberately avoiding, is why would you agree to meet with him at all?”

“I think the answer to that question is fairly obvious, and I don’t appreciate you playing stupid with me, Darien,” she said, bristling slightly as he used her full name. The casual arrogance, the condescending tone in his voice – they were all to familiar for comfort.

“He’s the person who started it all, the man who convinced you to embark on that ridiculous quest that ultimately lead to your brush with death. How can you trust him enough to speak with him?” Darien demanded fiercely.

“Ballan is not in any way responsible! The only person who is responsible for my almost-dying is the person who almost killed me!” Ginny shouted, slamming down a tea cup in front of her guest, and turning away quickly to see to the shrieking kettle.

“He manipulated you, he only told you half the truth in order to put you into a dangerous situation for his own benefit! He wanted the sword for himself, and he used you, and your well-known devotion to eradicating the Dark Arts against you!” Darien insisted.

“How very Slytherin of you, to assume that everyone is manipulating you because you are the one looking to manipulate everyone!” Ginny cried out, frustrated. “He sat me down and warned me of all the dangers before he would even consider revealing any information to me. I knew what I was getting myself into. But there was a certain factor that none of us could have even imagined.”

“That Draco would betray us all… I wouldn’t have been able to foresee that, and I knew that he was involved with the Medrauts. I never thought him capable of it,” Darien snarled. He paused, as if he’d been struck, when Ginny laughed, bitterly.

“Of course he’s capable of it! He’d done it to me before, over the Bulgaria Act. Don’t you know your cousin at all? He’s capable of anything,” she scoffed.

“I don’t trust Ballan, and I don’t think you should see him. He could be manipulating you again, trying to get you into another situation so that Draco can finish what he started,” Darien said, his grey eyes blazing with intensity as he stood and towered over Ginny. Familiar with the tactic, using his height as an attempt to intimidate her, she held her head high.

“Darien, this is something that I have to do. What you think about this does not matter, because I am going to do this. It would be a lot easier for me if you would stop opposing me, and checking the gossip about me, or questioning my actions, but I’m going to do it even if you keep doing all those things. Do you want me to just curl up in a corner, admit defeat because things got too hard or too dangerous? Are you forgetting that the sword is out in the world, in the hands of someone who wants to use its power for god-knows-what?” Ginny cried.

“I should have told you, even though he asked me not to. This wouldn’t have happened…” he trailed off. With a sigh, Ginny poured him a cup of tea, and sat down across from him.

“I know you feel responsible, that you feel like you have an obligation to me because of what happened, but really, I’d rather you just left me to it. You’re only making it harder for me,” she said.

“Fine,” he said, his voice clipped. Without another word, he stood up and marched out of the kitchen. She heard his footsteps move towards the door, heard it open and slam shut. With a sigh, she cursed the sensitive male egos of the Malfoy family, and reached for her tea. Taking a deep swig, she felt herself relax slightly. She had wanted to say that to Darien for such a long time – that he was becoming overbearing and she wanted her freedom back. But knowing that she’d hurt a close friend…she felt a little ball of dread form in her stomach, and a wave of fatigue sweep over her body.

She finished her tea, and stumbled towards her bedroom, eager for sleep and a chance to forget how harsh reality had become.


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“It’s a good thing that you’ve freed all of your house elves. Can you imagine what one might do to itself if it were to accidentally walk in on us when we’re like this?” Ginny giggled wickedly.

“Can you imagine if one had walked in ten minutes ago?” he murmured against her hair. Without seeing his face, she knew that he would have a sly gleam in his eyes. With a satisfied sigh, she repositioned her body, seating herself between his legs, leaning back against his chest. His arms slipped around her, pulling her tight against him, as he leaned back against the chair behind him. She felt so happy, it almost hurt – sitting with him on the floor, in the dark of his study, in front of the fire… “Best thing I ever did, getting rid of the house elves… A fellow needs to be able to shag in every room of his house without worrying about getting interrupted.”

“You wouldn’t worry about anyone interrupting you. No one would dare interrupt a Malfoy,” she said, as she turned her head up to kiss his jaw.

“Quite right, Weasley. Can’t say I’d have it any other way, for that matter.” An amused silence fell over the two lovers, as they drank in the peacefulness of their current setting. Ginny’s eyes began to close as the rhythm of his breathing began to lull her to sleep.

“I had a visit from an acquaintance of yours this afternoon,” he said softly. She opened one eye, looking up at him quizzically.

“Oh really?”

“Ruggiero Ballan came to speak with me after your meeting with him.”

“Why would he do that?” Ginny demanded, sitting up and turning so she could face Draco.

“Because he knows that if anything were to happen to you while you were helping him out, I’d be obliged to kill him,” he said with a smirk. Ginny was about to protest, when Draco cut her off with a laugh. “He’s an old-fashioned gentleman, Ginny. He believes in chivalry and all that other nonsense, and that if he’s going to ask a favour of you that could put your life in danger, that he should inform me of that fact.”

“Why? What kind of difference would it make, anyway? You’re not my keeper,” she scoffed, glaring at him with a look that plainly said that he’d better not even think about telling her to reconsider her decision.

“Of course not. But I am your partner, if not legally, then at least in practice. And, we have proven before that we make quite a formidable team, which leads me to think that perhaps we should work together on this,” he said with a very serious expression on his face.

“But if it’s as dangerous as Ballan made it sound, I don’t want you involved in it,” she cried.

“If it is dangerous, then I don’t want you involved unless I am, as well,” he retorted. She sighed, exasperated. On one hand, she had to appreciate the fact that he wasn’t demanding that she avoid any future contact with Ballan and his ‘project’ – he knew her too well for that.

“It won’t just be me. I can’t handle this alone, I was planning on calling in some help,” she said reluctantly.

“I think your brother and his friends would be the appropriate choice… god knows Potter’s head might explode if there’s evil out there that he’s not fighting, you’ll be doing him a favour,” he smirked.

“You have to promise you behave yourself around my brother. No manipulating him, or purposely making him angry for your amusement,” Ginny warned. Draco laughed, and yanked her arm out from under her, so that she tumbled towards him.

“In return for that promise, you have to promise that this will be the last distraction. After this is all over, you’re not going to put off that small detail of our wedding any more. We’re going to set a date, and get it done,” he said.

“I hardly think that’s a fair trade off. You go a few weeks without antagonizing my brother, and you get to spend the rest of your life with me? Not a fair deal,” she laughed.

“Then you’d better prepare yourself for the sight of your brother’s face turning that lovely shade of puce when he gets enraged, it will probably be happening quite often,” Draco said, crossing his arms to glare at her. She couldn’t help but laugh at him; he looked so ridiculous, like a haughty little boy about to throw a tantrum.

“You drive a hard bargain, Malfoy. It seems I have no choice but to accept your terms,” she said, before tackling him, pulling him to the ground, determined to demonstrate that while he might have won that battle, there was still a war raging on. A war that would hopefully span the rest of their lives.


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Feeling flustered and decidedly out-of-sorts, Ginny stood in front of the door to the Burrow, debating whether or not she should knock or just walk in, eager to draw as little attention as possible to the fact that she was well over an hour late for lunch.

After falling into a heavy sleep the night before, she’d woken feeling confused, groggy and slightly dizzy. Stumbling around her kitchen, searching futilely for the teakettle, she felt decidedly faint when she saw the clock and realized just how late she was for lunch at her parents.

“Ron!” Ginny cried out in surprise. While she’d been debating the possible scenarios that could play out, depending if she knocked or let herself in, her brother had opened the door. He glared at her greeting, and turned and walked away without saying a word. With a sigh, Ginny followed him, feeling uneasy about the reception she’d receive. Her parents had been rather strange in their reactions to her since she’d been injured. They’d been frantic with worry at first, then relieved when it seemed that she would pull through, very protective of her in the month that followed, and then rather distant afterwards. Their attitude towards her seemed to change daily – between concern, indifference and exasperation. She was never entirely certain which she’d get on any given day.

Ron led her to the living room, and Ginny stopped short as the room came into sight. Her parents were seated on the sofa, and a quick glance around the room told her that Hermione and Harry were also there. A heavy silence filled the room, and Harry looked incredibly uncomfortable, and he shrugged apologetically as her eyes met his.

“Ginny, dear, come and sit down,” her mother said, without the frantic cheerfulness that Ginny was so used to.

“Sorry I’m late, mum, I overslept,” Ginny said, as she sat down in the available chair across the room from where everyone else was sitting.

“I guess you didn’t get a chance to read today’s Daily Prophet then,” her mother sniffed. Ginny frowned, looking around the room at the neutral faces of her family, until her eyes fell on a newspaper sitting on the coffee table. Seeing the picture on the front page, and the headline that accompanied it, she swore loudly, and snatched it up so she could read the article.

The photographers had caught her as she had spun around to glare at them after she’d been asked about Draco, and she looked positively insane. Her hair was a fright, her eyes were wide and shining, and a pained expression was apparent on her face. The photo in the paper was barely moving, it remained an image of her practically standing still, and staring out with that horrified expression on her face. Feeling sick to her stomach, she began to read the article.

The Ministry’s Fallen Star

A few months ago, she was one of the brightest rising stars in the Ministry of Magic. Minister for International Magic Cooperation, Ginny Weasley was the youngest person to ever earn such an important role in the Ministry, and her name had been floated around as a potential Minister for Magic. However, after returning from Italy a few months ago, severely wounded after a mysterious incident. The brightest star at the Ministry fell rather fast, as she refused to divulge any information about this incident, or about the whereabouts of her infamous fiancé, the son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the most prominent Death Eaters. In order to allow her time to recover, and for her “memory to return to her regarding the events that happened and where Malfoy might be at this moment”, Fudge replaced her position, choosing Cormac McLaggen, a man more than capable of filling her shoes.

Seen here at the Ministry of International Magical Cooperation weekly press conference, a new measure introduced by McLaggen to ensure transparency in his department, Ginny Weasley is looking as if her time off has not entirely agreed with her.

“She’s been into the office a few times over the past few months, claiming that she needed to check on things, as if she’s forgotten that it is no longer her duty,” McLaggen said yesterday, noting sadly the change in Miss Weasley’s appearance. Fudge refused to comment on his decision to remove her from her position, saying on that she could return once she’d “fully recovered”. Given that her physical health seems to be in top form, we at the Prophet can only hope that whatever other ailments may be inflicting her shall be healed quickly.

Unable to finish reading the article, knowing that it had been written to discredit her against the criticism that McLaggen was receiving, she threw the paper down and looked up at the faces of her family.

“They think I’ve gone mad! They’re telling people I’ve gone crazy!” she cried out, standing up, a well of outrage rising in her stomach. Her hands were shaking slightly, as she remembered the smug face of Cormac McLaggen when he’d been promoted. “And it’s all lies! I have NOT gone to the office to ‘check up on things’, I went so I could speak with Clarice!”

“Ginny, we understand your feelings on this, but we have to admit, we are a little concerned about you,” her father said, his kindly eyes looking at her gravely. Ginny sat down in shock.

“Don’t tell me you’re believing all this rubbish!” she shouted.

“Of course not! But, Ginny dear, you have been acting a little odd. You hardly ever leave your flat, and you have all those protective charms and spell on it, that it’s almost impossible for anyone to get through to it. You’ve become a bit paranoid,” her mother said. Ginny glared at her.

“I think you would be too, Mother, considering what happened,” she snapped coolly.

“And there’s also what Harry tells us… that you’ve been asking around for information about last year,” Hermione said. Ginny’s head turned to look at Harry, shocked that he’d told anyone.

“Gin, I’m sorry, but she asked to see the file herself, and I had to tell her where it was,” Harry said, apologetically.

“You have to promise us that you’re not going to do anything that could place your life in danger,” her father said.

