“Weasley, Ginevra.”

Draco lifted his chin defiantly as Professor McGonagall called her name. He had noticed her right away, of course. With her frayed, too-short robes and her flaming red hair she stood out immediately. He had also noticed that Potter and Weasley were conspicuously missing. Maybe they had finally gotten expelled. Unfortunately, Granger was sitting there as bushy-haired as always.

But Draco remembered the youngest Weasley from his visit to Flourish and Blott’s with his father.

“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” she had yelled when Draco had pointed out Potter’s unquenchable thirst for attention. Of course he wanted it. And he doesn’t need a little puppy like you following him around, either.

The littlest Weasel perched herself on top of the stool and set the hat gingerly on her head. Before half of her head disappeared into the hat, Draco noticed how bright her brown eyes were. Like the soft milk chocolate that his mother would only allow him when he was sick.

As if he needed another reason to despise the Weasleys, but he had always hated red hair. No matter how focused he was and no matter what he was doing, it always caught his eye. Distracting, that’s what it was.

The hat barely had to touch her distractingly red head before it yelled out, “Gryffindor!” The hall broke into polite applause, and Draco didn’t bother to hide his look of disgust.

They’re all the same. I don’t understand why the all need individual names. All Weasleys play Quidditch, are rubbish at school, get sorted into Gryffindor, and have ugly, distracting red hair. They should all just go by “Weasley.” Draco felt his lips curl into a sneer as he considered the thought.

Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore suddenly excused themselves from the high table. Draco had also noticed that Snape was absent, and he had an inkling that it had something to do with Potter and Weasley. It always does.

As he picked at the beef that he had served himself, he looked up to see the little Weasel talking with Granger. Weaselette, he decided. The named suited her. He couldn’t go on calling her the little Weasel.

Draco sighed as he turned the page of his Potions book. The reading was tedious, and he couldn’t shake the desire to go flying in the harsh cold. Hot weather made him feel sluggish and lazy, but he always felt alert and competent in the cold. It was his element.

As he returned to his book, a flash of red caught his eye. He looked up to see Weaselette sitting on the floor with her back against a bookshelf. Her knees were brought up to her stomach and her head was brought down as close as possible to her book. She looked like she wanted to be as small as possible.

She sniffed loudly, and Draco could tell that she had been crying. He smirked cruelly and called out, “Hey! Keep it down, Weaselette.”

She looked up from her book. Those brown eyes that had been so light and bright at the start of term were completely different. They were murky and lifeless. Her freckles stood out sharply against her sickly, pale skin, and her eyes had large bags beneath them.

If Draco had been a person who could feel something like remorse, he might have been sorry. But he wasn’t and he didn’t. He noticed that she was clutching a small, ragged-looking black book that looked vaguely familiar, although he couldn’t quite place it.

She made a scared noise, like a whimper, and rushed out of the library. Draco sneered after her and returned to his book. Who said he needed to go outside to be cold?

Draco detested Valentine’s Day. What a pointless holiday. As he shoved his way through a thick crowd, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, he heard a loud ripping noise. The mass of students slowed and stopped moving all together, and Draco sighed impatiently.

“What going on here?” he asked impatiently to no one in particular.

That berk, Percy Weasley, came striding through the crowd and demanded, “What’s all this commotion?”

Draco noticed two things simultaneously. Potter was scrambling around the corridor floor, trying desperately to get away from one of those ugly, valentine-bearing dwarfs, and Ginny Weasley was watching him intently from where she was pressed against the wall.

“Right,” the dwarf said, balancing himself on Potter’s ankles. “Here is your singing valentine: “His eyes are as green and a fresh pickled toad, His hair is as dark as a blackboard. I wish he was mine, he’s really divine, The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”

In between his howling laughs, Draco stooped down and grabbed one of the books that had fallen out of Potter’s ripped bag. He turned it over in his hand and noticed immediately that it was a diary. He sneered and showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, who guffawed stupidly. Draco rolled his eyes and made to pocket it.

“Give that back,” Potter said threateningly.

“Wonder what Potter’s written in this,” Draco sniggered, holding up the diary. He was surprised to see that Ginny Weasley was looking at him with a look of utter terror on her face, and suddenly Draco remembered that the book was the one that she had had with her that day in the library. What’s Potter doing with Weaselette’s diary?

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” Percy Weasley said.

“When I’ve had a look,” Draco replied snidely, waving the diary at Potter.

The prefect began to say something, but Potter waved his wand and reclaimed the diary. Draco glared at him, suddenly more curious than ever about what was in the diary. To goad the situation further, he turned to Ginny and called out, “I don’t think Potter liked your valentine much!”

She covered her face with her hands and Draco saw a silent sob shake her body. He sneered at Potter, and made his way through the corridor.

“Do you want a Chocolate Frog, Draco?” Pansy simpered as the train jerked unpleasantly.

“No, I do not want a Chocolate Frog, Pansy,” Draco sneered. He hated the train rides, although he didn’t know why. He didn’t get motion sickness on a broom or when his father forced him to Side-Along-Apparate.

Suddenly, the train screeched to a halt, and all of the lights went off.

“Oi!” Blaise exclaimed over Pansy’s shriek. They sat in the darkness for several minutes, the silence only being broken by a sniff from Pansy or a grunt from Crabbe or Goyle.

The air swiftly turned cold, and Draco’s breath hitched as he felt overwhelmed with despair. He looked around wildly, understanding immediately what was going on.

“I’ll be right back,” he said in a breathy whisper to the others. He threw open the door and began walking quickly through the corridor. Quickly, before his father’s voice began yelling in his head.

He slid open the door to a random compartment as he began to feel the cold again.

“Hey, who’s there?” cried a voice.

Draco’s eyed widened as he realized that he had unwittingly slipped into the Weasley twins’ compartment.

“Malfoy?” one of them asked as the lights flickered on again.

Draco didn’t bother replying as he slipped back into the corridor again. The Dementor, wherever it had been, was nowhere near now. He ran a hand over his hair before he entered his own compartment.

“Where’d you go, mate?” Blaise asked.

“Bathroom,” Draco muttered tersely. `

The last ten minutes of the ride was uneventful and no one said a word throughout the carriage ride, but as Draco climbed out of the coach, he noticed Longbottom shivering and looking terrified.

“What’s wrong, Longbottom?” he taunted. “Did the ickle Dementors frighten you?”

“No,” he whimpered defensively. “Harry fainted and was muttering in his sleep and he said-”

“You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?” Draco asked as he spotted Potter hopping out of his own carriage. He couldn’t help but feel a little pleased that he had managed to get away from the Dementor before he entered the shaky state that he always did and that Potter had fainted when he had come in contact with one of the beings.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Weasley retorted.

“Did you faint as well, Weasley? Did the scary old Dementor frighten you, too, Weasley?” Draco sneered, raising his voice so that everyone gathered outside the castle could hear.

“Is there a problem?” a voice asked casually.

Draco turned to see a shabbily dressed man who was obviously a professor. “Oh, no – er – Professor,” he drew out the last word, letting his eyes sweep over the patches on the man’s robes. He smirked at Crabbe and Goyle, and turned to leave, but an unusually bright flash of something orange caught his eye. He turned to see a shaking and white Ginny Weasley walking up the steps to the castle. He sneered at her back, although she couldn’t see him, and it made him feel better. But no matter where he stared as he walked behind her up the steps, he was continually distracting by that flaming hair.

Draco put on his best grimace before he entered into the hospital wing, cradling his bandaged arm with his other.

“Sit there, Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey instructed as Draco entered through the double doors. Draco obediently took his seat on one of the beds.

“There, now, drink this,” he heard Madam Pomfrey say soothingly to someone a few beds down. Draco didn’t give into his curiosity to look, but he saw the flash of red out of his eye, and knew that it was the Weaselette. “Lie down,” Madam Pomfrey said to her once she had drained the contents of a goblet.

“Here, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, business-like again. “Your arm should certainly be fine by now, but drink this to numb whatever pain you claim to have.

Draco drank the terrible tasting stuff at his own leisurely pace, stealing glances every once in a while at the Weaselette. She was pale except for her nose, which was a bright red color, and steam was beginning to come out of her ears. Pepper-up Potion, Draco thought. She must have a cold. But he caught himself suddenly, chastising his curiosity. It’s not like you care. And Draco smirked to himself, because he didn’t.

Draco had never given much thought to Ginny Weasley. Sure, he’d been distracted a few times by her flaming red hair, but he had never considered her noteworthy. She had been Potter’s puppy dog, following him around and licking the mud off his shoes, and just watching her had made him sick. It had made him even angrier that Potter didn’t realize her adoration. Some days he couldn’t decide who to be more disgusted with; Potter for ignoring her or Weaselette for following him around even after he ignored her. So after a few years, he ceased to notice her existence. It got old.

But then, near the end of his fifth year, he couldn’t fail to notice that others were noticing. The skinny, freckled girl that huddled against bookshelves grew into something older and dangerous. She dated Corner and Thomas and caught the attention of even the Slytherins. He’d seen Blaise Zabini eyeing her one morning at breakfast, and it was then that he knew that it wouldn’t be long before Potter finally noticed.

He didn’t give her a thought all summer; he was too busy considering what was expected of him. He was too busy writing letters to Azkaban so that his father would stay sane. Ginny Weasley didn’t cross his mind until he saw her that day in Diagon Alley. She was wearing tight fitting Muggle jeans and an orange Chudley Cannons T-shirt that clashed horribly with her hair. He braced himself to brush past her with his usual indifference, expecting her to duck her head. But as he glanced up, his eyes met hers. They were that warm, melted chocolate brown, the same that they had been during her sorting. They bore into him, refusing to look away, until he turned his own eyes down. He loosened the collar of his shirt, hating the summer and its unbearable heat. But oddly, it was a fairly mild summer day.

The school year started, and with it his mission. As the year bore on, he felt himself fading a bit. His eyes grew dull and his skin pale, and he noticed that his features were even sharper than usual. He lived for nothing, and he lived for everything.

And then suddenly, something at Hogwarts caught his interest. Potter was dating the Weaselette. He’d noticed those looks of longing that he shot her, the jealousy that burned green in his eyes when she held hands with her Mudblood boyfriend. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him, and yet, it hit him like a blow to the stomach. It was something that Potter had lost at, but then suddenly beaten him.

He didn’t want the Weaselette. She was a bad dresser and too jubilant for the troubled times of war, and she came from a family of disgraced wizards. But he had noticed her. He had taken notice of her from her very first day at Hogwarts, and Potter had brushed her off like the nothing that he saw her for. Like the nothing that she’d been. And now, after ignoring her for five years, she just took him. What had he done to deserve her? She deserved someone who had seen her for what she’d been from the beginning. Not him, but certainly not Potter. Someone else. Someone better.

