. . . . . .




Hogwarts, it seems, never changes. It's been standing since before the Normans invaded England, so you'd think that at some point in the last thousand years, something would affect it. I'd been sure that the war, at least, would have changed it somehow. After all, it was attacked repeatedly by Death Eaters, and was used as a training facility for Aurors.


It is actually just the opposite. When I arrive by carriage in front of the old castle, it looks exactly the same as it did when I attended school, and for a moment I revel in pretending that the past year has been a bad dream. I imagine that I'm pulling up to Hogwarts for another year of school, that my parents are still alive, that much of wizarding Britain is not in ruins from the fierce war.


The snorting of the thestral in front of my carriage, however, pulls me out of my reverie. The fact that I can see the strange animal is testament that the past year did in fact happen- when I was at school, I could never see them. Only those who have seen death can see thestrals. Of course, after the time I spent in the war, I see the dark horse as clear as day.


The memory of the deaths I saw in the war makes me shiver and pull my patched cloak tighter around myself. I don't think I like being back here. It's bringing back memories I've spent the last three months trying to repress, and I wonder, not for the first time, why I bothered responding to Dumbledore's letter. It's in my pocket, but I don't have to pull it out to remember what it says- I've read it often enough in the past two days:


To D.M. - Please come to my office at Hogwarts by noon on the fifteenth. There is something I would like to discuss with you. - A. Dumbledore


It's just like him to write a note like that, summoning me to his office as though I was a student at Hogwarts and could simply excuse myself from class to go see him. Unfortunately, I've been living in Clonmel, Ireland, for the last three months. To get to Hogwarts by the appointed time, I had to apparate to Dublin, fly a borrowed broomstick across the Irish Sea, apparate to Hogsmeade, and take a carriage into Hogwarts. It's taken all morning, and again I wonder why I even bothered coming.


I was happy in Ireland- or at least, I was away from England, and my neighbors left me alone, which is all the happiness I have the right to expect from life. But then the letter arrived, and some impulse drove me to agree to come. I don't know why, when I already know what he's going to say. It's exactly what he told me three months ago, after the end of the war: that it's time to come home, that the war is over and not to worry, because people will forgive me. I don't believe it any more now than I did then. No one in Britain right now will want anything to do with a Death Eater and a murderer.


Scowling angrily, I pull my duffel out of the carriage and walk inside the castle. Everything looks the same, feels the same, smells the same, and it brings on an unwelcome rush of memories of my childhood. I try to block them, but once the gates of memory have been opened, they refuse to shut again. I remember a childhood spent trying desperately to please my father; I remember finding comfort in a beloved mother who died near the beginning of the war. I remember an adolescence spent playing the bully, to shut others out of my life, and I remember the only person to ever see past that mask.


I quickly find the stairs and climb up to the next floor, eager to distract myself from my thoughts. Lingering in memories, I've learned, is dangerous- the memories of my father, long since killed by Remus Lupin; the memories of my mother, killed by a misfired spell during a battle at Malfoy Manor; the memories of the people I myself have killed. Wincing, I break into a run, eager to be done with Dumbledore and away from this place.


Dumbledore's office hasn't changed, but Dumbledore has. He looks even older, which I didn't think was possible. His eyes, however, hold the same sparkle I remember from school. When I enter, he smiles warmly at me and comes to shake my hand and lead me to a chair. I can see he hasn't escaped the war unscathed: one of his hands is covered in an angry purple scar, and another scar intersects one of his eyebrows. Although it wasn't me who gave him those scars, a wave of guilt washes over me.


He doesn't seem to notice. "Draco, my boy, it is good to see you," he says, seating himself behind his desk. "It's been quite some time."


"Three months," I reply. I haven't seen him, or indeed anyone who knows who I am, since Voldemort fell, defeated for good this time by the hand of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. From my hiding spot in the loft of an old barn, I watched the Dark Lord and his inner circle fight the Order and finally fall, taking Alastor Moody and Emmeline Vance with them. No one knew I was there watching except Voldemort, and I will never forget the look he shot toward me when he realized I'd betrayed him. If Harry had not managed to defeat Voldemort, he would have come after me and I would be dead, killed in some horrible way. Sometimes, I think I wouldn't have minded.