“We want you to stop all this nonsense. Maybe you should move home, stay with us for awhile, until you’re back on your feet and ready to return to work,” her mother chimed in. Sensing a conspiracy at foot, Ginny realized what this was beginning to feel like.

“Is this an intervention?” she cried out.

“You’re obsessed with it, Ginny! It’s not good for you to keep dwelling on the past like this; you need to move on with your life. If you find out what happened, it’s not going to change anything. You’re not going to find some mysterious reason why Malfoy tried to kill you that will make it all better, you’re not going to find out that he didn’t really want to hurt you or that there was something else at play. The fact is that he betrayed you, he hurt you and he’s a dangerous person that you should never see again,” her mother said, her voice shrill with emotion. Her eyes had gone misty and her face had become red, a sure sign that she was extremely upset.

“You weren’t there, Mum. He seemed reluctant… or sorry before he attacked. Like he was acting against his will. Ginny’s right, there is something there worth investigating, worth finding out, because that just seems so strange to me. Right, Gin?” Ron asked, suddenly breaking his silence. Shocked by this unexpected support, Ginny was unable to speak.

“Ron, we keep going over this. We don’t know what he said to her, only what we could see happening from where we were stuck. Ginny, what did he say to you? Tell us what he seemed like, what was happening! You’re the only one that can know for sure,” Hermione cried. A great silence fell over the room, tension increasing as the expectation to hear what she had to say built the longer the silence lingered.

“I can’t,” she finally said, looking surprised. Her lower lip trembling, and a baffled expression that was mingled with terror on her face, her eyes darted searchingly around the room. “I can’t remember anything.”

“Ginny, you told me just last week, when you asked to meet me, that you remembered something that made you want to understand it all, something that didn’t make sense to you. Have you forgotten that?” Harry asked, leaning forward.

“I…I can’t remember!” she cried out, looking desperately around the room. “I know I used to be able to remember, the memory was so clear to me! But now, it’s like…it’s like it’s gone, like it’s in my head and I just can’t get to it!”

Her parents were exchanging worried looks as tears of frustration rolled down their daughter’s faced, as she clutched her temples, as if trying to reach into her own mind to unlock the memory.

“They’re all fading away! All my memories of him are starting to disappear, to fade away,” she said softly through her tears, finally voicing a fear that had been plaguing her for weeks. Trembling as she tried to recall some instance, some moment with him and was unable to, she looked up and saw the eyes – the worried, sympathetic eyes – of her family and friends staring at her as she struggled to remember something, anything.

“It’s only natural, Ginny. Your mind, your subconscious, is trying to tell you to that it’s time to move on with your life by blocking memories that cause you pain, that keep you from doing that,” her mother said gently, as sat down next to her, with a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulders.

“No!” she cried, jumping away from her mother. “I loved him! We were going to get married! It’s not natural to just forget all of that, all of the good times we had! And as time goes on, that side of him is fading from my memory, and I can’t lose that! I need it, otherwise I’m going to lose my mind and none of you seem to understand that!”

“Of course it’s hard, Ginny, but you just have to be strong. We’re all here to help you get through this,” her mother said. Ginny stood up, a great swell of emotion flooding through her, a force that she’d been trying to keep under control for so long. Distantly, she thought she heard the sound of glass shattering as she turned and stiffly walked out of the living room, heading towards the door, leaving her family stunned – and scared.


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By the way, I don't say this nearly enough, but thanks to those who have been reviewing this story! After such a long time span between this story and when I finished Visible Invisible, it's great to see those who were faithful reviewers of the first one back and reading this one! Thanks! I totally love you guys!

Remember, italicized is a flashback.

Standard fanfic disclaimer applies. Not my world, I just play in it.


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Chapter 7: Not the right shade of grey

She’d begun to resemble a frightened little rabbit, she thought to herself with a detached amusement as she sat in her dark apartment. She felt painfully numb, her face swollen and eyes bleary from tears, a dull ache in her head from the unintended use of magic as her emotions had kicked in, making her sensitive to light. She was sitting on the floor, well hidden in that corner by the sofa. She heard a key click in the lock of the front door, and had to contain her fear from exploding as she jumped involuntarily at the sound. If they have a key, it’s someone I know, she thought, and the tight grip of panic around her stomach relaxed slightly.

“You broke three windows in your parents’ house,” a voice in the dark called out. Ginny was startled when she recognized it as Harry’s. Of all those to send after her, he seemed an unlikely candidate. He was also a particularly dangerous candidate, as he seemed to have this knowing look whenever their eyes met – he quietly understood her, and he kept it to himself. If he’d willingly come after me, she thought, I must look worse than I imagined.

“It seems your powers have returned to their full strength. I guess that means you’ve fully recovered,” he said, sounding uncomfortable and awkward, as he attempted to make conversation as he wandered slowly in the dark. She heard a thump and a muttered curse, before a faint light illuminated the room as he used his wand to search for her.

“Yes. My body healed, my powers healed… that seems to be all that anyone cares about,” her ragged voice cut through the quiet room like a jagged hacksaw. Harry spotted her and closed the distance between where he stood and where she was crouched, kneeling down on the floor in front of her.

“They all seem to forget that your heart could use a little bit of healing too, eh, Gin?” he prodded gently. She felt a fresh batch of tears well up behind her eyes, and blinked rapidly to keep them at bay – but they were tears of relief more than anything else – relief that the person sitting in front of her hadn’t come to fight with her, lecture her or point her in a direction she wasn’t ready to go in quite yet.

“Harry, who am I?” she asked, a painfully perplexed expression on her face. Harry’s eyes widened in fear as he absorbed her question, and he sat gaping at her for a moment.

“What do you mean, Ginny?” he asked.

“Who am I?” she sniffed, looking at him blankly. “Who have I become? I’m sitting here, crying in the dark, hidden corner of my apartment because I’m too afraid to sit out in the open! I’m a paranoid, self-pitying pathetic mess, and I don’t know how I got this way.”

“What are you afraid of, Ginny?” Harry asked, his gaze steady. A tear slipped down her face, and sniffed slightly, and used her sleeve to wipe her face.

“I don’t know. People, their questions, the way they look at me now. God, this isn’t who I am! I’m not supposed to break down like this, Harry! I was the one they would send in when some crusty old self-important politician was being difficult and needed to be brought down a few pegs – either through my charm or through verbal intimidation. I faced off with notorious Dark Wizards who’d escaped conviction and had risen to powerful positions, using their social power to block stricter Dark Arts laws. I’ve been threatened, attacked, almost killed…I was never afraid of any of it; for years I lived for it…until Draco, and I learned how ridiculous I was being. And here I am, afraid of my own shadow!”

”You were quite the scrappy little fighter,” Harry said fondly. “But you almost died, Ginny. It makes you question things, makes you rethink things about your life, about who you are.”

“Did I?” she asked, with a far-off look in her eyes. “Did I almost die? I remember so little from that day.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in front of her, but she ignored him and continued to speak, as if he wasn’t even there.

“There was this one morning that I can never forget, because it was one of the most poignant moments of my life. It was the Sunday morning of the first weekend that we were able to spend together – the entire weekend, without any interruptions. I had forgotten to close the bedroom window and shut the blinds the night before, and the room was filled with sunlight as soon as the sun began to rise. You know the way that sunlight looks in the morning? It seems brighter or cleaner than it does any other time during the day. It was filtering into the room, bright to the point of almost blinding us, and the breeze coming the window had that scent that the air always gets around the beginning of spring. We were lying there together, both of us pretending to be asleep so that we could stay like that as long as possible, not caring about anything other than the rhythm of the other’s breathing. Nothing else mattered in the world, because there was nothing else in the world, just the two of us and the way it felt to be together, warm and soft and complete.”

“They say that when you are dying, your life is supposed to flash before your eyes. You’re supposed to recall precious moments in your life, the kind of memories that will give you strength to carry on through whatever awaits you after your life slips away. I always knew that the memory of that morning would be the one that I would hold closest to me, the one I would call upon, if I ever came close to death. It is the one moment in my life I wanted to think about in the last seconds before I died.”

“Ginny…” Harry trailed off, at a loss for words.

“And then I did almost die. But that memory never came to me. Nothing did, except the knowledge that I was in a great deal of pain, and probably about to die, and as silly as it sounds, I’ve been questioning whether or not I actually came that close to death ever since then. Everyone keeps telling me that I should have died, there should have been no question about it, my wounds were so severe, I should have died. But I didn’t. Why is that? Why didn’t I die?”

“That’s what has always bothered me about it, too, Ginny,” Harry said quietly. Ginny met his eyes, and nodded tentatively, as if afraid to acknowledge where this line of thinking could lead them. “It just doesn’t make sense to me, Ginny. Malfoy’s a self-serving bastard; he wouldn’t put himself in danger or risk his life for anyone. Except for you, which he’s done a few times, in Bulgaria with the incident with Neville. There was nothing to gain by hurting you, either.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. That’s why I’m hiding here in the dark, terrified of my own shadow. Because if you’re right… I’m scared of hoping for something, and having my heart crushed again,” she said, and then groaned with a wry laugh. “That was terribly cliché, wasn’t it? God, I’m turning into a melodramatic sap.”

“I’m going to help you out with this, Ginny. We’re going to find out what happened and why you didn’t die, because none of it makes sense to me. There is more going on here than meets the eye,” Harry said decidedly. Nothing is as it seems, he used to say to her, breath warm against her neck, his deadly serious. Challenging her, forcing her to look beyond the situation, to keep her emotions, to search for the order underlying the chaos.

“Thank you,” she breathed, although not entirely sure she was addressing Harry. All she was certain of was the fact that a very heavy weight – a weight that had been crushing painfully against her chest – was eased, ever so slightly, and she wanted to weep with the relief it brought.

“I should get back and let your parents know that you’re all right,” he said, standing up.

“Am I all right?” she asked dryly.

“You’re going to be,” Harry said, with his characteristic determination.


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“Well, little Ministry witch, I would never have thought I’d find you here, completely sotted,” he said dryly. She scoffed at his tone, hearing the carefully concealed strain of anger. They were far too similar and she knew one of them inside and out, any attempts Darien made to hide things from her were therefore useless.

“I’ve had one glass of wine, you bloody mother hen. What difference does it make to you, anyway?” she sneered grumpily. She was exhausted, empty of the ability to control the emotions that were jumbled so tightly she couldn’t sleep. So she sat up, staring at a collection of papers, mulling over a glass of wine, hoping an answer would appear.

“It makes a difference because you matter to me, and seeing you like this is rather disturbing. What happened to the hard-nosed little hellion who could freeze me with a simple glance?” he asked, his voice low and serious.

“Didn’t you get the memo, Darien? She died a few months ago. You’d be much better off if you found someone else to worry about,” she said stiffly, standing up on shaky legs as he made a move to sit down next to her.

“Ginny, for gods’ sake, you can’t do this all alone! Let me help you!” he cried out, grabbing her arm and forcing her to look up at him.

“When you don’t know who to trust, trust no one. Right now, I’m the only one I can trust, and even that’s a bit questionable at times. So, just leave me alone, Darien, you can’t get what you are looking for from me,” she cried out. His face froze, his eyes widened, betraying his surprise.

“And what is it that I’m looking for?” he asked, his voice dangerously low and calm.

“A way to make up for what you think are your mistakes, to redeem yourself, to get rid of your guilt.”

“And what exactly do I feel guilty about?” he sneered, his grip on her am tightening painfully. “That is, if you don’t mind sharing your sudden insights with me.”

“About Danika, the fact that you couldn’t save her from herself. And the fact that you didn’t warn me about Draco’s connection to the Medrauts. You tell me all the time that you feel responsible for what happened because you didn’t share the information that might’ve stopped all this from happening. By hovering around me, you’re not going to make it better. I don’t need you to protect me, and protecting me isn’t going to make you feel any better,” she cried, cursing inwardly as tears burned her eyes. It was inconceivable that she even had tears left to cry.