But he couldn’t fail to see how happy Potter made her. Her creamy skin flushed joyfully when he greeted her, and her laugh bubbled louder than ever before. Draco caught himself noticing her more and more, and somehow coming to the conclusion that if Potter hurt her, he would have to pay. Sometimes he caught himself with those thoughts, and tried to banish them from his head. His moods turned sour as he tried to forget about the life of Gryffindor heroes and princesses.

He paid attention to Pansy again, a girl who he had discarded long ago. He pushed her farther than she would have wanted to go, but he knew that she would do anything to please him. Her cropped black hair fell flat while she slept, and in his dreams it was red. Ginny Weasley had become dangerous to him. He didn’t want her, he knew that. He couldn’t understand why she invaded his mind so.

He tried not to give it thought as he spent his summer days locked up in Snape’s pathetic excuse for a house. But when Snape told him that it was his mother’s wish that he went back to Hogwarts, Draco knew that he’d have to face her again. And he suddenly understood what it was he wanted from her. He wanted to take her from Potter. He wanted Potter to feel the pain of finally losing something to Draco Malfoy. The pain of losing the most important thing.

That’s where their story began.

Ginny Weasley groaned as she lugged her trunk onto the train. She was all alone for the time being; it was supposed to be Ron’s seventh year, but he and Hermione and Harry weren’t going to be arriving at school for some time yet. They were off doing God knows what, leaving her behind as usual.

Her summer had been pretty uneventful. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had mysteriously disappeared the day after Bill and Fleur’s wedding. No one knew where they were except Lupin and McGonagall. Ginny, however, had seen them leave.

The sun had just started to rise and the air around the pond was hazy. Ginny had been sitting on the steeply slanted roof of the Burrow, just outside her bedroom window. She breathed in the fresh country air and reveled in the silence that she only got to enjoy at dawn.

Her silent peace had been shattered, however, when she caught sight of three figures making their way across the lawn. She hadn’t made a move to stop them; in fact, she had slouched closer to the rooftop to stay hidden. A part of her had known they’d be going and leaving her behind, and she hated them for it, but she had accepted it.

Ginny changed into her robes immediately and left her trunk at the front of the train. She was just going to spend the whole ride in the prefect’s compartment.

She arrived there before everyone else and began to read a Muggle book Hermione had lent her a long time ago. It was called Pride and Prejudice, and Ginny had thrown it onto some shelf after reading the first unbelievably dry page. But since Hermione had been gone, Ginny had started to read it. She had been lonely since the departure of her best friend, and nothing reminded her of Hermione more than a hard-to-read book.

As she flipped open the book and ran her fingers over the already worn spine, a line from the book jumped out at her.

I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.

Ginny snorted.

“That’s not very ladylike,” chided a voice as the door slid open.

Ginny looked up to see Draco Malfoy leering at her.

“Malfoy,” Ginny responded curtly.

“Oh, now, Weaselette. One would think that you weren’t too fond of me.” He placed a hand over his heart as if he were wounded then sneered.

Ginny rolled her eyes and returned to her book. He eyed the cover with a look of disgust on his face but said nothing. Slowly, other prefects trickled in, a few of them asking her how her summer had been. Ginny couldn’t help but notice that several were missing; she knew many students wouldn’t be returning this year.

Hannah Abbott clapped her hands once everyone had been settled. “Hello, everyone. Let’s get the rounds sorted out and see if there’s any new business, and then everyone can go.”

Ginny looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing beside her, looking slightly sullen at the situation. She had missed his shiny, silver Head Boy badge when he had first walked in. But then again, it made sense; Ron and Ernie MacMillan were gone. Malfoy was the next best thing. “Professor McGonagall wants to do some inter-house cooperation this year. She thinks that a girl and a boy from each house should take rounds together. Does anyone have any preferences?”

The compartment immediately burst into people claiming to have practice and meetings and only being able to do it on certain days. Ginny sighed and returned to her book, she honestly didn’t care. Quidditch practice hadn’t been scheduled yet, and she honestly didn’t even know if she’d be playing this year.

Students began to filter out again once they got their assignments. When Ginny sensed the room getting quiet, she looked up from her book and was startled to see that only Hannah, Malfoy, a Ravenclaw fifth year, and herself were left in the compartment.

“Ginny?” Hannah said kindly. “Does Tuesday evenings work for you?”

Ginny nodded absently, coming out of her daze. “Yeah, sure. Tuesdays are good.”

“Good. You’ll have rounds with Draco, then,” Hannah replied with a nod.

Ginny felt her mouth drop open as Hannah turned to address the Ravenclaw boy. Malfoy? I have rounds with Malfoy. Surely this is some sort of sick joke. He almost killed my brother! He’s a Death Eater.

“I really appreciate this, Ginny,” Hannah said quietly to her as Malfoy started to gather his things in the corner. The Ravenclaw boy had since left. “No one else wanted to pair with him,” she added in a whisper. “But anyway, it’s almost one, and the Aurors are supposed to do a sweep of the train. No one can leave the compartment for now.”

Ginny groaned inwardly at the thought of spending at least another hour in the presence of Hannah and Malfoy. Malfoy didn’t look too pleased either. They all sat in strained silence for nearly twenty minutes as the train continued on through the country.

Suddenly the lights above them began to flicker rapidly, and Hannah looked around in alarm. “I’m going to go ask the conductor what’s going on. Since I’m Head Girl and everything,” she said shakily.

Both Ginny and Malfoy shrugged. The lights continued to flicker until they abruptly cut out a few minutes later.

The train jerked unpleasantly, and Ginny’s book flew out of her hands and under Malfoy’s seat across from her.

“What was that?” Malfoy asked sharply.

“Just my book, ferret. Go back to poisoning some mead or whatever it was you were doing,” Ginny muttered as she knelt on the floor to find her book.

Malfoy grunted at her mutterings.

Ginny felt around blindly beneath the seat, well aware that her head was mere inches from Malfoy’s leg and that he could curse her or hit her at any given moment. Her hand finally slapped against the book and she pulled it out from under the seat.

Unfortunately, as she stood, the train gave another jerk and Ginny toppled right into Malfoy’s lap. For a split second, before she could remove herself, she felt his breath hot against her ear and his chest rising and falling beneath her own. She jumped back, frightened, and fell back into her own seat.

Malfoy cleared his throat nervously, and Ginny stared at his outline in the darkness. Malfoy, nervous? What had gotten into him? Ginny drew her knees to her chest and opened her book again, even though it was too dark to read.

Draco placed his fingers on his temples to calm himself and slow his breathing. What’s wrong with me?

But he already knew what was wrong with him. Ginny Weasley had sat across from him for over two hours, reading her bloody Muggle book. He hadn’t minded at all, occasionally stealing glances of her and that long red hair that did something unusual to him. Something unusual flickered inside of him. Something he couldn’t place or remember.

But then she had gotten off her seat to search for her fallen book, only inches away from his legs and, more importantly, things farther north. And she had called him something; Ferret, it had sounded like. She had been teasing him. In more ways than one.

But then she had stood up and fallen right into his lap. Her red hair had fanned across his chest, tickling his lower neck. Her chocolate eyes had widened, terrified, but she hadn’t pulled away immediately. Her small hands had stayed pinned behind his neck and he felt her weight above him.

And now she was sitting across from him, her nose in her book, as if it never happened.

Draco had always thought that the Slytherin common room presented the feel of the house adequately. The hard, cold floors and the stiff, black chairs didn’t give off any feeling of comfort. He found it ironic that the intricately carved fireplace gave off no warmth whatsoever.

He watched his breath curl in front of him as he made his way across the common room to the dormitories. A few students were scattered throughout the room, catching up over their summers and already trying to outdo each other.

His dormitory was the same as it had always been: the green hangings around his bed, the pale silk sheets that had been made and monogrammed especially for him, the dark wood of his bed and his desk that had carved snakes in them.

He removed his robes and slid under the impeccably smooth sheets. He was grateful that his mother had thought in his first year to send a thick, green, cashmere blanket. The warming coals that the house elves placed under the sheets often didn’t last the whole night in the dungeons.

He shut his eyes at the thought of his mother. He knew she was lying, frail and sickly white, in a bed at the Order of the Phoenix. She had begged Snape to send her and Draco there after the incident at the end of the previous term. Draco hated all of his options, but the two best seemed to be spending the summer in the rat hole that was Snape’s house, or spending it under a roof with blood traitors and half breeds. He and his mother had shared adjacent rooms and Draco only saw the one purple-haired witch who brought them their food daily. Draco had recognized her vaguely as a disowned cousin.

He didn’t know what Snape was playing at. Snape hadn’t rejoined this Order of the Phoenix, but Draco knew that he would be in tremendous trouble for allowing he and his mother to escape there.

He had had to speak with Professor McGonagall, who hadn’t seemed as willing to give second chances as Dumbledore before he died. Draco wanted out of the war. He didn’t want to fight alongside Harry Potter and die a hero, but he didn’t want to be a coward and join the Dark Lord like his father. Let Potter and Voldemort fight it out; he just wanted to be a wealthy wizard with no strings attached. He belonged to no one.

Professor McGonagall had given him the stern look that she had worn since he was eleven and said that she understood. He would return to Hogwarts, she added, and remain a good example for the other students. She had mentioned something about being Head Boy too, but Draco had thought she was joking.

Now he realized that she hadn’t been joking. Him, Head Boy? What a load of rubbish. Draco groaned loudly and rolled over. It was going to be a very long year.

Ginny took care to make herself look horrible for Tuesday night. The first two days of lessons had been almost unbearable; NEWT level seemed to be even harder during the war because professors were overly concerned about “preparing them.” Her eyes were already tired and had large, purple bags beneath them. Her customary summer freckles stood out sharply against her pale skin. She was getting skinnier, she knew, because her Muggle jeans slid lower down her hips than usual. She didn’t have to do much to prepare herself for an hour with Malfoy.

She mussed her hair up and removed all traces of makeup that might have been lingering from earlier in the day. She gave her reflection a small smile; she looked awful, alright.

She hadn’t given her rounds with Malfoy a thought since the train ride, and she would have forgotten if Colin Creevey hadn’t asked her when she had rounds that day at lunch. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

The first few days of the term hadn’t been very eventful. It seemed odd, almost wrong, that McGonagall gave the speech at the feast, announcing that there would be no Quidditch this year and that Care of Magical Creatures would be held in the dungeons. Ginny wasn’t sure what she was going to do with herself without Quidditch, but she would ask McGonagall if she could go flying occasionally to clear her mind. Not that she expected a yes.