"Draco?" The headmaster is speaking again, and I realized I have been lost in my thoughts. "Sorry," I reply, looking down. I don't know when I got so subservient and well-behaved; it was probably after being hit with the Cruciatus for the tenth or eleventh time by my father, when he was trying to force me to join the Death Eaters- a method of persuasion that, to my eternal shame, worked all too well.


Dumbledore sighs, and I look back up at him. "Draco, you've been hiding too long. Do you not wish to return home and rejoin our world?" I sigh in return. "Albus-" we're on a first name basis now- "we've already been through this. I can't return. If I'm not arrested and killed by the Ministry, I'll be lynched by some rabid mob."


We really have been through this. I told him my plans to go to Ireland the night after the final battle, when I went to 12 Grimmauld Place at his summons. I had to creep in to avoid waking anyone; none of them knew I'd been helping the Order, and if anyone saw me, they wouldn't have hesitated to pull out their wands and kill me. Dumbledore, at the time, wanted to come out in public about what really happened- how I turned against the Death Eaters and began, secretly, to help the Order. I, however, didn't think it was such a good idea; I may have helped at the end of the war, but I spent six months before that as a full-fledged Death Eater, harassing and killing just like the rest. Nothing I did later can make up for that. I told Dumbledore this at the time--told him that I wanted to stay in hiding rather than face the people I fought against, whose friends and family I killed--and he agreed to keep my secret.


I can see in Dumbledore's eyes that he's thinking about the same discussion. "I know how you feel about the time you spent as a Death Eater," he tells me. "But surely you can see that your hand in the defeat of Voldemort will help people to forgive you. Think of Severus Snape. He was a Death Eater in the first war, and even when he worked for us as a spy he had to kill Muggles in order to keep his disguise. But when people found out the truth, the way he helped us, they welcomed him back with open arms."


I shake my head. It's not the same thing at all. Severus had friends in the wizarding world who supported him when he came back. I have no one. "Look, is there anything else you want to say? Because if not . . ."


Dumbledore has been examining my face closely, but at this he sits back and nods. "Yes," he says. He gets up to walk to the fireplace, where he throws some Floo powder in and says, "Minerva McGonagall." The old transfiguration teacher's face appears, and Dumbledore smiles. "Could you send our visitor in?" he asks, and she nods before disappearing.


Before I can ask what just happened, Dumbledore's back at his desk. "I have a plan," he says, "a plan to reintroduce you to society, to clear your name, and keep you from getting 'lynched,' as you say, in the process." I sigh, but to my own surprise I don't object- somewhere in the back of my mind, a part of me wants to hear his plan, to be convinced that it's somehow possible for me to return to England.


Dumbledore smiles and continues. "Tonight, there is a Ministry ball to celebrate the three month anniversary of the end of the war, and I want you seen there, escorting a member of the Order." I stare at him, confused. He continues. "Before you enter, I will tell people the truth of how you turned your back on the Death Eaters and spied for the Order. They will not believe it, but when they see you with one of our war heroes on your arm, they will be convinced."


"And exactly who are you going to be able to convince to go out with a known Death Eater?" I ask sarcastically, secretly afraid of what the answer might be.


He smiles, his eyes sparkling, then speaks the name I both long and dread to hear. "Ginevra Weasley."


My heart jumps into my throat, but I keep my face impassive, the result of a lifetime of training. My lack of reaction, however, seems to tip him off that something's up, and he raises an eyebrow at me. "Do you disapprove? I believe she will be a good choice. She's well-liked, was a prominent member of the Order of the Phoenix, and is the daughter of the Minister of Muggle Relations. And I believe she will do this for me, if I ask her." There's a knock at the door, and I freeze. "Ah," says Dumbledore, smiling. "There she is."


In an instant I'm out of my chair, casting my eyes about for somewhere to hide. What can Dumbledore be thinking? Does he know how I feel about her? From the twinkle in his eyes, I suspect that he does, and I have a sudden urge to throttle the man. It's my first day back in England since the war, and he has to pull a stunt like this. I don't know whether to kill him or thank him for bringing me in contact with her, the person I want to see both least and most in all of England.