“Is that why you think I’m here?” he yelled, letting go of her arm so suddenly, she stumbled backwards. “For all he claimed that you were a rather clever witch, you’ve proven yourself to be rather thick.”

“Then why are you here?” she demanded.

“It’s not some displaced attempt at redemption. I know I’m not to blame for Danika – nothing could have saved her, she had the same disease that seems to infect certain members of the Malfoy family – her, Lucius, his son. I’m not here out of guilt,” he spat at her angrily.

“Then why?” she cried desperately. He stared at her, his grey eyes burning with some emotion she didn’t recognize. His body was poised to move, but he seemed to hesitate.

“Fine,” she spat out. “Keep your secrets. I don’t care! But you’re not to hover around me anymore, you will stop coming by here whenever you wish and interfering with my life.” He remained stone-faced and immoveable as she spoke; tears of anger were slipping down her face as she stared at him, waiting for some kind of movement. Her arm slipped around her stomach, holding the still-healing scar his cousin had left upon her flesh. “I’ve had more than enough Malfoy secrecy to last a lifetime and I’ve paid the price for it.”

She was about to walk away, when his voice stopped her.

“You. You’re the reason. The only reason,” he said softly. She stared at him in shocked disbelief. “You came into my life, this annoying gnat who wormed her way into learning our family secret, something that could have destroyed us, and you fought to keep it a secret, you changed the way I thought about a great number of things. And you belonged to him, long before I even laid eyes on you, and this – this – is what he’s done to you.”


“Cousin, she definitely is not the type of girl I ever expected you to bring home,” Darien said as he sidled up to where Draco was standing. Draco peered at him with a raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye; disgruntled that he was disturbing his thoughts. The memory charm had worked, as far as Draco knew, but he could sense Darien’s predatory inclination towards Ginny, and it worried him.

“And what type of woman would you have me with, Darien?”

“The trophy wife, of course. Beautiful, obedient and senseless, but with enough wits about her to know her place and not interfere. This Weasley of yours is trouble, Draco, I can feel it. Look at her, she’s won over half the room, and it’s only been an hour. That Parkinson girl that you were seeing, she is more suited to your lifestyle, what happened to her?” Darien asked, as he watched Ginny, deep in conversation with Vincent Malfoy, with a sneer on his face.

“She was dull.”

“But at least she was gorgeous. I suppose I could make certain concessions for this little notion of yours, involved with a Weasley, if only she was beautiful. Weasley is just so plain. She’s far too small, pale – and that terrible red hair, she’s not even pretty. I don’t know what you see in her,” Darien said.

“That’s because you haven’t seen her at all,” Draco said softly. Frowning, Darien looked from Ginny to his cousin and back again. In the dimly lit ballroom, the candlelight had caught the shimmer in her dress and the sparkle in her eye as she laughed at something Vincent was saying, and Darien became silent – suddenly, inexplicable unable to speak.




He strode forward, his eyes never leaving hers, even as they reflected deep shock and confusion. She was watching this scenario outside of herself, detached from the reality of what was happening. None of it was registering, even as he took her face in his hands and lowered his lips towards hers.

She remained motionless, her eyes wide open with fright. He pulled away, looking down on the small woman staring back at him with an expression of such confusion and distress that he immediately regretted his actions. All she saw were familiar grey eyes, and with the sensation of the touch of his lips still fresh, she needed to feel something – anything – and all that mattered was that the person staring back at her was looking at her through those grey eyes. So she closed her eyes, and reached out, pulling his lips back to hers.

He reacted immediately, pulling her close to him, deepening the kiss. She waited, as he moved against her, for the spark to ignite, for the familiar wave of need and passion to flood throughout her body, and responded desperately to his touch, needing for it to consume her. It never came; and she was fighting the urge to push him away. He was awkwardly possessive, his grip on her arms too tight, his lips abrasive and foreign; a harsh contrast to the slow knowing touch of his cousin, from who a simple brush of the lips could set her pulse racing.

Her hand slid down from his neck to his forearm. As her hand brushed over a certain area of his arm, a jolt of pain made her jump away as if she’d been burned. The Dark Mark. He was the one with the Dark Mark. She’d been kissing a Death Eater; someone who shared the same colour eyes as Draco Malfoy, but as much as she wanted to believe they were alike, there were many important differences she just couldn’t forget about.

“Ginny? What’s the matter?” he asked, breathlessly. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re not Draco,” she said tearfully. “I’m so sorry, Darien, but you’re not him, and you never can be and I can’t pretend that you are. He’s the only one – that was decided for me a long time ago and I can’t change that. I’m sorry.”

Darien stared at her, his eyes hard and cold. He finally looked away, scoffing harshly.

“Fine,” he said, backing away from her. She watched him leave and flinched when the door slammed shut behind him. Guilt, and a rather large measure of intense relief, washed over her as she sat down, placed her head down on the table, and for what seemed like the millionth time that day, cried.


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AN: the flashback in this chapter comes from Chapter 17 of The Visible Invisible.

Thanks for all the feedback. I swear, soon EmotionalWreck!Ginny will have run her course, and Smexy!Draco will make a triumphant return. Check out my livejournal (linked from my author’s page) for fic bits and future chapters. I always post there first.

Chapter 8: Rescued

She’d been warned that the pain would return often, and had been given a supply of potion to combat the stabbing ache that stretched from her ribs to her hipbone. It very rarely worked, and one could only assume that it was because her wounds were inflicted by a mythical sword with unknown magical powers. Not that many were privy to the nature of the weapon that had wounded her, of course, but those who did know were in agreement with the grim assessment that the wound may never heal completely.

After Darien had left her apartment in a silent rage, she tried to focus on something – anything – to get the sight of his steely grey eyes glaring at her out of her mind. But the constant dull ache that she’d grown accustomed to had inflamed into a sharp stabbing pain. Reluctantly, she made her way to the bathroom and fished the potion out of her bathroom cupboard.

She’d been relying on it with increasing frequency. A few nights a week, she’d be doubled over with pain, Darien urging her to take a dose. One time, she’d caught him slipping some of the painkiller into her mug while he was making her a cup of tea. Ginny had been incredibly annoyed at the time, but his reasoned argument that she was too stubborn to admit defeat had granted him some clemency from her irritation.

Ginny examined the large bottle. It was almost empty, and she’d had the prescription refilled a little over a week before. The pain is getting harder to control, she thought to herself. With a sigh, she tipped the bottle back and felt its contents course down her throat. It burned and left a wretched after taste, but the relief – the slight alleviation of pain – was almost immediate.

Placing the bottle back on its shelf, she closed the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet. As she did so, she caught sight of her reflection. Gaunt and sallow, her appearance had definitely seen better days. Her skin had the tight, dry feeling that always followed a bout of tears, and she noticed that the skin of her forearm was bruising slightly, probably from where Darien had gripped her a little too tightly. Staring at her reflection, she was overcome with the desperate need to wash the remnants of her tears away.

Despite knowing the potion’s side effects would soon take over, and she’d become groggy and very disoriented in a few minutes’ time, she shed her clothing and turned on the shower. Gasping as the water’s cold temperature shocked her, she gritted her teeth and stepped inside, holding her breath until the water warmed. She had to grasp the wall of the shower to hold her balance, as the powerful spray washed over her.

The cold rain washed over them, pounding into the sodden ground, adding another layer of misery to the day. The only warmth she could feel was from Draco’s hand, holding tightly to hers as the funeral’s proceedings continued.


“And while we shall always mourn the loss of Colin, we are comforted by the fact that he died for the ones he loved, displaying the courage he held in life, even in the face of death,” Fudge was saying, casting an inappropriately condescending look to the man’s wife and two young children. Ginny’s breath hitched in her throat, already tight with the effort of holding back her grief, and Draco’s hand tightened its grip upon hers, where it stayed until the ceremony had finished. The cold rainwater lashed against their faces the entire time.

After paying their respects to Colin Creevey’s widow, they walked away from the sodden graveyard and deep sorrow of their friends who had stayed behind. Before stepping into her Ministry-appointed vehicle, she turned to look one last time at the tragic sight of a young wife standing alone before her husband’s grave, trying to comfort two young children.

“Promise me,” she said, breaking the silence between them that had began as they left the cemetery. “Promise me that you’ll never even think about dying for me – to save me, or whatever.”

Draco’s eyes burned into her own, as he understood the many different underlying reasons for her demand. Taking her small, cold hand into his own, he pressed the back of her hand to his lips, his breath warm against her skin.

“You should never die for the people you love. You should live for them,” he said quietly.



She was just reaching the steam-induced state of relaxation, when her mind began to get a little foggy and her vision, a little cloudy, when a jarring shock of pain gripped her abdomen. Crying out against the suddenness of it, her hands slipped from their hold on the moist wall. Bracing herself against the wall in front of her, she shut off the water, and stepped out of the tub, all the while gasping against the pain.


“Why did you have to come? Why did you have to find me?” he was asking, regret plain in his voice.


She grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her trembling body, wracked with searing pain. Her vision was swimming, the sight of her bathroom wobbling before her eyes. She fought against it; the desire to lay down and succumb became overwhelming.


All she knew was shock and pain. Lying on her back, where she’d been lowered by the strong arms that had caught her when she fell after he’d attacked, staring into the darkness above her, all she knew was pain. She was growing colder, and breathing was becoming so much harder – all she wanted to do was close her eyes and let the pain carry her away to a place where she wouldn’t hurt anymore.

He was leaning over her, his face hovering in her field of vision. She cried out as a wave of heat passed through her body. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear anymore. His blood-covered hands moved from where they rested about her bleeding abdomen, and she could feel them against her forehead.

His breath was warm and gentle against her ear. His was whispering something to her.

“Live,” his voice said, quietly commanding, and as she heard it, the wave that was carrying her away was brought to a crashing halt and her body exploded in agony, and her scream drowned out anything else he might have said as it echoed against the walls of the cave.



With a cry, she stumbled forward. Grabbing the counter, her hand scattering the contents of the surface, she tried to keep a grip on reality. Something important had flitted in her memory… if she could only remember just a little more…

Another stab of pain wracked her body, and her feet gave out. Sobbing, knowing that she was about to lose consciousness, she tried to keep her eyes open, clinging to the thought that something important had flashed through her memory. With a cry, she couldn’t bar the pain any longer, and her eyes snapped shut.


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His footsteps echoed in her apartment. His eyes swept over the well-known setting, taking in the state of it. He knew immediately that something was very wrong, there was a feeling in the air that was palpably different from the last time he’d been there.

It was quite late, and yet, all the lights were on. Papers were scattered all around – his first clue that things weren’t right. Ginny Weasley did not leave any kind of documents lying around; they were always neatly placed in a file folder (which would probably end up tossed haphazardly to the floor afterwards) before retiring for the night.

He glanced around the living room, and not seeing her, he proceeded cautiously towards the bedroom. He kept his footsteps light, knowing that she probably wasn’t going to be very pleased to see him, given their last encounter. He sighed regretfully as that thought flashed through his mind.

He heard a crash that came from the bathroom, and forgetting that an important aspect of his plan included stealth, he ran the few feet to get there. As he crossed the threshold and saw the sight of her, dripping wet, wrapped in a towel and splayed across the floor, he had to call upon all of his strength to remain calm. Walking into the bathroom, he knelt down beside her and cursorily examined her, attempting to see what had caused her to fall.

He touched her head, and when he drew his hand away, it was covered with blood. Cursing, he searched around, and spotting another towel, he grabbed it and used it to wrap around her body as he gathered her small form into his arms. As he brushed the wet hair plaster to her forehead out of her eyes, they fluttered open.