She glanced down at the slip of parchment that Hannah had given her at dinner. Meet Draco Malfoy in the Entrance Hall at eight PM and you will complete your rounds from there.

It was quarter to eight. Ginny sighed and slipped the note into the pocket of her jeans. It was going to be a very long year.

Draco clenched his fists, forcing himself not to tap his foot impatiently. It was five after eight. Where is she?

Draco was always early. His father had always been early, to keep up appearances, of course. He had arrived in the Entrance Hall at ten before eight, and here Ginny Weasley was already five minutes late.

He looked up suddenly to see her descending the stairs. Her bright hair tumbled in waves down past her shoulders and Draco felt his fingernails dig deeper into his palms. When she had reached the bottom step, he sneered. “You’re late.”

“I apologize,” she said coolly.

Draco was taken aback. He had expected her to retort angrily as her brother might have. “Can we go now?”

She nodded curtly. He took in her pale, tired face and messy red hair. Her lips were chapped and pink and rough looking and he forced himself to look away. He caught the scent of some cross between flowers and cinnamon. It reminded him immediately of the incident on the train.

They walked in silence for some time, checking broom cupboards and empty classrooms. Draco was determined not to break the silence first. Ginny, apparently, couldn’t handle it, because after walking by the Charms classroom she blurted, “Why are you back?”

Draco glared at her for a moment, startled by her shamelessness. “I spent the summer at your headquarters, did you know that?”

Ginny stared at him. “No.”

“Well, I did. I told McGonagall that I didn’t want to be a part of either side. She let me back in. That’s why I’m back.”

“You almost killed my brother,” she said angrily, staring at him with hard eyes.

“Yes, I did. I won’t apologize for it, because no harm came of it. I would have been sorry if he died. I’m no killer.” Draco felt his eyes widen. He hadn’t meant to say that last part.

“Is that why you didn’t kill Dumbledore?” she asked, eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and dislike.

“Yes. No. I don’t want to talk about it,” he said angrily.

“Well then what do you want to talk about, Ferret, because I can’t stand the silence?” she said, scuffing her trainer on the floor.

“Why do you call me that?” Draco asked, remembering her comment from the train.

“What, Ferret? Don’t you remember in your fourth year when-”

“Yes, I remember,” Draco snapped. It was hard to forget the painful and humiliating experience. Never again would he stand to watch Potter laughing at him until tears came out of his damn green eyes.

Ginny gave him a mischievous grin. “Why do you call me the Weaselette?”

Draco stared at her again. She was always so open and unfaltering. She took no care to hide her emotions, a trait that would no doubt be her downfall. He gave her a small, devious smile and leaned in very close. Her face was a mere six inches from his. “Because you’re much too pretty to be just another Weasel.”

She stopped walking, her eyes were wide and she was rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. He continued walking, leaving her standing behind him. Draco clenched his fists again at the sight of her teeth biting into her lower lip. But he grinned as he started up another flight of stairs. It was high time he shocked her into silence.

Ginny inhaled sharply through her nose, trying to grasp what had just happened. Had he just called her pretty? She breathed in again, remembering the scent of new leather and sweet smelling smoke that he seemed to give off. Her eyelids fluttered slightly as she hastened to catch up with him. Much as she hated the silence, she would make herself endure it.

Draco didn’t see Ginny for the few days after their rounds together. He couldn’t help but feel that she was avoiding him, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t understand the leap of something that he had gotten in his chest when Ginny had climbed the ladder to the Divination Tower to make sure no one was up there. Her jumper had lifted to expose a strip of smooth, pale, freckled skin. He had noticed that her jeans were too big and settled low on her hips, and then something new and frightening had flared up in him. A feeling so unfamiliar, he hadn’t even known what to call it.

So in the days that he did not see her, he prepared himself to squash the feeling that might return if he saw her again. He told himself that the only interest he had in Ginny was her connection to Potter, and he was only going to get closer to her to eliminate that connection.

The day before they had their rounds again, Draco caught a glimpse of her at breakfast. Her long hair was partially pulled away from her face, and she was laughing at something a girl beside her had said. Her face seemed to positively glow as she laughed, something that he had not seen since her fling with Potter.

“Mm,” a voice broke into his thoughts. Draco looked over to see Blaise Zabini staring at Ginny with a hungry glint in his eyes. “Would you look at Potter’s girl?”

“What about her?” Draco snapped.

“Calm down, mate,” Blaise answered with smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just saying that Potter has good taste in women. I mean, Chang wasn’t bad.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Draco refrained from making a disgusted noise. “There are more important things to think about than blood traitors like her,” he sneered.

“True,” Blaise replied with a shrug. “But I doubt Voldemort would murder me for using a blood traitor. That’s what he’s into, isn’t it?”

Draco bit down on his tongue so hard that he tasted a salty mixture of blood and bile in his mouth. “How would I know?” he snarled.

Blaise gave him a look that said quite plainly, You’re not fooling anyone. He shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know any better than you, Zabini,” Draco growled.

“Sure, mate. Whatever you say.”

“Just stay away from Ginny Weasley.”

“Why?” Blaise gave him a curious look.

“Because she’s mine,” Draco said with such a note of finality and emphasis that Blaise knew exactly what he meant.

Draco didn’t bother to stick around to give Blaise a chance to inquire about his interest in Ginny Weasley. He pushed away the remains of his dry toast and made his way to the door. Something orange flashed out of the corner of his eye and he knew immediately what it was. Ginny Weasley was heading for the door too.

She looked up from the sheet of parchment she had been reading as she walked and her eyes widened. Draco was torn between sneering at her and stepping back to let her walk first. His grey eyes locked on her brown ones, and he felt the Malfoy in him winning. He gave her a half-hearted sneer and went through the door. But something else in him must have won out too, because he held it open for her once he was through. She gave him a confused half smile and walked past him with her chin up. He couldn’t help but give a very small smile at the sight of her chin up in the air. Both her chin and her nose were filed to mischievous points and, he noted, similar to his own.

Ginny tried to quiet the confusion of thoughts that swirled around in her head as she climbed the staircase out of the Entrance Hall. She could feel Malfoy’s eyes on her back, and the lack of anger or tenseness that she felt perplexed her. What was his deal?

She didn’t know why she had smiled at him. She had been so surprised at his small, hidden gesture of kindness that she had reacted on impulse. There was something about him that seemed so…unsure. He didn’t seem to know who he was or who he wanted to be.

Ginny snorted and shook out her hair behind her. She knew who she was. She didn’t know what was up with Malfoy, but she wasn’t going to let herself get caught up in it.

A snowy owl flew by the window that she was walking past and Ginny felt her head spin slightly. The owl reminded her of Hedwig, which, of course, reminded her of Harry.

Am I waiting for him? She had promised herself not to wait for him. He said he was being noble, but Ginny knew the truth: he was a selfish coward who wouldn’t accept any help from anyone. Ginny felt her anger level rising at the very thought of him. How dare he leave her behind? She was just as much a part of this as he was.

She clenched her fists and she trudged up another flight of stairs. I will not wait for you, Harry Potter. You can be sure of that.

Draco was surprised to see Ginny waiting for him in the Entrance Hall the following night. She was almost ten minutes early. How odd.

He let his eyes sweep over her, if only for a moment. Her flaming hair was pulled into a messy braid with fallen, untidy wisps framing her face. Her jeans were still too big and hung on her small frame, but she wore a fitted, long sleeved shirt with worn elbows and “Chudley Cannons” emblazed on the front. He finished his circle at her eyes, which were a dark, smoldering brown.

“You’re early,” he commented, pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“I am,” she agreed. She crossed her arms across her chest and began to chew on her lower lip nervously. Draco squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and groaned inwardly. In fact, if he was honest with himself, it was more of a moan.

“Good, then,” he said tensely, clearing his throat. “We can finish earlier then.”

She nodded and they set off in the same silence as they had experienced the previous week. They completed their rounds in total silence, and as they turned the corner to just check the Astronomy Tower, Draco heard a cackling laugh.

“Peeves,” he growled, withdrawing his wand and looking around.

The poltergeist appeared suddenly, swooped down from his perch atop of one the suits of armor and snatched Draco’s wand from his hand. He blew a loud raspberry at the two of them and laughed. “Ickle prefects better run, they ruin all of Peevsie’s fun!” he sang, diving through the air and shoving the suit of armor over with one push. Draco turned to see Ginny gasp and try to back out of the way, but she tripped, landed on her back, and cried out in pain and the metal came down on her right leg.

Peeves gave one last hoot of laughter before zooming away with Draco’s wand. Draco shouted after him, but he knew it was no use. He turned back to Ginny, who was lying beneath the suit of armor. Her breath came in short gasps and her face was completely white.

He hesitated, unsure what to do. He didn’t have his wand, so he couldn’t mend it himself, and if he went for help, they might not get back to her in time. His stomach heaved at the sight of her blood flowing red all over the floor.

“I can’t heal it, I don’t have my wand,” he said helplessly to her, wringing his hands. He felt his eyes widen at the sight of her face wet with tears.

“Use…mine,” she choked out, clutching her leg.

“Don’t be thick, I could make things worse,” he snapped as he bent down to heave the armor off of her. She gasped loudly as the weight came off of her leg, which was bent to an unnatural angle.

Without giving it a further thought, Draco bent down and scooped her up in his arms. She made a noise of surprise in between her cries of pain. Draco didn’t dare look down at her as he trudged up a flight of stairs to the infirmary. She clung to him, shaking. He didn’t let himself think about the feel of her body pressed up against his, or how soft her hair felt resting against his cheek. He would reserve those thoughts for later. Right now, his only focus was her.

Draco paced his dormitory, caught up in a whirl of emotions. He had already smashed and repaired his mirror twice, and he yelled loudly as he opened his door only to slam it again. He picked up the decorative porcelain snake that sat onto of the mantle of the Head Boy’s room and tossed it from hand to hand. McGonagall had prepared the room for him just days ago. His hand clenched around the snake and he hurled it into the fireplace, effectively smashing it into a thousand pieces.

He threw himself onto the bed and began to silently fume as he had for the past two hours. You just carried Ginny Weasley to the hospital wing. How the hell did that happen? He burrowed deeper into his pillow, almost suffocating himself. When he had placed her on the nearest bed, panting from the effort of carrying her and being so close to her, she had looked up at him with smoky brown eyes that were glossed over with pain. She had given him a half smile and mouthed “thank you”, before sinking into unconsciousness.