To my relief, Dumbledore motions to the door at the back of the office, and I hurry quietly back to it and slip inside. I find myself in his living quarters, but don't even look around before I have my ear pressed against the door. I hear him open the door and greet his visitor warmly, then footsteps as he leads her into his office. Then I hear a voice, and I don't even have to peek through the crack in the door to know who it belongs to.


I'd know that voice anywhere, even after a year. One of the few things that sustained me over the war is the memory of those quiet tones telling me that I had once, for the briefest of moments, been worthwhile to her. I know that she's only a Weasley, and that she probably only said it to be polite, but it's still one of the few acts of true kindness I've ever experienced.


Chairs squeak against the floor, and I assume they've sat down. They begin chatting pleasantly about what's happening in their lives, and as her tones wash over me, I find myself slipping into memory.


The moment that most people my age mark as the real beginning of the war is the attack on Hogwarts last spring. That was the moment that the line was drawn and everyone had to pick sides, to show their true colors. Many people were watching me, wondering what I'd do, especially those few Slytherins who did not leave after the battle to join the Dark Lord's side. That night, in the nearly empty common room, they all watched me with veiled eyes, waiting to see what side I would choose. I simply sat and sneered at them, all the while feeling the world fall to pieces around me. One of my best friends was dead, and the other was a Death Eater. My father was going to kill me- literally- if I didn't join Voldemort, and everyone who could have protected me hated me. The whole world was going mad. Unable to bear the other students' watchful gazes, I left, fleeing up the Astronomy Tower where I could be alone to cry--I certainly couldn't be seen doing so in my common room, because Malfoys never cry. But then the door to the tower opened, and the most unlikely of people stepped in and fell to the floor, sobbing: Ginny Weasley.


Even now, a year later, I remember that meeting perfectly- the moonlight on her crying form, the feel of her hand on my shoulder, the girl who never mocked me during that sorrowful night. She was a Weasley and a Potter fan, but she listened to me pour out my sorrow, and she trusted me enough to bare her own soul to me. In that night when we talked in the Astronomy Tower, Ginny saw past my mask and my name. She didn't assume that I must be evil, the way everyone else has. She entrusted her emotions to me in a way that no one else I've ever known has done. And although she never said anything to this effect, I felt like she saw me as something more than everyone else did. Her perception of me was different, and it changed my perception of myself. She became the voice in my head, my barometer for what's right and wrong. This new concept of who I could and should be made me hate myself every moment I was a Death Eater; it is what drove me to turn against Voldemort in late December and help Dumbledore work for the Dark Lord's downfall.


At that point in my life, I'd been very lost and very alone for a long time, and that night I was reaching out for something to hold onto. Ginny was there, a kind, beautiful constant for me to cling to, and I fell in love with her that night, in a way- not a schoolboy's infatuation, but a connection to her on a deep level. And it is because I feel that way about her, and because I know how she saw me that night, that I don't want to see her now. I don't want to look in her eyes and see that moment of recognition when she remembers that I am the lowest of low, a Death Eater, a killer. This is why I am furious with Dumbledore for bringing us both here.


I suddenly hear Dumbledore's voice, very close to the door. "I need to ask you a favor, Ginny," he says. "Do you have a date to the ball tonight?" There's silence, in which I assume she either nods or shakes her head. "Well," he continues, "I wonder if you would do me a favor and take a friend of mine." "Who?" she asks. "Let me introduce you," he says, and before I can react the door to his quarters is thrown open and I'm left blinking against the bright light and staring at the girl who has haunted me for the last year.


She hasn't changed much. Her hair is shorter and straighter, and she's wearing Muggle clothes, but her face and her expressive eyes are the same. Those beautiful eyes widen on seeing me, and with incredibly quick reflexes she whips a wand out of her pocket and points it at me, her mouth moving into a curse. After that one reflexive movement, though, she seems to freeze, her fingers gripping the wand so hard her knuckles are white, her face slightly contorted as she tries to curse me. She doesn't, though, and from the look on her face she can't seem to go through with it. I wonder if she figures I'm no danger to her with Dumbledore there, of if she really can't bring herself to harm me. I decide I'd rather not know the answer to that question.