“It’s you,” she whispered weakly.

“It’s me,” he answered, his voice hoarse. She smiled slightly, as her eyes gazed up at him, lost in a dream.

“I didn’t think you’d ever come back,” she said. He pulled her closer to him.

“Then you don’t really know me at all, Weasley,” he said, keeping his tone light. He stood up, carrying her out of the bathroom as she lay limp in his arms. A cold rage was brewing deep within him; he’d finally discovered who the mastermind was, the one who had been pulling the strings all these months, and now, he was seeing what the cost was to the small woman in his arms. He would pay.

“Draco, where are we going?” she mumbled.

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it. Compared to what a Weasley such as yourself is used to, it’ll be absolutely palatial,” he said, shifting her weight slightly as he pulled a small object out of pocket. “I’ve got to get you away from here, before they get to any more of your memories.”

“If this is a dream, I refuse to wake up. Being awake hurts,” she said weakly. He closed his eyes as her statement tore at his heart, and needed a moment before he could respond.

“It’s not a dream, that much I can tell you,” he said, pulling the edge of his robe around her. He then grabbed the small silver lighter that was doubling as a Portkey, and the vision of her small apartment faded away from his sight.


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AN: Updated twice in one week! *feels triumphant*

Last update of this year, as between finals, working and the holidays, I won’t get a chance to update. But my notebook will be with me wherever I go, and I hope to get a good amount of writing done during the hectic season! Happy holidays to all!


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Chapter 9: Sins of the Father and All That...

“I never should have listened to you,” Draco snapped, as he paced around in circles, feeling like a caged animal. The darkened room felt oppressive and small, far too small for the amount of anger he was feeling.

“What other choice did you have? This was the only way, the only option you had at the time!” the victim of his anger shot back, his voice alluding to the fact that his patience had been pushed to the very edge of its limits.

“Look what’s happened to her! How could this have been the only way? Did you see her?” Draco shouted, stopping in his tracks.

“She’s alive, isn’t she? That means there’s still a chance for this to work. I know it’s difficult, but would you rather the alternative? I thought you were stronger than this, Draco. You told me that you were ready to do anything.”

“Sod off! How would you feel if you were in my position? Three damn months, I’ve been helpless to do anything, watching this nonsense happen while I watched from the bloody sidelines! You don’t seem to understand!” he yelled.

“There are forces out there harming what is yours. Of course I understand, boy. It’s a Malfoy thing, being possessive our ‘treasure’, and getting right upset when others infringe on our hoard,” his uncle Vincent sighed. Draco glared at him, and attempted to contain his emotions. All these months, unable to do anything, and she was now in the other room – so close yet so far away – and he was still helpless. The strange twist of fate that had brought them to this point had rendered him useless to her; a fear he’d always had about their relationship.

“It’s more than just infringing, look at the state she’s in!” Draco snarled, his control shattering.

“I realize you are upset, and after months of being alone, unable to share your… lovely and endearing... temperament with anyone, you’re more than ready to jump down anyone’s throat who crosses your path. But there are more important things to focus on. Like the fact that you should not be here when she’s finally awake. Check in on her, say your farewell, and then go do what you have to do. Otherwise, this will never end,” his uncle said, gesturing to the door behind him. Draco sighed heavily.

“I thought that this part of my life was over. Well, you know what they say, sins of the father and all that,” he said bitterly. “I’ll be back in a moment.”


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He sat down on the bed next to where she was lying, on her side, curled into the foetus position. It was hard to believe that she was alive, she was so still, and the dim lighting gave her skin an ethereal sheen that was haunting to see. But he watched carefully, and counted the seconds between breaths. He reached out to touch her face, to brush her hair away from her eyes, but pulled it back at the last second.

“I feel strangely compelled to talk to you, even though I know that you either can’t hear me, or you’re too drugged up to even understand what I’m saying. Speaking of which, I can’t say I’m not relieved that you were stoned when I dropped by tonight. I can only imagine the ‘greeting’ I would have received otherwise,” he said dryly.

He pictured in his mind what she would have done, would have said and how wonderful she looked when she was infuriated and sighed. There were times, when despite the overwhelming height and weight advantage he had over her, she’d still try to push him. She made him stumble once, by catching him off guard, a moment of triumph that she reminded him of as often as possible.

“We’re going to make this right. All you have to do is keep your neck out of trouble and remember. Of course, you could promise not to take my head off the next time we come face-to-face, as a courtesy because, after all, I will be taking care of the rest. It’s fairly good deal for you, Weasel, and you well know that I don’t feel this charitable very often so you’d better make sure that you keep your end of the deal,” he said. Leaning down, hovering above her, he resisted the urge to touch her, to feel her warm skin, to reassure himself that she was really there and safe. “It’s really important, Ginny. You have to remember. Everything else depends on that. Whatever happens, whatever you think you know, however they try to twist it, you have to remember.”

He stood up, his resolve to let her sleep beginning to crack. Inhale. One, two, three, four. Exhale. She was breathing, he could stop counting, she was alive, and for now, she was safe. That needed to be enough for now. He turned to walk away.

“You don’t know it yet, but we defied fate once already. I take that as a sign that we can do anything together. So hang in there, with me, and the impossible will become completely possible,” he said softly.

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“Going to have a chat with Ballan?” Vincent asked, as Draco reappeared in his study. His nephew looked ragged, worn around the edges. He’d aged considerably in such a short time, but Vincent supposed that was the price to pay for rebelling against an ancient curse.

“A civilised conversation is more of what I had in mind. Maybe he’ll give me a straight answer on something,” Draco groaned, his head in his hands as he sank into a soft armchair. He was exhausted; physically, mentally, emotionally.

“Are you planning on retrieving the sword from its cache?” Vincent asked.

“I’ve already got it, I didn’t want to take any chances,” Draco said. His uncle glared at him, shooting out of his seat. Draco straightened up, startled by this reaction.

“You brought it here? In the same spot as the two of you? That’s exactly the kind of catalyst that could destroy everything. Why, in the name of the gods, boy, would you tempt fate by laughing at her like that?” he cried out. Draco’s temper snapped.

“This isn’t fate, this is my life! And her life! And it’s been meddled with, but certainly not by fate!” Draco shot back.

“But to bring that sword into the same place where you both are, that’s inviting the curse to seek its fulfillment. You stopped it once and I don’t know that it would work again,” Vincent warned gruffly.

“It’s not getting what it wants. It’s not happening,” Draco said, his eyes blazing with defiance. His uncle just scoffed at him, knowing that his arrogance would undoubtedly be his downfall one day.

“Before you leave, did you do what I asked you to?” Vincent asked. Draco nodded solemnly, reaching into his pocket and extracting a number of vials filled with silvery liquid, and placing them on the end table.

“They’re all there.”

“Excellent. Now, get out of here,” Vincent said, with an affectionate smile for his nephew.

“I hope you know what you’re going to tell her when she wakes, because she’s going to have a lot of questions, and you know how good she is at getting answers from people who aren’t very forthcoming under normal circumstances,” Draco said warningly.

“I’ve got it figured out, don’t you worry about her,” Vincent said. After a moment, he reached out and grasped his shoulder. “She’ll be safe here, I promise.”

“Good. And if she’s not, I’ll kill you,” Draco said, casually enough, but with enough cold rage behind it to make it a lasting threat. “When she wakes up, you should take her out to the clearing to see the unicorns. She’ll appreciate that.”

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“Ooh, Morgan, it looks like she’s waking up!” a voice crowed in the dark, the sound reverberating throughout Ginny’s head painfully. As her eyes drifted open, she began blinking furiously against the brightness that filled her sight, throwing her hands up in front of her face to ward against it.

“Be quiet, Faye, she probably has a raging headache and doesn’t need the shrill sounds of your voice to add to her pain, the poor dear,” another voice chimed in, this one speaking in much softer tones. Ginny carefully peeked around her hands, trying to figure out whom these voices belonged to, where she was and what she was doing there. The last thing she could remember was Darien leaving her flat in a huff. Oh… Darien…I forgot about that whole disaster, Ginny thought, noting to herself that she’d be lucky if he ever spoke to her again. Malfoys are not very forgiving when their egos have been wounded.

“I should probably run and fetch Vincent, she’s not going to know where she is, or who we are. Better have a familiar face around, I think,” the first one spoke. Ginny’s vision cleared significantly, and she was shocked to see that she was in a well-lit bedroom, and there were two elderly women hovering over her, peering down at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. She blinked, confused, as the two women were looking back at her with exactly the same face. In fact, the only difference between the two of them that Ginny could discern were that they were wearing different coloured robes. The one on her right was dressed in blue, the other in green.

“She’s a clever girl, I’m sure she’ll figure out where she is. She has been here before, after all,” the one in blue said. At her words, Ginny’s eyes darted around the room. Indeed, it was rather familiar. It was the bedroom she’d used during her first trip to the Malfoy family home in Bulgaria. She was in Bulgaria? How did she get there?

“Morgan, just run and fetch him. Now, easy love, you’re head’s going to start to spin as you try to sit up,” the soft-voiced one spoke, speaking directly to Ginny as she made a move to sit up.

“I think my head’s already spinning,” Ginny muttered, bracing herself against the bedspread as her vision did spin a little as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I was in England before I fell asleep, and now I’m in Bulgaria. That’s quite a spin.”

“Ah, you do know where you are! Excellent!” the one heading out the door declared shrilly. Ginny winced against the noise.

“How’s your head, dear? I bet it’s pounding. I’d give you a potion to clear that up, but I’m afraid it might interact with what you’ve already been taking, so you will just have to grunt through, I’m afraid,” she said kindly. Ginny stared at her blankly and didn’t say anything.

“Virginia! You’re awake! That’s excellent, we were beginning to wonder about you!” the rich voice of Draco’s uncle boomed as he entered the room. Ginny turned her head to stare at him, unsure at the strange mix of emotions that swelled when she laid eyes on him. An overwhelming wave of comfort and safety mingled with bitterness and betrayal. “It’s been quite awhile, my dear! I was wondering when we’d hear from you again.”

“Quite awhile, yes. Over three months, actually. A rather lot has happened since then,” Ginny said, her tone harsh. “For example, your nephew tried to kill me and you’ve refused to accept the post I’ve been sending you ever since.”

“I’m sorry about that, my dear, but I’m sure, after all your time with Draco, that you know that –”

“-That nothing is as it seems. I’ve heard it all before, and frankly, my patience with Malfoys and their cryptic answers, scheming and secrecy has worn rather thin. So, sod off with it. Just say you’d rather not tell me, instead of dancing around the issue. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a politician. I’m better at it than you are,” she interrupted, glaring at him defiantly. The elderly man, a more distinguished version of Darien, stared at her in surprise, and she felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks in anger as she observed a sparkle of humour in his eyes.

“Of course, Virginia. We have missed you around here, you know,” he said with a smile, and Ginny felt her anger die away, as her great affection for Vincent slowly began to return. He was all warmth and intellectual discussions, and simply being around him brought back the feeling of family and fondness that had developed over her time with his nephew. As her anger was calmed a bit, she realized that she hadn’t asked the obvious question, and felt rather discomfited.

“Right. So now that I’ve been a right stroppy brat, perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me how I got here?” she asked, somewhat sheepishly. He laughed, a full hearty sound that brought on a wave of nostalgia that she had to fight.

“That’s quite a mystery, my dear. We’ve been wondering the same thing ourselves. Elizabeth found you, collapsed in the study, completely covered in soot. We figured that you just Flooed over, and we were quite concerned, what with the bump on your head and the fact that we couldn’t wake you at all. Luckily, our guests here are well-known MediWizards and were able to help you out immediately. Ginny Weasley, this is Morgan and Faye Modron,” he said, gesturing to the two elderly ladies who were now both poking and prodding Ginny with inquisitive looks on their faces. She drew away from their prodding carefully, gasping slightly as her head spun a bit.