You’re going to hurt her to hurt Potter. It’s what you want. She trusts you now. You're just acting according to plan. He rationalized yet again. But he had recognized that terrifying feeling rising up in his chest again as tears poured down her face. Whatever it was made his eyes burn and his breath catch in his throat, and this unexpected flow of emotions was the most un-Malfoy-like thing he had ever felt.

Ginny stirred slightly and opened her eyes with great effort. It took her a few seconds to recognize that she was in the hospital wing. She tried to sit up, but her head throbbed painfully and she fell back onto her pillow.

Madam Pomfrey bustled in suddenly. “Don’t try and sit up,” she warned sharply, summoning a cup from her office with a wave of her wand. “Drink this.” She held the cup to Ginny’s lips, which were so chapped that they burned as the cool liquid rushed past them. She coughed as the liquid stung her throat.

“You gave me quite a scare,” Madam Pomfrey said in a scolding tone.

“What happened?” Ginny asked hoarsely.

Madam Pomfrey tutted. “You had a little incident with the poltergeist. Draco Malfoy brought you here.”

“What?” Ginny coughed the word.

“Mr. Malfoy escorted you up here. Carried you, actually.” She hurried to the next bed after giving Ginny an unreadable look.

Ginny tried to grasp what Madam Pomfrey had just told her. Malfoy? He had carried her? No way in hell. Her mind flashed suddenly and she remembered someone’s strong arms around her. She remembered those steel grey eyes. There had been the lightest shade of blue around the iris, something that she had never noticed before. They had reminded her of spring, when everything thawed ever so slowly. She smiled slightly at the memory, her lip splitting open painfully.

Ginny shook her head, which caused it to swim. Malfoy? The-world’s-greatest-ass-second-only-to-Harry-Potter? What am I thinking? Those eyes are nothing but cold and hard. He carried me here because he had to, he’s Head Boy after all. What an idiot I am to think that…She let the thought trail off in her mind. What had she been thinking? That he fancied her? Certainly not. That he cared for her well-being? Doubtful.

Nothing’s changed, she reassured herself. Malfoys don’t change. And Weasleys certainly don’t fall for their stupid tricks.

Draco turned in circles, not sure where to go. All he could see was white; it was everywhere. He didn’t know which way was up or down. He tried to yell for help, but his voice caught in his throat at the sight of someone making their way to him through the mist. The figure was cloaked in black, and their face was hidden beneath a hood.

“Draco,” a voice called out. It was the most melodic, beautiful voice he had ever heard. He walked towards it slowly. The figure reached up and pulled down the hood. Flaming red hair fell out of it and tumbled down the girl’s back. Ginny Weasley smiled at him.

“Hello,” she said, touching his cheek with a soft hand. Her cloak fell away suddenly, although he wasn’t sure if she had removed it or he had. She wore only a green shirt, which he recognized as his own, underneath. Her milky legs were softly dusted with freckles, and her pink lips curled into a small, pouty smile. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and leaned forward…

Draco awoke with a start, his whole body dripping with cold sweat and his heart pounding erratically. What the hell was that?

He shook his head, trying to clear away the image of Ginny in a shirt that was hanging in his closet only a few feet away. He could almost feel that silky, red hair in his hands and he punched his pillow in anger. What was wrong with him? Ginny Weasley meant nothing to him. She was a stupid, little bint who followed Potter around like a dog on a leash. He wanted to use her, and that was all.

Yes, he smiled, that’s all.

Ginny picked the tasteless food on her plate. She couldn’t understand what was wrong with her. She didn’t sleep well, her food tasted like parchment, and she couldn’t concentrate in lessons.

She scanned the owls that were swooping around the Great Hall for some sign of Hedwig. She didn’t expect Hermione to write to her, but it didn’t stop her from hoping. She suspected that Harry had forbidden her brother and her best friend to make contact with her. What an ass.

“Ginny?” Julie said in her whiny voice that almost always phrased her statements as questions. “Someone…um…is staring at you?”

“What, Julie?” Ginny asked in a tired voice.

“Draco Malfoy? You know, the Slytherin? He’s staring at you?”

Ginny whirled abruptly in her seat, but Malfoy was staring at his food. A faint pink tinge had appeared along his collar, and Ginny didn’t doubt that he had been staring. “It’s ok, Julie. I’m sure it was nothing.”

Why would Malfoy be staring at her? Why would he care at all? No, wait, not care, just pay attention. Care isn’t in his vocabulary. And for this year, it isn’t in mine, either.

Draco felt Blaise’s eyes on him as he stared determinedly at his French toast. He knew that Blaise was dying to ask him if he had laid Ginny Weasley yet, but the tosser hadn’t plucked up the courage yet. It was no wonder he hadn’t been put in Gryffindor.

“Look who it is,” Blaise said suddenly, running his tongue over his lips disgustingly. Draco’s head snapped up, searching for a flash of red, but found none. It was startling, almost, to look around the Great Hall and not see red hair everywhere. There was a small first year with flyaway strawberry blond hair, but nothing like that flaming Weasley hair.

“Who?” Draco asked, still craning his neck to find Ginny.

Blaise smirked. “Just Natalya St. Claire. Not Ginny Weasley or anyone special.”

Draco clenched his fists beneath the table as Blaise’s eyes continued to follow the progress of the tall, curvy Hufflepuff as she crossed the hall. Blaise would be interested in morons like her. “Shut it.”

“Do you have her yet, mate? Because if you take too much longer, I might just snag her for myself. There’d be no comparison.”

“Absolutely, Zabini. I’m sure Weasleys just fall over themselves for people like you,” Draco sneered. “I hear she called you a poser last year.”

A flushed crept into Blaise’s cheeks, making his high cheekbones look even sharper than usual. “Who’s the poser?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Zabini, and I doubt that you do either, so I’ll just ignore your misplaced comment,” Draco said coolly.

Blaise glared at Draco but shut his mouth. When Draco had almost finished his breakfast, Ginny walked into the hall, carrying an overstuffed schoolbag and looking like hell. Her red hair was falling out of two shabby looking plaits, her tie hung loosely around her neck, her shirt was pulled out of her skirt and the bottom buttons weren’t done up, and her frayed skirt was short but hung low on her skinny hips. Draco felt something thud inside his chest. She certainly looked like hell, and part of him recognized it completely, but she looked wonderful in another sort of way. With her plaits and little skirt, she looked like an innocent schoolgirl, but her skirt was short and she looked as if she had thrown on her boyfriend’s collar shirt as she rolled out of bed, giving her a whole other sexy appearance.

Draco felt his head spin. Ginny Weasley was driving him mad.

Ginny knew she looked awful. She had woken up even later than usual and thrown on things haphazardly so that she didn’t have to miss breakfast. She could feel everyone in the hall staring at her as she made her way to the breakfast queue, and she could see the pitying looks of the Ravenclaw girls and hear the sneers of the Slytherins.

As she passed the table, she noticed that Draco Malfoy’s eyes were on her, and they looked anything but scathing. They were a little bit bluer than the last time she had seen them. The bright blue ring was still around the iris, but his whole eye looked a little less like steel and a little more like the sea before a storm. That turbulent gray-blue.

She held his gaze for a moment, tired of ducking her head and being afraid of him, and she was amazed at the tiny flicker of warmth that they held. There was a little bit of humanness that suggested fear and hope and longing. She felt her cheeks flush when he finally looked away.

She was scared when she suddenly identified that feeling that had been flitting in and out of her heart for a few weeks. That feeling of want. She wanted to help him. She wanted to be near to him and find out why he was the way he was, even if it meant getting a little bit hurt herself.

No, no, Ginny Weasley. There will be no more getting hurt. Enough boys have already taken your heart and smashed it to bits before your very eyes. No more.

She knew that didn’t change the fact that she had rounds with him that night, and it didn’t change the flitting feeling that now seemed comfortable staying in her heart.

Ginny must have been running late all day, because when she showed up for rounds she was still in her uniform. Her hair had been pulled out of its plaits, and it hung in messy waves down her back. Her cheeks were pink, and she was slightly out of breath.

“Hullo,” she said, panting slightly.

Draco nodded curtly. They began to make their way down a hallway, quiet as always. Draco felt his heart rate go up. He struggled to fight the feeling of want that was building up in his chest, constricting something painfully.

“Let’s check in here,” Ginny said, motioning towards an empty classroom.

She pushed open the door, which screeched loudly on rusty hinges, and they both entered an airy, spacious room. A row of desks were lined up along the back wall beneath a stretch up windows. It was very large, larger than any classroom Draco had ever had a lesson in. His eyes swept the room quickly. “There’s no one in here.”

Ginny nodded and she turned to open the door, but the doorknob clicked loudly and wouldn’t turn. Ginny jiggled it frantically. “It won’t open!” she cried.

“Move out of the way,” Draco said impatiently. He knew from the moment he grasped the knob that it wasn’t going to open. He sighed and kicked the door angrily. “We’re stuck.”

“Stuck?” Ginny squeaked, rocking nervously on the balls of her feet. Draco motioned with his wand at the door, but it remained the same. “Merlin,” she breathed tensely.

“What, Weasley?” Draco sneered, ignoring the sharp feeling in his chest. She thought him that horrible, not wanting to stay in a room with him? “Never been alone in a room with a bloke before? I don’t suppose Potter would have done anything less than chivalrous.”

Ginny glared at him. “Maybe I just don’t want to be here with you,” she snapped.

Draco felt that pang again, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Where is Potter, anyway, Weaselette? Weren’t you good enough? Weren’t you brave enough to go on his noble quest?”

“Shut up!” she said loudly, a mad look in her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? Didn’t Potter tell you he didn’t want you to come?”

“Malfoy, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what someone must have done to you to make you so cold, but there’s obviously something wrong with you.”

Draco was taken aback. His head spun, and his memory flashed to a day when he was very young.

“Draco, just what do you think you are doing?” Lucius asked, his face white with rage. Draco cowered at the sight of the man he only saw every few months, now standing before him in a fury.

Draco mumbled something, tears beginning to fall down his face. He hadn’t known that the scrolls in the library were important. One even looked like a treasure map.

“Don’t cry! What’s wrong with you?” Lucius snarled, bringing the back of his hand across Draco’s cheek. Narcissa screamed and made to rush to him, but Lucius stopped her. He healed Draco and swept out of the library with a swish of his cloak. “Keep him out of there!” he yelled before Disapparating with a pop.

“You know nothing!” Draco snarled.

“Of course I do! You don’t think I know what it’s like to be ignored?” she asked, hysteria creeping into her voice.