I'm hurt by her reaction more than I can say. I don't really know what I expected her to do, but I was not prepared for the horror on her face. It only makes sense that she would try to kill me, but it still hurts.


Dumbledore approaches and gently pushes her wand arm back down. "I know this is a strange request, Ginny, but I must ask you to consider it." She nods stiffly, her eyes never leaving my face. Dumbledore steps back and asks, "Have you ever wondered how we knew where Voldemort was going to be when we attacked that one last time?"


Her brows furrow, and he launches into an explanation of how I turned against the Death Eaters and acted as a spy during the war, and how my tip on where Voldemort's next meeting would be led to the battle in which the Order managed to surprise the Death Eaters and bring them down for good. Ginny's grip on her wand relaxes slightly, and she stops watching me like a hawk, looking instead at Dumbledore. He is explaining that he wants me to come back from hiding, and that he wants her to go to the Ministry ball with me so that people will, at the very least, not attack me when I step into the building. "People will know you could not have been taken in by him, so if they see you so close to him, they will believe that he truly has returned to our side."


Ginny's face has gone from terse and wary to confused and wary, and all I want to do is tell Dumbledore to forget it and to run away from that place and never look back. Before I can, though, Dumbledore stands and walks the office door. "I want you two to talk for a while," he says. "I'll be right outside if you need me, Ginny." Then he closes the door.


From the look on her face, Ginny is about ready to run straight out the door and away from me. I can't blame her- it's well known what kind of crimes I committed during the war. I guess she really trusts Dumbledore, though, because she forces herself to make conversation, although she's gripping the back of her chair so hard that her knuckles are turning white. "So, you've been in Ireland, then?" I nod stiffly.


"Did you like it? I went to Dublin once- it's a lovely city. That was ages ago, though."


"Stop," I force out, my first word to her today. She flinches a little at that single word, and I have to fight back an angry growl. I can't stand to listen to her talk. Despite her attempt at forced calm in her face and voice, it's obvious that she's terrified of me, and every nervous look and quiver of her voice is like a blow to my gut. I walk to the door, keeping near the walls so I don't get too close to Ginny, and pick up my duffel. "This is stupid," I say. "I'm leaving. Goodbye, Ginny."


It's something about that last statement- maybe the fact that I said her name- that snaps Ginny out of her fear. "Draco, wait!" she cries, and I pause, still facing the door. "Why is it stupid?" she asks, and I laugh bitterly. "This will never work, no matter what Dumbledore thinks. I mean, you have Dumbledore's promise I won't hurt you and you're still terrified of me. Imagine how everyone else will react."


I reach for the doorknob, but her voice stops me again, earnest and plaintive. "I'm sorry--Draco, will you turn around and look at me?" I do, slowly, to find she's gotten closer to me. I wince a little as I see her earnest gaze. There's a scar on her neck, one I know wasn't there before, and another wave of guilt washes over me as I realize she must have gotten it in the war.


"Draco," she says softly, "after all you did, you deserve to come back. Don't you want to live in England again?" I do, desperately, but I don't let her know that. She presses on. "I know people will be scared of you, but when they find out that you helped defeat Voldemort, that will change."


In one swift motion, I drop my duffel and shove my left sleeve up to my elbow. "Will this change, Ginny?" I demand, and she flinches a little at the sight of the Dark Mark on my arm. "This will never come off, Ginny, as long as I live. No matter what I do later, I can't change everything I did in the war when I was a Death Eater. This mark will never go away." I drop my arm to my side, suddenly very tired. "Things will never change," I say quietly.


Ginny looks very taken aback at my outburst. I'm sure she's going to go running to Dumbledore, but she stays, looking at the ground. Finally, timidly she asks, "Was it very bad?" I nod.


She looks up, then. "Why did you join?" "My father," I reply bitterly. "He can be . . . very persuasive. I have the scars to prove it." At this she looks shocked, then her face falls into an expression of concern. I press on, glad, in a way, to finally be talking about it. "He died a few months after I joined, but by then I couldn't leave. Once you're in, you're in."


She takes this in quietly, then asks, "Is that why you turned? You wanted to get out of the Death Eaters for good?" 'I turned for you,' I think, then nod. "Getting away was a big part of it."