“I don’t know why I would come here. The last thing I remember…” she trailed off. The last thing I remember is your son storming out of my apartment after I rejected him, she thought, a hot, unsettled feeling washing over her as she remembered the look in Darien’s eyes. “I don’t remember how or why I would come here.”

“Well, dear, we have a bit of a theory on that matter,” the shrill-voiced sister, Morgan, spoke up. She held up a small vial for Ginny’s scrutiny. “You’ve been taking this potion regularly?”

“Not regularly, just when I’ve needed it. A little more, lately, it seems, but not on an everyday basis,” Ginny explained, recognizing the bottle as the one from her bathroom. Morgan exchanged a pointed look with her sister.

“Have you been going a bit batty over the past couple weeks?” the soft-spoken MediWizard, Faye, asked her, peering at Ginny, much to close to her face for Ginny’s comfort.

“Pardon me?” she asked, slightly affronted by that question. It was one thing to think yourself mad, but quite another for a perfect stranger to broach the subject.

“Paranoia, insomnia, confusion, sleeping too much, forgetting the day or the time, rapidly changing emotions… Did I forget anything, Faye?” Morgan asked, prodding Ginny with her short, stubby finger as she listed off symptoms. Ginny felt a wave of concern grip her stomach; by all rights, she’d been experiencing everything that Morgan had listed off.

“Feeling as though someone is watching you, the inability to concentrate on one thing for too long, becoming unreasonably snappish and jumpy. You’ve been feeling like that for awhile, haven’t you, dear?” Faye asked softly. Ginny closed her eyes, breathing deeply to quell the panic. They’re going to tell me I’ve gone mad, that I’m displaying the classic symptoms of some mental disorder and then I’ll be locked up in St. Mungo’s forever and no one will believe that I’m not mad, because I’ve been questioning my own sanity myself? All these panic-borne thoughts were flashing through her mind, as she opened her eyes, and met with two identical pairs of blue eyes, twinkling at her with kindness and concern. Both sets reflected wisdom and humour, and her panic receded as she recognize the same kind expressions on their faces as could often be seen on the face of the greatest wizard who ever lived.

“Yes. All of it,” she breathed. Their eyes met, and they nodded.

“Been thinking you’ve gone a bit mad, haven’t you? Well not to worry, you are perfectly sane. Those are all side effects of this potion you’ve been taking,” Morgan announced.

“But I haven’t been taking it, not a lot anyway,” she protested.

“Not that you may have known about, dear. Oh, goodness, where to begin to explain this all to her? How much knowledge does she have about Muggles?” Morgan asked Vincent.

“She’s a fairly well-learned young woman, I imagine she knows quite a bit. The younger generations have become SO integrated with them over the years. Why, when I was in school, we didn’t even have a Muggle Studies teacher!” Vincent declared.

“Sorry to be a bit insistent, but what did you mean by saying that I might not have known I’ve been taking it?” Ginny demanded, her mind spinning furiously as she realized what this could mean.

“All those symptoms you said that you’d been feeling, we think that they’re being caused by a constant dose of a specific potion, and that someone you know might be drugging you without your knowledge,” Faye answered.


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Thanks for reading!

Having a brutally full semester isn’t very much fun, but the bright side? Massive amounts of schoolwork always inspire me.

I’m asking for some brutal honesty about the first scene. I have distinct feeling it’s a little cheesy and may seem OOC, so if you could either confirm those fears or lavish consoling denials to the contrary, I’ll love you forever.


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Chapter 10: Its Mysterious Nature

Darien Malfoy was known as a very mysterious person. He was considered by many of the women in Bulgarian high wizarding society to be the epitome of the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ archetype, and while he appeared to be quite legitimate, there were rumours of a dark past, which made him all the more enticing to them. A dark past with certain habits he was known to revert to, every once in awhile, including frequenting some of the more shady establishments of whatever city in which he was currently residing. Darien Malfoy had a reputation of choosing a darkened corner, ordering a few drinks, and glowering at any who dared to cast a stray eye in his direction. While it was speculated that this was merely a tactic he used to maintain an intimidating persona, many also felt that it was merely his chosen way of brooding over details of his life that didn’t go completely to plan.

He was scowling over his half-finished fire whiskey in exactly such a shady place one evening, when a sudden silence fell over the entire establishment, and a few shocked gasps punctuated the air. Darien looked up to see what had caused such a reaction, and froze when he saw what it was.

Standing a few yards away from him was a tall figure, dressed in black robes with the hood drawn, obscuring the face. He was standing with his arms crossed, his height allowing him to loom rather ominously, projecting an aura of power and intimidation. It was obvious to all observing this scene that Darien recognized the person standing in front of him, as his facial expressions were rather telling of the surprise of recognition he felt when he took in the sight. His eyes moved from the mysterious man’s face to the eyes of the bar’s patrons, watching with vicious curiosity.

“Draco Malfoy! It’s really him!” he heard a voice exclaim, and then a chorus of murmurs as recognition traveled throughout the room. Darien, looking visibly shaken at his cousin’s sudden appearance, made a move to stand up, when Draco held out a hand, halting his movements.

“I have an important score to settle with you, Darien,” the elder of the Malfoy cousins spoke, his voice cold and dangerous.

“And I should kill you where you stand for what you’ve done,” Darien cried, standing suddenly, tossing the table in front of him aside as if it wasn’t even there. A smattering of noise filled the air; shattering glass, cries of concern from the curious patrons, the cry of outrage of the owner as he observed the damage.

“What I’ve done? While I’ve been busy trying to find a way to solve this little mess, you were supposed to keep her safe,” Draco hissed.

“You’re the one that tried to kill her in the first place! You shouldn’t even be speaking to me about keeping her safe, when you’re the reason she’s even in any danger, you bastard!” Darien cried out, taking a few angry strides so that he was facing off directly in front of his taller, older cousin.

In a flash of movement, which seemed quicker because it was so unexpected, the entire crowd watched as Draco Malfoy sucker-punched his cousin with a fast and vicious right-hook. The dark-headed Malfoy stumbled backwards, cursing and clutching his face where he’d been struck. A series of gasps and snickers filled the air, along with the sound of crunching glass as Darien’s feet fought to maintain balance as his vision spun and a roaring sound filled his ears; the effects of Draco’s powerful strike.

“I know everything, you bastard,” Draco said softly, his voice cold enough to send a wave of fear through all those who were straining to hear. It spoke of a deep rage that was made even more threatening precisely because he was perfectly in control of it. “If you even think of betraying me again…”

“You call it betrayal, I consider it moving in on unmarked territory. For after all, what are you to her at this moment, other than a bad memory that occasionally still haunts her that she would sooner forget?” Darien said, as he finally recovered his balance and bearings, along with his cocky attitude. Draco’s head snapped up to meet his cousin’s eyes. Silence had descended over the bar once again, as the patrons sensed a deeper current of animosity than had originally been apparent to them, and they all leaned eagerly forward, hoping for more entertainment.

“None of that matters. We can settle that score later, Darien. I’m talking about your promise to look after her. Break it again, Darien, I dare you to,” Draco said, his voice resonating with an ominous threat. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the silent pub, the only sound in the room was the crunching of glass underneath his boots.


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“What do you mean, drugging me without my knowledge?” Ginny demanded, horror rising along with the taste of bile at the back of her throat as she spoke. Feeling the room begin to spin, she glanced searchingly for the answers in the three pairs of eyes looking back at her. Faye was wearing a kindly and patient expression; Vincent looked pale and concerned; and Morgan looked exasperated.

“Don’t go just dropping that kind of thing on her, after the night’s she’s had, you ninny,” she snapped. “Especially when we don’t even have any proof that that is what has been happening. She could be perfectly mad for all that we know. It’s only a hypothesis at this point, Faye, as I keep telling you.”

“Hypothesis or not, the girl should have the right to know what may or may not have been happening to her over the course of the past few weeks. For goodness sake, Morgan, how else do you explain the loss of memory? It’s really the only way I can see this happening, and you know that. A simple test will tell if there is any remnant of the potion in her system, and then your hypothesis will be proven,” Faye snapped back.

“Will someone please tell me what you are both talking about?” Ginny cried out. All eyes were once again focused on her, and Ginny noted the small glance between the sisters before Morgan began to speak again.

“This is where your knowledge of Muggles becomes important, dear. As you know, they do all sorts of horrible things to one another – “

“ – Just like wizards do, Morgan! Don’t act like we’re superior, just because we’re magical doesn’t make us any superior on the moral front,” Faye interjected. Morgan glared at her sister before she continued.

“All sorts of things to each other, it’s really quite terrible. They’ve developed different types of potions – err, drugs, as they call them – that have different effects on people, and they are used in different situations. For the most part, they’re all medicinal, meant to heal and whatnot. But, there is one in particular, which is relevant to your case, my dear. It’s a drug that has been discovered to have other uses, outside of the one that it was originally designed to have.”

”Oh, for Gods’ sake, Morgan, quit skirting around the issue, are you or are you not supposed to be a Medi Wizard?” Faye interjected, sounding exasperated. Ginny watched with a strange detachment, thinking that she would not have expected the more gentle of the two sisters to have a greater ability to be blunt. “We think that someone has found a way to merge a Muggle drug, called rohypnol, with a wizard potion, and that this is what has been used on you.”

“I’ve heard of that before. The Ministry had had a few requests to work with other governments to help crack down on illicit trade of that potion,” Ginny said slowly. Her hand involuntarily grabbed the blanket, squeezing into her fist, preparing herself for what she was going to hear. She knew that it wasn’t going to be very pleasant; she could see it in the concern in their eyes.

“Rohypnol is what the Muggles call a ‘date-rape’ drug – it’s used to incapacitate victims, to drug them so that they aren’t aware of what’s going on. It can be administered in a few different forms – slipped into a drink, snorted, injected, and it’s effects are often mistaken for different things, especially because it’s used so often with alcohol. It takes about ten minutes to start working, and depending on the dose, can last for over twelve hours,” Morgan explained. Ginny closed her eyes – the room was spinning too much and it was making her nauseous.

“The effects may sound familiar to you, Ginny dear. The side effects are drowsiness, headaches, amnesia and loss of memories, poor motor functions, nightmares, confusion, tremors and sleepiness. It’s original use is for fight depression, but it can also produce aggression or excitability,” Faye added. Ginny sighed, deeply, and forced herself to open her eyes and face the world. Despite what this might mean, it did mean one thing: that she definitely wasn’t losing her mind.

“It sounds pretty useful on its own. Why blend it with a magical potion? I don’t see the need. And why was it used on me?” she asked, her voice breaking a little near the end.

“That part gets a little hard to hear, my dear. I’m not exactly sure why, but I have a pretty good idea. You see, Muggles use it in order to gain control over someone’s body,” Vincent said, as Ginny shuddered and pulled the bedclothes up to her neck, unable to meet his eyes. “I think that it’s been magically altered – blended with a magical potion, something I think that resembles Veritaserum – in order to gain control over someone’s mind.”

“In order to do what?” Ginny demanded, her eyes fierce, and to Vincent, who wasn’t used to seeing her in this kind of position, rather frightening. He paused, searching for the right way to tell her.

“Steal your memories. Combined with the properties of the rohypnol, which incapacitates someone, we think that some kind of powerful truth serum would allow for someone to be able to have complete access to your mind – memories, feelings, thoughts, and take what they wish. By keeping you dosed with the rohypnol, the confusion, paranoia, drowsiness and other symptoms would make it difficult for the victim to realize what was happening. In your case, with the emotional trauma you’ve been through recently, it would exacerbate that condition –“

“- and make everyone think I’m crazy,” Ginny interjected. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she felt as if the mass of emotions that were currently battling for prominence were going to explode, bursting out of her and consuming everything in its path. “You are telling me that someone has been date-raping my mind?”