“Like Potter? Potter ignored you for five years before he noticed you! He treated you like a puppy, like an adoring fan! And you just took it and let him step all over you!” Draco yelled.

“Harry loved me!” Ginny screamed, taking a bold step closer to him until her body was only six inches from his. “Can you say that about anyone?” she asked, looking him squarely in the eye.

He grasped her arms tightly, glaring at her with his gray-blue eyes. He pulled her body flush against his own. He could feel the throbbing of her heartbeat.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said bravely, her eyes boring into his.

“You should be,” he answered in a gravelly voice. And then he kissed her.

Ginny almost gasped as he pressed his lips against her own. It was so soft and tender that she wondered if she was imagining it. She was surprised at its softness; somehow, if she thought about it, she would have imagined Draco as a rough kisser.

But then she realized that he was waiting for something. His lips were still brushing ever so softly against her own, and she recognized that she wasn’t moving at all. She tilted her head slightly, instinctively, and he seemed to take that as a sign of acceptance.

He intensified the kiss, molding his own lips to her own. Ginny tried to stifle a moan that was in the back of her throat, but he heard it and smiled against her lips. His thumb brushed just below her ear and she arched into him ever so slightly. His kisses confused her, sending jolts of fire throughout her body and making her tingle with anticipation. She rolled his bottom lip between her teeth gently, and he moaned against her mouth.

This is so wrong, I can’t be doing this. I have to be dreaming, he’s a Malfoy! A voice screamed persistently in her head. She was dizzy from his kisses and from the warning in her head, but as he slid his fingers into her hair, she heard the screaming voice fade softer and softer until she didn’t hear it at all.

Draco knew he wasn’t thinking straight. There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t be in an empty classroom kissing a Weasley. His father certainly wouldn’t approve, his mother would surely die of a heart attack, and the evil bastard of a wizard who was out to get him would probably murder him on the spot.

But at the moment, he really didn’t care. Everything that he had admired about Ginny Weasley was suddenly pressed up against him. Those rough pink lips that she was constantly biting were against his own, and her teeth were currently mistreating his bottom lip. Her red hair was laced through his fingers and every inch of her anatomy was molded against his chest.

Her kisses were fiery and passionate, like her eyes and her hair and her voice. His hands rested on her hips, but were slowly making their way up her sides. He walked her slowly backwards until they were pressed up against a stone wall, their bodies as close as possible. He broke away for a moment to loosen her tie until it hung limply down her chest. She was gasping for air, her chest heaving with each breath, when Draco captured her mouth with his own again. She tasted like cinnamon and chocolate, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Suddenly she gasped and shrunk back against the wall. Draco pulled away, staring at her with a confused look on his face. She looked terrified, and Draco suddenly realised just how close he had been pressed against her. She had probably felt everything. Shit.

“Weasley, I-,” he began. She was staring at him with such a level of confusion and hurt that he felt something that he recognized vaguely as guilt. “No,” he corrected, “Ginny. I didn’t mean to-”

“We can’t do this,” she whispered.

“What do you-” Draco started. “No, you’re right. We can’t.”

Ginny tilted her head, as if she hadn’t expected him to say that.

“I mean, I…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” she questioned slowly.

“No, I bloody well don’t!” Draco exclaimed in frustration. Why did she have to stop them? He would have preferred to just keep kissing her now and think about all this shit later. He had the urge to grab her and kiss her again.

“Do you want to kiss me?” she asked, looking small and innocent and perfect.

What the hell kind of question is that? He had just backed her into a wall kissing her! How could she think that he didn’t? “I don’t know,” he reiterated. “Yes.”

“You do?”

“I already said so, didn’t I?” he snapped.

She gave him a very small smile that looked almost sad. “What do you want from me?”

Draco wasn’t sure of what she was asking. He seriously doubted that she suspected his ploy to steal her from Potter, but hadn’t he just said that he wanted to snog her? “What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing this? Why do you want to kiss me?” She tilted her head again.

“I don’t know!” he exclaimed. His eyes were wide with frustration and anger.

She nodded, as if she understood completely, which confused Draco even further. “Your eyes are blue,” she said suddenly.

“What?” he asked, staring at her as if she were mad. “What did you say?”

“Your eyes are blue,” she said simply. “They used to be gray.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I used to think that you were playing a game with me. But your eyes, they looked…I don’t know, depressed for a long time. And then they started turning blue. And I think it’s because of me.”

“You do?” he snorted.

“Yes,” she said defiantly. She pushed herself off the wall and walked over to him. She studied his eyes for a few moments, and Draco noticed how smoky her own eyes were.

Draco found holding her gaze exhausting, and after a few seconds he leaned down and kissed her again. She tensed for a moment, but only a moment, before falling into him. He dragged his mouth away from hers and trailed kisses down her neck, getting a tiny thrill at the thought of leaving marks on her.

She’s mine. He thought with each kiss, spiting Harry Potter at every breath. Her head rolled back and she moaned loudly, sending a jolt of arousal through him. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and he found the slight pain enjoyable. He slid his hands up her untucked shirt, letting them rest high on her waist.

She pulled back suddenly, but Draco was surprised to see that she was smiling. “I have to go,” she said quietly, pointing at the time on the expensive watch fastened around his wrist. She pulled off her almost completely untied tie and handed it to him.

“What am I going to do with this?” he asked, his voice hoarse and rough. It was striped scarlet and gold, and it felt liquid and silky in his hands.

She raised her eyebrows, gave him a small smile, and strode across the room. Ginny removed her wand and slid it along the side of the door. It swung open slowly, and she turned to face him. “I have a spare. It’s something to remind you of me until…whenever,” she said in a quiet, suggestive voice. And she left without another word.

She hadn’t seen Draco since the weekend, when he had dismissed her from his room. She was going to convince him to save his mother, even if it meant helping Harry, but she wasn’t going to approach him about it until he had found some clarity.

The boy definitely needed some clarity. Whether he needed to adjust to the changes they had made together, or he needed to process Harry’s news about his mother, Ginny couldn’t be sure. But he had asked her to leave, and she had. If he wanted her back, she expected him to ask her back. It was as simple as that.

But if she were completely honestly with herself, it worried her that he hadn’t made any contact with her since their one-sided fight. Why hadn’t he come and found her? Was he really that angry with her? She had gone over these questions so many times that even her answers came out as questions.

She had been avoiding Harry since their conversation at the lake, if only because she hadn’t made any progress on Draco. Weren’t there more experienced, qualified people to do these sorts of things? When had she been dropped into the middle? Harry thought he had protected her from the war by leaving her behind, but it appeared that he had brought it right back to her.

Ginny had very little luck turning her doorknob into a mouse. Once, for an instant, it flashed to a mouse, but the creature had blond hair and emerald green eyes, and she was relieved when it instantly turned back into a doorknob.

“You may go,” Professor McGonagall dismissed them after summoning all their doorknobs back to her desk. “We will continue this lesson next Tuesday.”

Ginny began gathering her parchment and books to shove into her bag, when Professor McGonagall came to a stop beside her desk.

“Miss Weasley,” she said, staring down at Ginny through the square glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Hello, Professor,” Ginny replied weakly.

Professor McGonagall offered a very small smile to the younger witch. “Miss Weasley, I know how hard it must be for you with Mr. Potter back. But I would hope that you would continue to grant the necessary focus to your schoolwork.”

“Yes, Professor,” Ginny whispered, her head bowed toward her lap.

“Have a good afternoon.” Professor McGonagall patted her lightly on the shoulder and then returned to her desk.

Inhaling sharply through her nose, Ginny returned to stuffing her things in her bag. When she tried to lay her parchment flat on the bottom, something sharp pricked her hand.

“What the bloody…” she mumbled, reaching into her bag to pull the sharp object out.

Ginny’s eyes grew wide as she pulled a long, crimson rose from her bag. As she trailed a finger down one of the soft petals, she gave a very hesitant smile. The simplicity of its beauty calmed her.

It was then that she noticed the small note that was tightly furled around the bottom of the stem. She carefully pulled it free and unrolled it flat against her desk.

Please meet me outside the castle doors at seven. I promise you won’t be disappointed. Love, Draco

Her eyes widened at the word “love”, perfectly etched on the parchment in Draco’s elegant script.

In their fighting, it seemed that Ginny had forgotten about loving Draco, and just worried about holding on to him. She had forgotten the tiny word that had bound them so closely before. But here, Draco reminded her of what really mattered. The perfectly printed word reminded Ginny of why she was so troubled in the first place. She loved him.

“Oh, you’re dead, Weasley!” he yelled after her, and smiled when she laughed and took off running towards the lake. The scarf flew out behind her, along with her scarlet hair.

Draco stooped down to pack his own snowball and launched it into the dark. A soft thump was followed by a cry from Ginny. Another snowball came whizzing in his direction, narrowly missing his face. Draco took off running after her.

She looked back and screamed at the sight of him barreling through the snow. She took off again, but Draco was faster. Within seconds, he was running just behind her and threw himself forward to take her down with him.

They were both laughing and rolling around in the snow until Draco stopped and pinned her down. She looked perfect, lying in the snow beneath him. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, only to be kissed back just as fervently.

He ran his thumb across her jaw line, taking in her flyaway hair and cold, red nose. The smallest part of his heart clenched at the thought that maybe he couldn’t make this last forever. Maybe he would have to finally face what he’d been running from to save his mother, and in the process he’d have to leave Ginny behind.

But he pushed those thoughts aside as he took in her beautiful face and kiss-swollen lips, and within minutes they were rolling across the ground again, laughing and kissing and enjoying the snow.

Ginny sucked in a shaky breath, fighting the sob at the back of her throat. She had to make it back to her dormitory before she broke down. If anyone found her like this, especially Draco, it would mean the end of her façade, the spilling of her secret.

As if in a trance, she hurried up flights of stairs and around corners, the world seeming to blur through tears that refused to fall. Her breaths came faster and faster until they were only gasps, her chest heaving with pent-up sobs.

The common room was almost completely deserted, and no one paid her any mind as she flew up the staircase and into her dormitory. She lowered herself onto her bed, her lower lip wedged between her teeth to keep her from crying out. A single tear squeezed out and the dam was broken. She lay sobbing on her bed, unable to hold back either tears or memories any longer.

The grass was long and tickled her calves as she wound her way through the field, spinning under the gentle summer sun and letting her skirt fly up around her. The sky was such a breathtaking blue that she almost couldn’t bring herself to look at it, feeling undeserving in the face of such beauty.

Her long flaming hair had dried in waves after her swim in the lake, grazing her bare arms and soaking up the flawless rays of sun.