Her gaze returns to the floor, and I can tell that the next question is as hard for her to say as it is important to her to know. "Did you . . . did you kill, a lot?" My stomach turns, and I begin to hear, once again, the screams that have haunted me for so long. I was only a Death Eater for a matter of months, and I intentionally let many of my victims escape during the time I was working with Dumbledore, but I have still killed enough people to haunt my dreams for years. After this answer, I know Ginny will hate me, but I refuse to show my inner turmoil. I'm still a Malfoy, and emotion is still weakness. I keep my face perfectly neutral as I defiantly answer, "Yes."


There's a long moment of silence while I watch her sulkily, and her brow furrows. Then, without warning, she runs to where I'm standing and throws her arms around my neck. I'm sure she's going to try to strangle me with her bare hands, but as she presses her body to mine and buries her face against my chest, I realize she's hugging me, the first person to embrace me since my mother died. I stand stoically as she wraps her arms tighter around me, refusing to take in her warmth. I don't deserve her forgiveness.


She doesn't seem to notice, though, and as I stand there I realize she's whispering to me, almost crying. "I'm so sorry, Draco. I'm so sorry." I don't know what she's sorry about, but her half-sobs pierce my heart, and all my pent-up grief washes over me. I stand stiffly for few moments longer, feeling my guilt and sorrow and longing surround and suffocate me.


It finally becomes too much to bear, and I suddenly find myself wrapping my arms around Ginny in a bone-crushing embrace, holding on to her as though I'm afraid she'll disappear if I let go. As my grief washes over me, I tighten my arms until I'm probably breaking her ribs, but she doesn't object. I close my eyes and bow my head down over hers, trying to shut out the rest of the world--the memories that constantly plague me--everything that's happened since the last time I was with her--until it feels like Ginny and I are the only two people left on Earth. I wish we were the only two people left on Earth.


"I used to think about you so much during the war," she admits in a muffled whisper. "I used to check the reports of what Death Eaters had been killed, and I was always so glad not to see your name." The thought that she had been thinking of me as much as I'd been thinking of her makes me begin to tremble. I don't cry--I swore to never cry again after my mother died--but my whole body shakes with dry sobs that make my chest hurt. I'm sure Ginny can feel my chest shake, but she doesn't say anything, just allows me to let my emotions out. I cling to her tightly, wordlessly willing her to hold me up, to support me, to stand by my side, to forgive me of what I've done. And in her warm embrace, I feel a quiet acceptance, and for the first time in a year I feel at peace.


We stand there for what seems like hours, Ginny rubbing my back, and I slowly settle down until I'm simply trembling a little. The part of my shirt where Ginny's head is resting is wet, and I realize she's crying. I feel bad about making her cry, but the fact that she feels so strongly makes me happier than I've felt in several months. I want to stay in this moment forever.


Then the real world intrudes in the form of Dumbledore. Ginny and I both look up as he walks in, not caring that the old man is seeing us so emotional. His eyes twinkle as he sees the wet spot on my shirt and the arm I still have around Ginny's waist, and I realize he was expecting something like this when he called us both down here. He smiles. "So, will you come tonight?" he asks as he pulls a lemon drop out of his desk and pops it in his mouth.


I hesitate, but Ginny turns and looks anxiously into my eyes. "You will, won't you? You have to, Draco. Please?" I look down at her pleading eyes, a hundred different thoughts and emotions whirling through my mind. As one of her hands comes up to rest on my arm, that same peace I felt before comes back, and I know in that moment that my mind is made up. I'll go to their ball, if it makes Dumbledore and Ginny happy. I'll tell the true story of my turning and become the hero they want me to be. The only thing that I really want, though, I already have--Ginny's forgiveness. That is all the absolution I need.


Then Ginny calls my name, and I grin. All right, maybe I want a little more than just her forgiveness. From the way she's looking at me, though, smiling in response to the grin I just gave her, I think that might work out. I nod. "All right," I say. "I'll go to your ball."


I don't have to look at Dumbledore to know that he's smiling. "Well, then," he says brightly, "we'd better see about finding you dress robes. Shall we?"


I nod. "Yes, let's go." Ginny smiles at me, and we all leave the office.




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fin