“Yes, my dear, I’m afraid so,” Faye answered softly. Ginny released a deep, shaky breath.

“Okay. Well, at least I haven’t gone mad. But the question is why? Why one earth would anyone be stealing my memories? Vincent, you seem to be calmly aware of all this, certainly you might know?” Ginny demanded, surprising everyone in the room.

“I think it might have something to do with the sword. Not too many people really know what happened – I don’t even know if I know the whole story – but there are a few elements that have been making their way through the rumour mills. That you, Harry Potter and his friends, were able to track down the mythical Excalibur somewhere in Italy, but that you weren’t there soon enough – that someone else got to it first, and that you almost died, has become almost common knowledge. I can only assume that someone is trying to track down the sword, now that it’s pretty much confirmed that it exists,” Vincent said.

“But I don’t know anything! He… Draco has the sword, and he hasn’t been seen since then. I didn’t even know he was… that he was one of them, until after I woke up a week later,” she protested, a hard edge of bitterness apparent in her voice. “I can’t even remember what happened once we entered the abbey.”

“But not everyone knows that. In fact, it might even be possible that you did, at one time, know exactly what had happened, but that memory has since been taken from you,” Vincent said, the warmth and compassion in his voice proving inadequate to keep her from shivering at his words. The horror of that very idea – that someone has been crawling around inside her head, and taking what they want from it while she’d been helpless to stop them – would stay with her for a very long time.

“In fact, it’s quite impressive that you’ve resisted the harsher side effects for this long. From what I know of this potion, most victims have quickly descended into an irreversible state of insanity after only a few doses, because of the way that the potion requires your mind to stay open and vulnerable to outside forces. You’re quite lucky, my dear, because it seems as though someone has been drugging you for quite awhile – weeks, even. The bonding on you must be incredibly strong to have protected you for so long,” Faye said. Ginny’s head snapped up at her words, and she could hear an exasperated sigh and some angered mutterings coming from Morgan.

“Bonding? What are you talking about?” Ginny demanded.


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Draco grimaced slightly as he wrapped the ice pack tighter around his swelling hand, cursing under his breath. He really hadn’t meant to strike his cousin – he preferred other ways of making an opponent suffer, ways much less physical – but there was something in Darien’s voice, some strain of emotion, that unsettled him so completely that his instincts took over.

“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Malfoy?” the cultured, accented voice asked kindly.

“A few answers would be nice, Mr. Ballan. You know why I’m here,” he said, his eyes indulging for a moment in the elderly gentleman’s finely decorated apartment. Priceless works of art were displayed in careful arrangement on his walls, and coupled with the sight of the artefacts scattered around the room, which were enough to send anyone who’d been raised to appreciate expensive things into a heavenly rapture, the view was altogether stunning. After a moment, he refocused his attention on the elderly man sitting before him, cautiously sipping his tea.

“Yes, I know why you came. I have to admit, I was uncertain what I would do if you came to me, and especially if you came to me before I could inform Miss Weasley of the information I’m about to share, but I have been assured that your allegiances were rather misrepresented in our earlier dealings,” he explained. Draco snorted.

“You could say that. I’d be angry, except that it’s rather a result of my parent’s legacy. But I assure you, I am not what I have been made out to be. You would have been killed months ago, when you first came to me with your information about the sword, if I were.”

“Certainly. Do you still have the sword? Have you kept it safe?” he asked. Draco, sitting across from the man, paused, watching the way Ballan’s eyes flicked towards him, while attempting to appear as if he were not watching him at all. Draco shifted in his seat slightly, attempting to shake off the other man’s observing eyes.

“It’s where it needs to be at this moment. What information do you have for me?” he asked.

“It’s both information and an apology, for it seems as if I was entirely misinformed about the nature of the sword, and that misinformation has helped create the unfortunate situation you find yourself in. The nature of the sword, and therefore the nature of the curse on the sword, are completely different than I originally told you.”


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More to come, I have another paper due next week.

Chapter 11: Bonds that Cannot be Severed


Slipping off her shoes, Ginny sighed in relief as the cool grass squished between her toes. Such a small degree of freedom – walking barefoot in the grass – but at the moment, the cool, tingling sensation it gave her was such a welcome relief – a small way to release the tension she felt all over her body.

Her mind was spinning, as if all the information she’d been given since opening her eyes to find herself in the Malfoy’s home in Bulgaria had tilted it, throwing it off balance, leaving it to spin constantly until it could finally find equilibrium. She smiled, briefly, a quick moment of reflection about the last time she’d been here, at this place, knowing that despite everything that had happened here, she always felt its magic – tempered by the magic of the very memories she had of this place – renew her, restoring her capacity to feel joy, warmth and hope.


They’d escaped an official function which had been carrying on for far too long. Ever since Ginny had been made a Minister, there’d been an endless parade of formal receptions, times when she’d seen an endless parade of formal receptions, times where she’d be sent in to work her charm and enchant stubborn old men into considering her proposals. Her ability to bluntly argue her position, balanced with conviction and respect, was well-known in the diplomatic circles and had become a subject of much gambling – one often wagered against their ability to withstand her persuasive powers. Very few ever did, to their own delight, and to the delight of her boss.

It had been a few weeks since they’d had a moment alone together – too many formal functions, too many other demands and expectations on their time. Chance had created an opening in her schedule and an entreaty from the Minister for Magic that she attend Vincent Malfoy’s cocktail party (in order to keep “the Bulgarians happy, my dear”) had found them both at the same place on that night.

He hadn’t known she was coming, and had been engaged in a truly dull conversation with the heiress to some broom-designing fortune when he caught sight of her, locking eyes with her across the room. She smiled – her genuine smile that was also reflected in the light of her eyes, not the one she usually had plastered on her face, that was useful in placating the egos of powerful men but that was also completely fake. He started to make his way towards her, but was interrupted by Durmstrang’s Headmaster, who wanted to discuss some boring detail he could have cared less about.

Ginny had sighed, and was about to head over to him, intent on rescuing him and rushing him out of the room so they could steal a few moments alone together, but her plans were spoiled when Vincent spotted her and called her over to meet the Bulgarian Minister for Magic. Inside, she screamed with frustration, wanting to damn them all so she could rush towards him and just throw her arms around him and wonder how she’d survived all those days without his touch.

Throughout the evening, every chance they had to try to reach one another had failed – as if there were a grand scheme in place conspiring to see how long they could last before their control broke.

Finally, near the end of the evening, Vincent had spotted the desperation in her eyes, and after slipping an unopened bottle of wine into her hands, he’d nodded towards the door.

“The judge has been planning to speak with you all night. Go now – out the back door – before he finds you,” he said, and Ginny felt her affection for the man swell exponentially.

He was watching for her, and as soon as she stepped into the hall, he grabbed her hand, dragging her down the corridor, away form the sounds of cordiality and networking that had kept them apart all night.

She laughingly protests his pace, claiming her heels were not made for running, but he didn’t slow down. They were almost at the door when the sound of voices stopped them in their tracks.

An elderly couple, the parents of the dull heiress Draco had been conversing with for the better part of the night, were heading in their direction, about to discover them sneaking off together. Thinking quickly, Draco grabbed her, and they ducked into an alcove which contained a full-sized suit of armour. Heady with the wine they’d both consumed throughout the evening, and excitement and the rush of anticipation, they had to contain their laughter as the doddery old couple bickered about which way the ballroom actually was.

When the couple had disappeared down another corridor, and they were safely outside, he’d wrapped an arm possessively around her waist, pulling her against his body so he could kiss her – speaking his longing for her and the pleasure he felt of being with her with this simple action. Gasping for breath, she recklessly kicked off her shoes, grabbed his hand (still clutching that bottle of wine in the other hand) and started to run towards the well-known trail that lead to the heart of the Malfoy’s forest, her laughter echoing through the cool air.

As soon as they breached the line of trees, reaching the magical clearing they’d fought together to protect, they had tumbled to the ground, heedless of their formal attire. Breathless and desperate for each other, the only thing that mattered was that they were finally alone and able to act on the instinctual need they both had for each other.

“Draco,” she gasped as his lips moved across her skin. “You don’t think they’re… you know, watching us, do you?”

He laughed, his face pressed against her stomach, sending a shiver up her spine. He shifted, looking up at the huddled group of silvery animals at the edge of the clearing.

“That’s never stopped up before,” he said, with at wicked grin, running a finger along the curve of her hip. She laughed, blushing prettily. He leaned down, nuzzling her neck. “They probably find us amusing, an interesting example of how primitive humans really are and how ruled we are by our passions. To them, we’re just simple creatures acting on instinct, but that instinct is fuelled by the most important thing in the world, so they tolerate us.”

Laying together, with the thick haze of afterglow making the world brighter and their sense heightened, the prickling of the cool grass beneath them and a huge expanse of the night sky above them, Ginny felt a deep ache – the moment was too beautiful, she was too happy that it hurt.

“I never want this to change, Ginny,” he whispered, as if afraid the sound of his voice would shatter the perfection of the moment. “I always want you to be mine, to belong to me, forever.”

“I think I’d like that,” she said, smiling against his skin as he ran his fingers through her hair. “I wish we could stay like this forever – just you and me forever.”

“Alright,” he said. She laughed, knowing it was impossible, that soon they’d have to pick up their clothing, try to straighten themselves up in order to appear presentable and walk back towards the realities of their lives. But in that second, she believe that he could make that moment last forever.

“Life is so complicated, Ginny, and you are probably the most complicated thing in mine. But you also make it so simple,” he said, shifting as he reached for his dress robes, shuffling through them.

“I make your life complicated? At least your family accepts me. Mine isn’t overly impressed with my choice,” Ginny said, slightly bitter.

“But you keep me around anyway,” he said, pulling his robe over them, settling back down so she could lay against his chest.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said and she felt him slip something cool over her finger. “Then you can have this.”

She sat up, startled, as she looked to the ring on her left hand. It was simple and beautiful and completely suited to her tastes.

“Draco,” she gasped, staring alternatively in disbelief at him and the ring on her finger.

“Ginny, I want to marry you. I want us to be together and happy forever. Even if silly things in our lives complicate our relationship and make things harder. I know we belong to each other,” he said, taking her hand in his. She was trembling.

“Are you sure? I can be so stubborn and difficult and emotional… are you sure?” she gasped, her eyes shinning as they filled with tears.

“You’re the only thing I’m ever really sure about. Marry me, will you Weasel?” he said, his voice teasing and playful.

“Well, alright then,” she said, and then yelped as he pulled her back down to the ground with him.

Their last moment in this spot together. And now, she was torn from a memory of a time when her life had been so simple, and brought back to the reality of her present situation, a reality where nothing seemed to make sense anymore.


* * * *

Cormac McLaggen was sitting in this new office, muttering over the large stack of files currently awaiting his attention. A flurry of owls had arrived a few hours ago, decimating his plans to make this an early night. Thinking bitterly about the promises of prestige and international travel, as well as the opportunity to network with the who’s who of the wizarding community, Cormac felt that he’d been deceived rather horribly by Fudge’s description of this appointment – Fudge had failed to mention the constant stress, the endless hours of work and the constant crises that seemed to crop up every single time he turned around, needing his immediate attention.

And there was also the constant comparisons and references to a certain Ginny Weasley. Every meeting he had, every important official he came across, the press – all questioned where she was, why she’d left or even flat-out complained at how differently he was handling things from his predecessor. Also, she’d managed to steal all the attention from his first major press conference. He was beginning to hate the woman’s name, he heard it so often, spoken always with the same reverential tone that spoke great respect, affection or sometimes, even fear.