“I thought you might be out here,” a voice from behind her said.

She took another few twisting steps before looking back over her shoulder at him. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him in his swimming trunks, his shaggy hair still wet from his dive into the lake. He looked more alive than she had seen him all summer, his eyes those of a happy young man, content to laze about in the summer sun, rather than the tormented soul she knew him to be.

His strides were much more deliberate than hers, hurrying to catch up as she continued her meandering path through the flowers and soft blades of grass.

“They’re getting married tomorrow,” he remarked, falling into step beside her.

She nodded, gathering her hair up in her hands and letting it fall back down past her shoulders.

“Makes you think,” he continued, glancing sideways at her.

She gave him a small smile, letting him know that she wasn’t talking until he gave her a reason to.

There was a long silence, and she half expected him to tell her that he wished things were different, and that he was sorry, just as he had countless other times. But he instead reached down and plucked a sunflower from the ground, tucking it behind her ear in a simple, perfect gesture.

He reached for her hand, and in that moment, she lost herself, knowing she would give him whatever he wanted. His sun-dappled arms were wrapped around her; his fingers were in her hair, under her clothing, everywhere. It happened in a dizzying blur of touching and heat, but it somehow seemed to be more of a tragic goodbye than a new beginning.

As they lay in each other’s arms beneath the sinking sun, she felt entirely content to revel in the silence and wonder of their unbidden act. He leaned into her ear and whispered, “I love you,” shattering her starry-eyed marveling.

Time stopped, and she was shoved forward into something new and terrifying and completely unlike herself, forever unable to return to the way things were.

Draco left the once-flawless red rose, bloodstained and wilting, on the floor behind the statue of Mnemone Radford, not bothering to heal the angry welts on his fingers as he strode toward his room, unable to breathe.

His mind, incapable of forming real thoughts, was overwhelmed by flashes of scenes: Ginny playing in the snow, his dying mother enveloped by sheets as white as her own skin, the bubbling laughter of carefree girl, lying beneath a sweltering summer sun in the arms of the world’s hero. He could see her as perfectly as if he had been there, as if he knew exactly what had happened. Draco gasped as a sharp pain shot through his chest.

This must be what dying feels like.

The door to his room was suddenly looming above him, and he whispered the password in between gasps for air. He collapsed onto the bed, unable to see anything but the darkness of his own eyelids.

He grasped the silver chain from his bedside, holding the cool metal against his skin, thinking of his dying mother. In September, she had been painfully thin and pale, her once-beautiful blonde hair thin and fading and her sunken eyes colorless and clear. Draco couldn’t bear to think how she must look now. How was it that Ginny had found out about her? Had Potter told her?

Damn you. Will you really stop at nothing to achieve your goal? The bastard was willing to go as far as to get Ginny—perfect, untouchable Ginny—to convince Draco to go with him.

But the longer his mind dwelled on his mother, the thought that he might actually have to go with Potter to save her became more firmly lodged in his brain.

With this realization, he felt his mind begin to form complete thoughts again, only to travel in circles of questions without answers. How could he leave Ginny behind? What secrets was Ginny hiding from him? His stomach dropped nauseatingly at the thought that maybe she didn’t love him, that she had never loved him. Maybe she had been in on a scheme with Potter the whole time. Bile rose in the back of Draco’s throat. What if that was true?

The longer he laid there, his mind traveling dizzyingly fast, the more plausible these thoughts seemed to Draco, until he could sink no lower in his despair and let his nightmares overtake him in sleep.

Overnight, the air in the castle seemed to have dropped twenty degrees. Ginny’s head already pounded from an oncoming cold, and to keep warm she wore Draco’s jumper and a cloak over her school uniform. A frigid gust swept through the mob of students, and Ginny drew her cloak tighter as she struggled through the crowd.

Her thoughts wandered to Draco, who she hadn’t seen at all the day before. When she had finally managed to drag herself out of her room, she hadn’t been able to find him anywhere. She ran her fingers over his initials on the inside of her sleeve to steady herself.

The crowd of hungry students came to a standstill, and Ginny sighed in frustration. Sniffling, she backtracked through her peers to take the longer route.

The second floor of the castle was deserted and drafty so early in the morning, but Ginny’s recently developed abilities allowed her to sense that someone was nearby. She peered over her shoulder, looking for the ruffle of an Invisibility Cloak, but saw none. When she turned around again, Draco stood in front of her.

Ginny felt her shoulders relax and her face break into a grin that reflected the explosion of happiness that she felt upon merely the sight of Draco. She reached up to hug him but faltered at his rigid stance and steely gaze.

“Draco, what’s-”

“The matter?” he cut in sharply. She winced, recalling countless memories of her earlier years at Hogwarts, when that had been the only tone he used with her. “I’m not up for games, Ginny.”

“What are you talking about?” she blurted, trying to get a sentence in before he exploded. Involuntarily, she took a step back, but realized her mistake when his eyes flashed dangerously.

“You’ve been lying to me,” he spat, a look of disgust so etched on his face that it made her heart ache.

“I haven’t-”

“Don’t!” he whispered, his voice disturbingly low and calm. “I don’t have time to listen to your lies about who you love and trust. I don’t want to hear your lies about Potter.”

Ginny could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She was terrified of the cold anger that smoldered in his eyes and the ugly words that poured from his mouth. What was he talking about? If Harry had approached him again, she would kill him for Voldemort. And yet…there was something in his tone that suggested a different cause for anger.

“Draco, I love y-”

“Don’t!” he shouted this time, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to him. “Don’t you dare say it.” She looked up at his stormy eyes, trying to show him that he was wrong. But as she silently pleaded with him, she saw a tinge of gray spread into the blue, like watching the top of a lake freeze over. Her heart clenched at the sight of him withdrawing into himself, and she knew she would rather give him up to Harry than see him that cold again.

He shoved her from him, a mad look in those eerie eyes. Ginny stumbled, a sob escaping her throat. She saw his eyes widen but refocus instantly. She didn’t bother to hide her tears from him now. Raw desperation gripped her, and she gasped to steady her spinning head.

“I have never lied to you about who I loved. You knew Harry and I dated! You knew that! Why are you doing this?”

He glared at her. “You’re lying again, and I don’t have time for lies. My mother’s dying. But then, you already knew that.”

Ginny stopped breathing. How could he know? Harry wouldn’t have told him. He couldn’t have found out unless…unless he had heard them. Panic seized her. How this must look to him! She stared up at his darkening eyes, watching them freeze over. You did that to him.

“Draco, I didn’t-” she gasped.

“Didn’t think I’d find out about your little scheme? Well, you were wrong. But don’t worry; you’ve gotten what you wanted in the end. I’m leaving with Potter to save my mother, just like you planned. And you can be his princess in a tower. Forever.”

As he fixed a last cold look on her, her body shook violently. She tried to gasp out his name, but her lungs weren’t working, her mind wasn’t functioning. She crumbled to the floor, her cloak flying open. His eyes softened for a moment as they lingered on her jumper, before he turned on his heel and stormed down the corridor, leaving her to watch the only wizard that had ever really loved her disappear from her life forever.

“You brought him here?” the woman with long magenta hair shrieked.

Draco staggered to his feet as Potter did the same beside him, and Lupin pulled the shouting woman through a door – presumably, to calm her down. He told himself that his head was spinning from the Portkey, rather than the image of giant, tear-filled eyes that was flitting in and out of his brain.

“Where are we?” Draco muttered, straightening up and looking around. They were standing in a rather dark and dusty foyer. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and down the corridor, and things that looked nastily like house elf heads were mounted on the walls. He folded his arms against his chest, instinctively drawing into himself and as far away from the walls as possible.

“Number Twelve Grimmauld Place,” Potter replied mechanically.

“I’ve been here before,” Draco said slowly. “There were people everywhere...”

“I’m surprised you remember; I’m told you never left the room upstairs. It used to be Order headquarters,” Potter explained, motioning for him to follow through a different door than the one Lupin had disappeared through. Draco hesitated, but the thought of standing in the darkened foyer without any company was even less appealing than being led through the house by Potter. “But after Dumbledore died…” He trailed off, looking at the ground, and Draco was grateful that his tone was not accusatory.

“Anyway, the Burrow is headquarters now-”

“The what?” Draco sneered, old habits kicking in.

“It’s where the Weasleys live,” Harry replied quietly.

Draco sobered immediately, following through another darkened room into what appeared to be the kitchen. He inhaled sharply, not able to stop the visions of flaming red hair and milky, freckled skin from filling his head. He rubbed his forehead tiredly, squeezing his eyes shut. Breathing deeply, he opened his eyes again to find Potter watching him. Draco looked away, pulling a chair away from the scrubbed wooden table and throwing himself into it.

“So why didn’t we go there?” he asked into his hands. He felt as though if he didn’t keep talking she would overtake him completely.

Potter snorted. “You just saw how Tonks reacted to us bringing you here. Can you imagine how everyone in the Order would have reacted if we had taken you to headquarters?”

Draco nodded, taking the mug of steaming liquid that Potter slid to him from across the table. His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he was sure Potter could hear it. His unspoken question hung in the air above them.

“I haven’t mentioned anything to the Weasleys about Ginny,” Potter muttered into his hot chocolate.

Draco nodded, gulping down some of his own. His head spun at the smell of chocolate, her laugh filling his ears. He lowered his head into his hands, feigning exhaustion. She chose the bastard sitting across from you. Don’t be weak.

“Come on,” Potter said, standing up. “You should go see your mother.”

Draco felt his heart jump into his throat, the fiery witch he had left behind driven completely from his mind by the thought of the one dying upstairs.

As the last of his nightmares released him, Draco stirred slightly in his sleep, feeling a hand over his.

“Ginny?” he murmured, not bothering to open his eyes.

“What was that?” a familiar voice crooned. Draco’s eyes shot open.

Draco sat up, realizing that he had fallen asleep in a chair at her bedside. “Mother?” he whispered, squinting in the dark.

His mother was propped up in her bed, her long, colorless hair tumbling in tangles down into the white sheets. White, everything was white: the sheets, the pillows, her hair, her skin. Her small, cold hand was resting on top of his.

“Oh, Draco,” she sighed. “My son. Why are you here?”

She was so pale and thin that it pained Draco to look at her. He pulled his chair closer to her bed and gripped her hand with both of his own. “I’m here…to help the Order.”

Her nearly colorless eyes went in and out of focus, a small wrinkle appearing in the middle of her forehead, her thin lips pulled into a frown. “With what?” she breathed.

Her hand was shaking slightly in his. “They need to look at something in Father’s library…so that we can save you.”