Staring at the pile of papers needing his attention, he debated shoving it aside and just leaving. But he knew it wasn’t any good – his secretary, after the first time he’d ducked out of the office, leaving work uncompleted (which had created quite a kerfuffle with the German ambassador), had bewitched his ‘to do’ pile so that it would follow him around until fully completed. He was definitely stuck in the office for the night, bitter and quite bored.

He was just leafing through the plans for a banquet later on in the week (while crossly wondering how this fell to his responsibility – planning parties didn’t seem important enough for a Minister to be concerned about) when he heard a rather loud commotion out in the hall. Dropping the paper work, he stood up and made his way through the office, eager for some distraction form the tedium of his duties.

“McLaggen, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours, man! Don’t you read your mail?” Fudge’s red face greeted him as soon as he opened his door. Floored, he tried to answer, but was distracted by the sight of people dashing down in the hall, all frantically hurrying about.

“What’s happening?” he asked, leaning out into the corridor to try to get a handle on what was happening.

“What’s happening? What’s happening?? Only a major international incident, my dear boy! That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon. I need you to get to work, contacting Ministries and trying to calm everyone down!” Fudge cried, the poor man obviously overwhelmed with these events. McLaggen felt his stomach drop.

“Major incident?” he squeaked. Not another crisis, he thought plaintively.

“I’ve got as many Aurors as I can spare working on the case, but word is spreading fast and people are beginning to panic.”

”Well, spit it out, Fudge! You can’t expect me to help fix the situation unless you tell me what it is!” Cormac snapped. Fudge froze, his face slowly turning purple with rage, until suddenly, he smiled, relief evident in his facial features, and he sighed heavily.

“That’s exactly what Ginny Weasley would have said,” Fudge explained. Much clamer now, he began to explain what the issue was.

Ruggiero Ballan had been found in his flat – murdered.

* * * *

Ginny settled down in the grass, leaning against the large oak tree that was close to the pond. It was a favourite spot of hers, and often, a few of the elder unicorns would grow curious about her, and approach. After she, Draco, Harry, Hermione and Ron had helped to thwart Neville’s attack, Ginny had grown fairly trusted by the herd, and they often overlooked their shy nature to approach her.

Tonight, two had settled in the grass next to her as she sat, deep in thought. She smiled and understood this move to be one of comfort – an offering of the familiarity that had brought her here in the first place.

She had a lot to think about…

Earlier that day…

“Bonding? What do you mean by that?” she demanded, her mind reeling with the possibility that there might be even more to discuss, more that she didn’t know. The flurry of guarded looks passing between Vincent and the sisters was very telling that there was, indeed, more that she didn’t know.

“We weren’t going to say anything,” Morgan protested.

“The girl has a right to know. You know as well as I that it’s the only reason she’s still alive, and the reason she’s got an ounce of sanity left,” Faye exclaimed.

“She’s heard so much already. We should give her time to absorb it all before we lay anything else on her – especially something she might not want to hear.”

“Cat’s out of the bag now, so you should really fill me in,” Ginny said coldly. Too many people knew more about what was happening in her life than she did. She felt helpless, and as though there were other forces that were in control of her life, and that she couldn’t break their hold on her.

The two sisters exchanged a long look. Seconds ticked by, and Ginny felt her temper flare with each moment. She was about to open her mouth to release her frustration when Vincent spoke.

“Just tell her. She’ll have our heads if we don’t,” he said gruffly. Ginny’s head snapped up towards him, as a feeling of betrayal washed over her. He knew and hadn’t said anything?

“Let us see your scar, girl. If you want to know the truth, the explanation starts there,” Morgan said, her voice heavy.

Exasperated and impatient, Ginny complied. Pushing back the covers, she lifted her shirt to reveal the large, pink scar slashed across her skin. Faye and Morgan both leaned closer to examine it.

“The size and location of the laceration… and the blade was probably cursed…”

“Not to mention the sheer amount of magical power of the weapon itself!”

Their mutterings carried on for a few minutes and Ginny rolled her eyes. She’d heard it all before – the damage was severe and most people would have died from it with in minutes. Laying there as they poked and prodded at her, Ginny had to take a few deep breaths to maintain her control. She could feel a swell of emotion gathering strength, and if she wasn’t careful, it would be released – and she didn’t want to break any more windows accidentally.

“There! Do you see it? Faye, do you see it?” Morgan shrieked, obviously excited.

“Yes, the seal! I’ve never seen one that’s lasted so long – it’s been months, and the effects of the drugged potion should have undone it completely!” Faye exclaimed. “I’ve never encountered such a strong bond before!”

“What, pray tell, is a bond, why is there a seal on my stomach and what are you all talking about?” Ginny demanded coldly.

“You can pull your shirt down, dear. We’ve seen all we need to. Now… where to being to explain… Faye, perhaps you should start.”

“What we just saw, the seal, is evidence of a very strong life bonding that was probably placed on you the moments you lay dying from that wound,” Faye said. Ginny gasped – a dreadful sense that she knew what else they were going to say to her. A violent chill passed down her spine.

“A life bond is a desperate, last chance measure that very few wizards are able to do, because of the complexities of the spell and the power it requires. It’s very dangerous, so much can go wrong that both parties can end up dying. It’s really a last hope, done by someone who feels they have nothing to lose, in order to keep someone who is dying alive,” Morgan added.

“That’s very important, that last part. It can only work when the person is actually dying – not just seriously wounded, but when death is certain. It bonds the dying person with the living person who is enacting the bonding. If it works, it binds their… well, there’s no medical word for it, but it binds what I guess you can call their ‘life forces’ together, so that one can sustain the other and prevent death,” Faye interjected.

“It can seal a mortal wound, just enough to prevent death and keep the injured person alive until they can get medical attention and be treated.”

“But, there is a price to pay for this. Nothing in magic comes for free. The person who creates the bond, by tying their life to the one dying, takes on a degree of the wound. And depending on the seriousness, it can kill them both. And even by doing that, full recovery is not guaranteed. Because they assume the danger of the wound, they feel it’s pain, often long after it’s healed,” Faye added, her tone serious.

“And in really strong bonds, anything that endangers one can endanger the other – what one feels, the other does.”

“So, you’re saying that whoever created this bond,” Ginny started to question, but her voice faltered as the image of the only person who it could have possibly been crossed her mind. She swallowed and tried again. “Whoever did this has been sharing the pain of this injury, and the affects of the potion I’ve been drugged with?”

“Not only that. It’s like they’ve torn the essence of their life in half and given it to you in order to keep you alive, to tie your ‘life force’ to the living world as it tried to leave your body. It’s incredibly painful – it’s supposed to be like tearing off a piece of your soul, but it’s not really the same concept. Usually, the bond fades away, as the ‘life forces’ return to their proper places, lacking the power to sustain the bond, and they regain what they’ve given,” Morgan answered.

“But in your case, the bond is sustaining itself. Whoever created it has been living in agony for months, both from your injury and the cost of creating the bond. We’ve never seen anything like it!” Faye exclaimed.

“Not to mention, this bond is the reason you’ve resisted the negative effects of the potion – irreversible insanity – for as long as you have,” Morgan added.

As they spoke, Ginny had listened, frozen and numb. It was too much, too unbelievable. Impossible. But, although she tried to deny the feeling fervently, her heart was already radiating with hope – hope that they were right, and what she was thinking could possibly be true.

“Why would he do it?” she whispered, staring unseeingly in front of her, hardly aware she was speaking. “It doesn’t make any sense…”

“Why would someone try to kill you and the immediately go through so much in order to keep you alive?” Vincent asked, his eyes dark, serious and sad.

“Draco…” she said softly, closing her eyes and flinching at the sound of his name. “Do you think it was him?”

Vincent regarded the young lady in front of him, looking worn and weary. But there was a light in her eyes that he hadn’t seen earlier – the kind of light he imagined seeing in the eyes of a man who was wandering the desert, dying of thirst, when he suddenly comes across a few drops of water.

“You know the answer, my dear. Who else would be able to create such a strong bond with you? I’ve seen your power interacting with each other, so compatible and strong. I can’t think of any other possibility,” Vincent said, his voice low and gentle as he took her shaking hands in his.

“But…why?” she asked helplessly.

* * * *

Why indeed, she thought to herself as she tentatively stroked the neck of the unicorn nearest to her. It was difficult to reason, that someone would strive to save her, put himself through so much when he was the very reason she needed saving.

Hours had passed since she’d awoken, since all this information had been dumped on her. Faye and Morgan had brewed a potion that was supposed to counteract the effects of the drugs, and her head was much clearer, and she felt more in control of her emotions for the first time in months. After awhile, she’d felt as if she was suffocating in those walls, and had escaped, seeking the familiar safety of this forest, a calm and gentle space that would give her a change to try to sort through all that was clamouring through her mind.

But, why? Why would he do this? She kept questioning herself over and over again. It seemed completely impossible.

And yet… she’d felt for a long time that there was something off about the whole situation. Well, other than the fact that it had been Draco who had been the one to try to kill her. But she’d been saying it all along, that she’d missed something, that it didn’t fit. Ron had said that she was in denial, that she couldn’t accept that Draco had attacked her in order to keep the sword for himself, that it had all been a part of the Medraut’s plot.

But, the look in his eyes. Her memories from that night were so fragmented and fuzzy, but that much she could still recall. There’d been a sorrowful look in his eyes, he had seemed so… resigned… as if there was something about to occur that he couldn’t control.

And, recalling her conversation with Harry, about how she’d never felt as if it has really been a brush with death – that she never felt as if she’d come so close to dying.

Now, she knew why.

“All this time, I have been moping around, afraid of the world, afraid of my own memories, afraid of life because of what happened,” she said out loud. “Of course, it could be because of the drug, but I don’t think it is the only factor. I don’t want to get hurt again. I don’t want to face the past, because it hurts. And the future – well, the reality of a future with out him hurts too. So, I’ve been stuck in this moment, too afraid to fight my way out of it.”

The unicorn lifted its head, staring at her quizzically.

“It doesn’t matter that he almost killed me. It doesn’t matter what the reason are. And it doesn’t matter that my future is going to happen without him. What matters is that he fought to keep me alive, is still fighting and experiencing all that pain. And I’ve just sat here – hiding in the corner, afraid to live. It’s time for that to end,” she said decisively. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and gave herself over to the sobs that wracked her body and stole her breath; the last round of tears she was going to allow herself. “I’m still afraid. But I’m not going to hide anymore. I have to start fighting back – I have to start living again.”

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More to come soon! As always, thank you for reading, and for those of you kind enough to take a few seconds to leave a comment and tell me what you think, I really appreciate that.

As always, check out my live journal (link is on my author's page) for news about updates and cookies from future chapters.

Later!

A/N: So, after a huge delay, here is a new chapter of The Balin Connection. Thanks to those who have been so patient, I promise to start paying more attention to this fic, even as I’m writing Crossing Into Chaos, which is currently consuming most of my writing inclinations. I just lost track of the characters for awhile, but the plotbunnies came back!


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Chapter 12: A Lesson in Historical Bias

Under the strict supervision of Morgan and Faye, Ginny spent several days sleeping off the remaining amounts of potion in her system while being dosed with a counter-potion, and despite the myriad of questions and endless labyrinthine thoughts as to what sequence of events had changed her life so drastically running rampant in her brain, she found herself luxuriating in deep, untroubled sleep. She hadn’t been aware of how much pain her insomnia was causing her until a few successive mornings of sleeping right through the night, untroubled by dreams or paranoid fears, waking and almost crying from the relief from the fatigue that had been plaguing her. Despite it all, she was able to think clearly and feel as calm as the situation allowed.