She shook her head wordlessly, over and over again, until Draco put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “No,” she whispered. “No. You can’t do that. He would be fur-”

“I don’t give a damn what Father thinks about this,” Draco snapped. At the look on her face, he instantly regretted raising his voice. He squeezed her hand again, and added in a whisper, “He got us into this mess. And I’m going to get us out. Father would have wanted me to keep you safe…”

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, before her head slumped against the pillows and she was asleep again. Draco wiped a tear of his own from his cheek.

Shaking slightly, Draco rose from his chair. He would have to eat sooner or later, and, as Potter had put it, they were young men now. There would be no more pouting in his room.

He trudged down the creaking stairs and into the kitchen to find Potter and Lupin seated at the table, munching on toast and looking over the morning paper.

“There you are,” Lupin said wearily, looking up from his breakfast. His bloodshot eyes were darkened further by the heavy, purple bags beneath them.

Draco nodded, hesitantly pulling out a chair and sitting down. “I’m sorry if…my presence caused some sort of-”

Lupin waved him off. “Don’t worry about Tonks. She’s fine.” He passed Draco a plate of toast across the table.

Potter turned the page of his paper, not bothering to look up. “Did your mother wake up at all?”

Draco nodded again, biting into his toast. “When are we going to go-?”

“That’s going to be tricky business,” Lupin said. “Your Manor is being watched constantly by Death Eaters. Even though it’s under the Fidelius Charm, they still have one or two outside it. I assume you’ve been told its location?”

“I’m…I’m the Secret-Keeper,” Draco murmured.

There was a clatter as Potter promptly dropped his knife into the jar of marmalade, his mouth wide open.

“You – you’re the Secret-Keeper?” Lupin sputtered.

Draco nodded, his heart pounding. At the sight of their surprise, he wondered if he could really go through with it. Could he really betray his father’s trust, letting the bloody Order into his home and his Father’s library? But he thought of his mother, passed out upstairs in her bed, and clenched his fists under the table.

“Well, then…I suppose it will be much easier than we thought. The – the three of us can go,” Lupin said. “Sometime in the next few days.”

Draco nodded mutely. As he looked past Potter, he saw a photograph taped on the window behind the sink. The flash of red had caught his eye. Not bothering to hide what he was doing, Draco shoved the chair out behind him and strode across the kitchen.

Granger and Weasley were sitting on a dock, laughing and swinging their legs over the blue-green water below them. Ginny was wading along the edge, clad in nothing but a yellow bathing suit, kicking water up at her brother. Draco felt his breath catch as Ginny turned to the camera and blew a kiss. His head swam, and he inhaled sharply at the feel of tears prickling his eyes. Potter was swimming around in the water, laughing as he watched Ginny. She turned and laughed as he dunked under the water.

Turning away, his throat burning, Draco found Lupin immersed in his paper again. But Potter was watching him, his face unreadable but his eyes curious. Not bothering to make an excuse, Draco turned and fled the room, his head pounding and Ginny’s laughter ringing in his ears.

It was surreal, walking through his house with Potter and Lupin on his heels, the once gleaming surfaces of the Manor thickly coated in dust. His strides were deliberate but his mind dreamlike, as if he had fallen into one of his nightmares.

His chest constricted painfully as they passed a portrait of Narcissa with a blond baby in her lap. Draco inhaled the musty air hard through his nose.

After what seemed like hours, Draco turned down the final corridor, long and cold, just like he remembered it. They came to a halt in front of the blank stretch of grey wall, where his father had last sealed the library. Draco held out his hand and Lupin wordlessly handed him a dagger.

Trying not to think about it, Draco ran the silver blade along the length of his palm. His stomach lurched at the sight of the dark redness blooming from the cut and spreading web-like across his hand.

He pressed his hand firmly against the cool stone, waiting with bated breath. The wall slid back, and then to the side, and Lupin clapped a hand on his shoulder in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture, making Draco wince involuntarily.

Stepping into the room, Draco shuddered at the sight of the aging bookshelves and massive desk. He took a shaky breath. “Take it away,” he muttered weakly to the two men standing beside him.

He ran his wand over his hand, healing the wound effectively. Lupin was running his hand along the bookshelf, muttering titles under his breath, while Potter was unfurling the scrolls that were lying on top of Lucius’s desk.

Draco was tempted to collapse into the green armchair in the corner, but instinct kept him standing awkwardly by the door, his hands shoved into his pockets, as if he couldn’t kick the old habit of staying as far away from this room as possible.

An hour later, Lupin was still sorting through books, and for lack of having anything else to do, Draco had joined Potter as he read through scrolls. It was when Potter began to read an early detailed record of a meeting held by Voldemort over two decades ago that Lupin let out a strangled cry.

Draco whirled around to find the man writhing on the floor, one of the books he had been going through lying flat open at the top of his pile. Lupin was coughing and sputtering, unable to breathe.

“Remus!” Potter yelled, dropping the scroll and hurrying to his side. “Remus, what is it?”

Draco lunged forward and slammed the open book shut. He was unsure why he had the sudden impulse to do so, only that he was so completely convinced that it was necessary. As it snapped shut, Lupin gasped loudly, gulping for air. Potter helped him sit up, throwing Draco a grateful glance over his shoulder.

“What was that?” Potter demanded when Lupin had finally began inhaling normally.

“A book on possession and binding,” Lupin said, still breathing deeply from his position on the floor. “I had just reached a part about undoing binding when I couldn’t breathe. There were voices. I heard…awful things…” He broke off, shuddering.

Potter gave Draco a meaningful look. “Binding? But then…how do we open it again?”

“The enchantment might be broken, now that I’ve already suffered from it,” Lupin suggested.

Draco shook his head. “No. I think…I think I might have to offer it blood again.”

Potter looked at Lupin, who shrugged. “It’s worth a try, I suppose. We can always shut the book again if you can’t breathe.”

Draco nodded, pulling the dagger from his belt and slicing open his hand once more. He pressed his hand into the book, which trembled for a moment before falling still. Draco opened it gingerly, opening it to the page Lupin had been reading. His vision blurred and then only one phrase stood out against the yellowing parchment.

Such a bond can only be broken at the cost of the victim’s gift of magic.

Draco’s hands shook, and he dropped the book, backing away from it.

Potter reached forward and took it, reading aloud, “If the bond is broken without the consent of the caster, the victim will be stripped of their magical powers for eternity. Sorry?” Potter finished, looking up at Lupin. “What does that mean exactly?”

Draco cradled his head in his hands, trembling all over. He couldn’t bear to answer Potter’s question, couldn’t bear to acknowledge what this meant.

“She – she’ll lose her magic,” Lupin said. “And without her magic…She’ll live normally for a while. But her body and mind will begin to decay within a couple of years, and she’ll die eventually.”

“But – but won’t she die much sooner if we don’t lift the bond?” Potter asked. Draco couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stand to listen to Potter’s ignorance. He couldn’t accept his mother’s fate. After everything he’d done and everything he’d do to keep her safe, he would lose her in the long run anyway.

Ginny’s face swam into his vision, and Draco couldn’t help but think that he’d left her behind for nothing. If Potter had just stayed away, they could have been happy. And now, he was left with nothing. Not Ginny, not his mother – he was utterly alone.

Her long hair fell across the bed, bathed in the glow of the moonlight, which seemed to shine right through it, making her all the more transparent. Even with her hand pressed in between the two of his, she felt ethereal, as if one gust of wind would blow her away forever.

Her head was slumped against her pillow, her neck bent at an awkward angle in slumber. Draco ran a finger across her forehead and down her cheek to make sure she was still completely solid, only to find that she was damp with cold sweat.

Finally accepting that she wasn’t going to wake up tonight, Draco kissed her hand and left her room. He crept along the corridor quietly, not wanting to be confronted by Lupin about his decision on his mother’s fate before the morning came.

The door to the room he shared with Potter creaked slightly as he opened it, announcing his presence to his roommate with aggravating obviousness. Draco crawled into his bed before Potter could get a close enough look at his face to tell that he’d been crying, burying his face in his pillow.

“Did she wake up?” Potter asked softly.

Draco shook his head. He couldn’t understand why this was happening. His world was falling away, piece by piece, and he couldn’t seem to catch even one of them. She was going to die. She was going to die in a matter of years if they could manage to do this spell. And she would die sooner if they failed to complete it correctly.

She would wither and fade before his very eyes. He would be unable to help her or make her pain go away. After everything, Draco didn’t know if his soul could survive that.

Tears began to prick at his eyes again, his heart aching with every beat. He turned to look for something to distract him, anything at all. But his heart panged again as he caught sight of the pictures of redheads adorning the walls. Ginny.

And he couldn’t help himself. Her beautiful, lying face overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing more than to have her beside him, have her stroke his head and whisper in his ear. It made his head spin to think about it – that after everything she had done, after the lies she had told and the pain she had caused him, he still wanted her like the air he breathed.

For a moment, hot anger coursed through his veins as Potter watched him closely. He should just kill the bastard now. He needed her so much more than Potter did. Needed her so badly it hurt.

She invaded his mind again as the anger faded. Her voice, her laugh, her face surrounded him. What would she tell him? How would she try to fix this? He couldn’t help the thoughts. And all at once, an answer came to him.

You’re going to save her, Draco. She’ll be alive and well for years, able to be there with you, whole and beautiful. She will be so proud of you. I’m proud of you.

He felt as if his heart might burst. Her imaginary words filled his mind, making him wish for her more, hating what she’d done to him.

He pressed his face more firmly into the pillow, as if to suffocate himself. He could feel Potter watching him still. Potter was the man she loved. Not Draco, but Potter. The thought was raw and real in his head.

Just when he thought his heart and head would be claimed by his nightmares once more, Potter’s voice rang out in the darkness.

“She really loved you, you know.”

His heart banged to a stop in his chest. Slowly, not daring to believe what he’d just heard, Draco turned his head.

“What?” The word almost caught in his throat.

Potter was sitting at the edge of his bed, his eyes hard and blazing. “She only agreed to – to help me,” his voice cracked, “because she didn’t want you to lose your mother. She only agreed to help me because she…because she loved you.”

Potter’s eyes were wet too as he choked out the words, and amidst his own tangled feelings, Draco could vaguely appreciate how hard it must have been for him to let Ginny go.

But then the words sank in for real, and Draco felt his mind go blank, his heart beating at full speed again, his whole body going numb because he realized that Ginny had loved him, only him. And he, Draco Malfoy, had pushed her away, breaking her heart – and his own – in the process.

Draco awoke the next morning, not from his usual fog of nightmares, but with something swelling inside him. He awoke with his mind clear and perfectly focused, not able to recall the dreams that had plagued him as he slept, only that his mind had somehow reached a conclusion in its deep slumber.

He caught a glimpse of the pale green tint running along the horizon as he rushed past the window and pushed open his bedroom door. His footfalls were soft but quick against the floor as he rushed along the corridor, the end in sight. His fingers itched at the very sight of her dulled brass doorknob, and he reached out a hand to turn it.

He was not at all surprised to see her awake, propped up against her pillows, staring out her window with a bizarre serenity. She turned her head slowly, as if coming to meet him from many miles away. A wan smile tugged at her lips at the sight of him standing in the doorway.

Draco felt his mind flicker but did not make a move to stop her as she briefly swept through his thoughts. She nodded, looking down toward her hands, folded gracefully atop the sheets.

“You know, then,” she said softly. There was the slightest bit of color in her cheeks now, and a faint fire in her eyes that Draco had thought long gone.

He nodded, striding across the room but hesitating at the edge of her bed. She smiled sincerely this time, patting the bed beside her as if he were still four years old, running into her bedroom after his nightmares.

He smiled sheepishly and climbed onto the bed beside her, reaching for her hand. “You didn’t tell them you knew what was wrong.”

Narcissa shook her head. “No. No, I didn’t. I couldn’t break your heart that way, darling. There was nothing to be done.”

“But there is!” Draco exclaimed. “We can perform that spell. You can live-”

“-For another couple years, yes I know. Is that what you want?” she asked, looking at him with pity in her eyes. “To see me die slowly before your eyes? I couldn’t watch you suffer like that.”

Draco sat silently at her side, hearing the clear truth in her words and squeezing her hand tighter. His mind spun, trying to find a way around it, a hole in her words. But there was nothing to find.

“I am so, so proud of you,” she whispered, tears squeezing out of her eyes. “You made the right choice. You became your own man. And I couldn’t have asked for anything more in a son.”

A strangled sob escaped his throat, and she pulled him closer. Her words echoed in his mind, her voice mingling with Ginny’s as he cried. I’m proud of you.

She tilted his chin upward and forced him to meet her gaze. The fire in her eyes that he had discovered only moments before was slowly flickering out. She sucked in an audible breath, smiling widely through tears.

“Your eyes…” she breathed. “Such a shade of blue…” And he squeezed them shut, not able to stop the scene from playing in his mind.

“I used to think that you were playing a game with me. But your eyes, they looked…I don’t know, depressed for a long time. And then they started turning blue. And I think it’s because of me.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

His mother’s fingers slackened in his grasp. His eyes shot open again, searching hers, desperate to hold on. She smiled at him again.

“Be happy, Draco. For me. Can you promise me that?” she whispered, straining to keep her eyes open.

He nodded vigorously, swallowing tears. “Yes, Mother. I promise.” I promise to try, at least.

“Good,” she sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillows. Draco’s tears splattered against her hand as he held it tighter.

“Don’t,” he choked out, but he knew she was ready. She had said everything she needed to say.

She closed her eyes dreamily, her lips parting slightly. He leaned in instinctively to hear her. “Go to her,” she murmured. And her hand fell limp in his own.

Each step down the stairs was louder and more deliberate than the last, shaking ancient dust from the ceilings and chandeliers of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. His heartbeat was thudding along in time with his footsteps, preparing him for what he was about to attempt. He ran his fingers along the silky tie curled up in his pocket.

Because I have to, he reminded himself firmly. Because she wanted this.

Draco felt some of his determination shrink away as he stepped into the kitchen to see the Christmas wreath hanging above the window. In his resolve, he had forgotten that it was Christmas morning.

Potter looked up from the parchment in front of him on the table, his expression changing at the sight of Draco’s face. He stood up slowly, his eyes searching Draco’s as he took a step forward.

As if getting ready to plunge into water, Draco took a deep breath. “I want to go to the Burrow. I have to go see Ginny.”

Potter’s fierce green eyes burned into his own. There was a moment, as Draco forced himself to hold Potter’s steady gaze, that he thought Potter was going to hex him, or demand an explanation, or tell him that there was no way in hell was he going to let him go to the Burrow. But the moment passed, and his hard eyes softening, Potter turned around and grabbed a mug off the counter.

“Portus,” he whispered, and the mug glowed blue and trembled slightly in his hands. Potter swallowed and held out the Portkey for him to take.

Draco inhaled shakily and took the mug. He felt as though relief should be coursing through his body, but all he could feel was fear.

“What about your mother?” Potter blurted, shoving a hand through his untidy hair. “Are you coming back for her?”

Counting down the seconds silently, Draco shook his head. “She would have wanted this.”

As he was pulled out of Grimmauld Place and into the whirl of time, Draco caught the look on Potter’s face and could tell that he knew exactly what Draco had meant.

Ginny stayed curled up beside the frosted window as the rest of her family opened presents, staring at the delicately iced garden and the few stray birds flying aimlessly through the frigid air. She breathed in deeply, hugging her knees closer to her chest and pressing her forehead to the cold, damp glass.

Being at home had never felt so wrong to Ginny before. But then, everything’s wrong. All wrong. I messed everything up.

There were so many things she could have done differently, so many different ways she could have fixed things. And in the struggle to decide upon a solution, a fear of messing up again rose in Ginny, so great and terrible that it paralyzed her from deciding anything at all.

“Ginny, darling, there’s another one for you here,” Molly called out over the twins’ shouting. When her daughter didn’t move from her spot by the window, Molly sighed and scooped up the small box from her and Arthur and made her way across the wrapping-strewn floor.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for another strained conversation with her mother. She just…couldn’t bring herself to make an effort to keep her mum from worrying. She couldn’t find the energy to care.

“Ginny?” She turned her head slowly from the window, her eyes a dull and lifeless brown as she reached out her hand and took the gift.

“Thanks, Mum,” Ginny replied quietly, looking down at the box in her hands as if wondering how it had got there.

Ginny avoided her mother’s penetrating look and gazed back out upon the frozen world. It had seemed so beautiful to her once. But now all she saw was ice, cold and white against the once alive landscape. The thought of it made her heart ache.

There was a soft rustling of paper and Ginny looked past her mother to see a sheet of folded parchment fall from the air and flutter gracefully to the floor. Before it settled among the wrapping paper, Ginny caught a glimpse of the untidy scrawling. She unfolded her legs and walked across the room, stooping to pick it up, her mind blank even to her. She could feel the eyes of her entire family on her as she unfolded the sheet of parchment.

Ginny felt her eyes widen and refocus as she took in the single line of the letter, her heart pounding in her chest. A familiar swell of emotions was rising inside her, one that had last been caused by a pair of emerald eyes. The searing panic ripped her inside, smothered only by fear and a dull sort of ache she couldn’t place. She gulped for air as she read it again, her mind once more refusing to function.

She shrieked loudly, dropping the paper as if it had burned her, before turning to run up the stairs. Her family stared after her with their mouths open.

Ron rose from his seat and snatched the paper off the floor, reading it with a furrowed brow.

“What’s it say?” demanded Molly.

Ron turned the sheet over, looking more baffled than ever. “He’s on his way,” he read, handing the letter to George. “Signed from Harry.”

It might have just been the anxiety and impatience churning in his stomach that made the journey through the whirl of space much longer than usual, but Draco began to wonder if Potter had deliberately sent him somewhere else.

The dizzying seconds lengthened, and then suddenly Draco fell through the air and landed with a thud upon a hard, wooden floor, staring up at a flashing poster of the Weird Sisters.

He sat up, rubbing his head, taking in the small, bright room that he had fallen into. It looked completely untouched, as if the person living in it wanted to leave as little as possible behind.

He was rising from the floor, still gazing about the room, when the door behind him flew open and banged against the wall. He whirled to see her standing there, dressed in red pajama bottoms and a bright orange, slightly-worn Chudley Cannons shirt. He let his eyes roam over her flaming hair, piled haphazardly atop her head, and her brown eyes, darker than he had ever seen them, but shining intensely as she stood in the doorway staring at him. His mind failed him, wiped blissfully blank and content simply to drink her in.

She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her, waving her wand at the knob so it glowed, and turned to face him again with her arms folded across her chest. She knew. Potter warned her somehow. And suddenly it seemed much more plausible that Draco’s journey really had taken longer than it should have.

She sucked in her bottom lip, rolling it between her teeth as she had at the top of the Astronomy Tower, driving him mad. It seemed so long ago.

“Ginny,” he whispered, afraid the girl before him was as fleeting as his memories. He slipped his fingers into his pocket and ran them over the scarlet and gold strip of fabric.

Tears filled her eyes, as if she too hadn’t fully comprehended the reality of his presence. She made no move to stop them as they trickled down her cheeks.

“I-” His words failed him. There was nothing to say, nothing he could do.

His failing mind flashed suddenly and he couldn’t stop the scene from coming back to him, washing over the real Ginny standing before him.

“What are we doing?”

“If you have to ask, then we must be doing it wrong.”

She laughed lightly, "No, I mean, what is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I know what this is,” he whispered. “I know what I want from you.”

Recognition flared in her eyes.

“I can’t…I can’t go anywhere or do anything without thinking about you. You, this, whatever it is we had, whatever we’re doing, it’s perfect.”

Her tears were falling in earnest now, her arms folded tightly against her chest and her body shrinking back against the door.

“If I – if you hadn’t given me a chance, or put up with my shit, or–” he swallowed, “loved me–”

A sob broke free from her lips, but his voice had died in his throat at the word anyway. His fists were balled up against his thighs, clutching his trousers to keep from running towards her.

“I wouldn’t have – couldn’t have – gone with Potter, or helped the Order, or seen my mother. I would have only been loyal to myself, just caring about me, a selfish bastard, just like my father…” He broke off bitterly, staring down at the floor.

Her breathing was ragged, punctured with sobs, but she managed to choke out, “And now?”

His head snapped up, hope swelling in his chest faster than he could smother it. “And now?” he whispered. “Now I only haul my arse out of bed for one person. But I’m afraid I might have lost her.”

Her laugh was wracked with tears, but it sounded perfect ringing in his ears. “I love you, Ginny.”

The world outside the Burrow, dark and dangerous and frozen over, was ready and waiting for them. But as she flung herself from the door and leapt three feet for him to catch her, Draco pulled her close against his lips and found that he didn’t care. He held her as close to him as physically possible, tangling one hand in that fire and brushing her tears away with the other. It was cold out there, but he had her, his flaming beauty, to keep everything warm. And he was never letting go.