“Virginia, you seem to be feeling much better,” Vincent said, looking up from the intimidating-looking manuscript he was perusing as Ginny walked into his study.

“I feel like a completely different person,” she confessed, with a laugh. Even laughter was coming easier to her. The knowledge that, while the love of her life had indeed tried to kill her, he’d also taken such drastic measures to save her, indicating that he at least didn’t want her to die was strangely liberating to her. “I’m ready to do something.”

“Like what, my dear?” he asked, quizzically. Ginny, after observing his carefully neutral face, immediately felt her sense of ‘Malfoy scheming’ prickle. Draco was an expert at it; carefully proceeding with a seemingly innocent line of questioning until he trapped her into saying something that would force her into a situation she’d rather not be in.

“Well, whatever there may be for an unemployed former diplomat to occupy her time with. I was thinking of continuing some of the research I’d begun into that little treasure hunt of ours – or, there is that other matter of finding out who stole my memories and why and attempting to retrieve them,” she listed off, sliding comfortably into one of the large leather chairs next to the bookshelves.

“Morgan and Faye must have been keeping you fairly medicated – it’s taken you days to come back around to that issue,” Vincent laughed.

“It’s just such a puzzle. What do I know that is so important to someone that they’d drug me to steal my memories? And obviously it’s not something I know that is important, otherwise I would know I knew it. Does that make any sense to you?” Ginny asked, experiencing some difficulty articulating her feelings on the subject. What could have been possibly buried in the recesses of her memory that was so important?

“It may be rather difficult for you to recover what you’ve lost; and finding the identity of those who took them may prove just as difficult. This seems to have grown into a rather large conspiracy, the events of your ‘treasure hunt’ as you call it all seem rather circumspect, and now, the drugging and theft of your memories.”

“We have one name to work with – The Medrautian Order. We came across their work throughout of search for the sword, and considering what happened and Draco’s connection with them, I think they’re the prime suspects right now,” Ginny said, coolly, knowing that this was a potentially touchy subject with her host.

“Haven’t your Auror friends been attempting to track them for months now? Have they turned up any trace?” Vincent asked. Ginny shook her head; despite all the work that Harry, Hermione and Ron had been devoting to it, they had not been able to find anything concrete. “That is because they would not risk revealing themselves unless they have a direct and assured chance to recapture the sword.”

“They’re the only I have to work with right now, Vincent, unless there’s something you know that I don’t – which, I might add, seems to be a bit of a pattern developing here that I, for one, would love to see stopped immediately,” Ginny said, with enough playful sarcasm in her voice to soften the ice behind her words.

“Exactly how much do you know about the Medrauts, Virginia?” Vincent asked with narrowed eyes. Ginny shrugged.

“That they want the sword, they have been working for centuries to gain possession of it and that they would do just about anything to get it. That’s really about all that I was able to get, and most of that was from Ruggiero Ballan,” she answered, and frowned when she saw him grimace.

“I guess that’s all you would have learned from Ballan, he’s a highly biased source and hardly a dedicated historian. There is much more to the Medrautian Order than a simple thirst of a powerful artefact and the desire for power. It extends far beyond that, and their story has been rather twisted by history. Are you aware of the origin of the name Medraut?” Vincent asked. Ginny bit back a smile; his voice had taken on the academic tone that always appeared as he was about to begin a lengthy discussion into some historical matter that he was particularly interested in.

“No, I’m not aware of it. There’s very little information available,” she said.

“That’s because this history is fairly oral, not much has been written, but that could be because history is often written by the victors. Medraut is a Welsh variation on the name of a mythical figure that plays a rather prominent role in the fate of the sword you spent so much time searching for. How well-versed are you in Arthurian legend, Virginia?”

“We had to do quite a bit of research during our search. That was Hermione’s special role but I learned quite a bit. Not to mention, we all grew up on those stories,” Ginny said, prickling at his slightly condescending tone. He sighed heavily.

“Where and how you get your information is very important, I figured someone with your background would know that. Medraut is a Welsh version of the name Mordred. You should have some indication as to his role in the legends,” he said. Ginny was frozen for a moment as she could feel the fuzzy lines of incomprehension in her mind begin to sharpen and grow clear.

“He was the usurper – the one who was left in charge of the country while Arthur was off on some campaign, until he heard that the man had taken over the throne and had tried to steal his wife. He arranged for the scabbard to be stolen from Arthur – the part of the sword that protected him from any kind of fatal blow, so that when they finally confronted each other, he was able to mortally wound him, even though he died himself in the process,” Ginny said.

”What you just said is the usual interpretation of those events. Mordred is classically portrayed as the evil villain to Arthur’s hero. No one’s really clear about his origin – it’s debated about whether he was Arthur’s son or his nephew, and his reasons for wanting to overthrow the king are usually connected to plain ambition or the desire for revenge against Arthur,” Vincent explained.

“Yes, I came across quite a bit of that. There are so many different narratives, it’s hard to figure out which one is true and which one has been distorted through the retelling,” Ginny sighed.

“Regardless, he’s usually seen as evil. However, in some of the earlier versions of the tale, he’s portrayed in a slightly different light that isn’t quite as popular because of the implications it holds for the figurehead of Arthur. You know that his legend – and all those connected to it – are rather revered in our world. Just look at the Order of Merlin as an example. Our greatest recognition for our wizards is tied to a figure deeply involved in the legends,” he said with a pointed look. “History is written by the winning side, Ginny, so a complete picture is sometimes impossible to discern. The Medrauts represent the other side of the story.”

“But they still want the sword, though, right? You can’t expect me to believe that they are simply historians who just want their side of the story to be told,” Ginny scoffed. “If that’s the case, then they’ve done some rather questionable things in the name of history.”

“Of course, guardianship of the sword is their main goal, but that’s because they don’t trust its power to those who may not understand it, or be aware of the power it contains. History and legend has painted Mordred as an evil villain in search of power, but the other side to that story sheds an entirely different light – as a man who was frustrated with a king whose focus was on within the boundaries of his kingdom, but far beyond them, whose campaigns abroad were having terrible consequences for his own people. The expense, both in wealth and lives, were taking its toll on the people, but as long as Arthur possessed the sword that had made him a king, there would be no challenging his authority or questioning of his decisions, even if his people were suffering. There are some who view Mordred’s actions not as that of a usurper or traitor, as you put it, but as a revolutionary who was trying to do what was right for the people in the kingdom,” Vincent said. “But you can see how that version of history would be upsetting to so many, because Arthur is a hero and no one wishes to see the darker side of our heroes.”

“Is this your way of telling me that the Medrauts are actually not that bad, and that I should reconsider my suspicion of them in this matter?” Ginny asked shrewdly.

“Just that you may have judged them unfairly, due to the nature of the accounts that you’ve been given from some such as Ruggiero Ballan. As I said, he has a biased view of the whole ordeal, and that is certainly colouring your judgement, my dear,” Vincent said, his eyes grave even as he smiled.

“Your opinion is not at all biased though, of course, Vincent? Given that the Medrautian Order is connected to the Malfoy family, and that in fact, your nephew is considered a direct blood descendent of the originator of the Order. Darien told me all about it,” Ginny said, with a cold smile. Vincent sighed heavily, and looked away. A long tense silence passed between them before he turned back to her.

“Darien’s judgement has been rather clouded lately, and I know that he has been plagued by guilt for not telling you about Draco’s connection when you first began your quest. But remember what I said about biased sources, Virginia,” he said with a pointed look. Ginny frowned, not quite sure what Vincent meant by that statement.

“Why is it that no one in this family is capable of giving a direct answer or even saying something that isn’t vague and confusing?” she snapped, standing up, starting to pace around the room.

“Why are you so consumed by the desire for answers to every riddle? Aren’t some questions better left unanswered?” Vincent asked darkly. Ginny glared at him.

“Not when they concern my life. I was happy and in love with a man who I was planning to spend the rest of my life, and any chance of that ever happening has now been completely destroyed, and all I have left now are questions. It’s not just a desire to have answers, but it’s a need. I need to know before I can move on and at least try to be happy again,” she cried, the emotions she had been trying to control for fear of breaking down again breaking through her control.

“My dear, we are all sorry about what happened with Draco,” Vincent said uneasily, clearly unsure how to deal with an emotional Ginny – she was usually so calm and collected around him.

“Sorry? I’m not sorry about what happened. I am absolutely livid about it all. That arrogant little bastard, what did he think he was doing? I’m so angry with him, with this whole situation, and if I ever see him again, I swear I’ll kill him!” Ginny declared in a shrill voice, her eyes blazing with the fiery rage that had been slowly burning within her for so long. A sudden jolt seemed to run through her body, a strange feeling of energy settling in her hands, making them feel strange. She looked up at Vincent, confusion evident in her eyes, wondering if he’d noticed the fact that the room seemed to be crackling with unused power and that a strange atmosphere had fallen over the otherwise bright and comfortable room. “Did you feel that?”

“I have something for you. Before I give them to you, I should warn you that it may raise more questions for you, or bring you the type of answers that you don’t want,” Vincent said suddenly, ignoring her question. Ginny did, however, detect a faintly concealed note of foreboding in his eyes, as if this was something he’d been expecting and had feared would happen.

“But what was that?” she demanded, looking down at her hands again. She clenched them into fists, but even this didn’t dissipate the strange feeling that were running through them. It was like the muscles in her hands were straining to do something, to move of their own will, as if they were energized by some other force that was compelling her hands to strain against her own movements.

“You just reactivated an ancient and powerful curse, which previously did not affect you in the way it is now. You are going to feel compelled to carry out certain actions against your will, and unless it is broken, it will only get worse,” Vincent said grimly.

“What?” Ginny snapped, irritably. “What do you mean by ‘reactivated’? How long has this been affecting me? And how long have you known about this?”

“It will take some time to explain, and with your sceptical nature, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Right now, time is incredibly important, I had hoped that the curse wasn’t as strong as it appears to have become. Instead of explaining things to you personally, I offer you another method,” he said, walking over to his desk drawer. Taking out a number of vials that were filled with a strange silvery substance, he set them down in front of her, and walked towards a portrait that was hanging on the wall. Tapping it once with his hand and muttering some incantation that Ginny couldn’t hear, the portrait then swung open, revealing a hidden alcove. He picked something that appeared heavy, and brought it over to her as well. Ginny had reached out and picked up one of the vials, examining its contents when she looked up and realized what the object in front of her was.

“That’s a Pensieve,” she exclaimed, then looked down at the vial in her hand, feeling slightly put-off as she realized what it might be. “And these are…someone’s thoughts?”

“Since your memories seem to be lacking, I thought it might help you to have access to someone else’s, but someone who could also answer your questions in a expedient manner,” Vincent explained. “These are memories that pertain to some of your questions. But they might not answer them all and leave you understanding less than you do now. It’s your choice whether or not you want to take that risk.”

“But whose memories are they?” she asked quietly, watching as the silvery threads swirled around in their small vials.

“I think you know the answer to that question. Just remember what I said about biases,” Vincent said, with a hint of warning, before he exited the room.

Ginny stared at the Pensieve, still holding one of the vials in her hands. It felt warm to her, and it was a comforting feeling. She took a deep breath, remembering her vow to herself that she would stop crying about the direction that her life had taken, that she would stop hiding from things that she didn’t want to face and that she was going to start fighting back. Open the vial, she carefully poured it into the bowl of the Pensieve, and without any further consideration as to what she might see or how painful it might be for her, she plunged her face in, the desire for answers greater than anything else she could feel at that moment.


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More to come soon!

Please note: any references to Arthurian legend is only kinda factual. I did a lot of research, but then tossed it to the wind in order to fit the needs of the story as I imagined it. So take everything with a giant truckload of salt.