The clock seemed to glare into the darkened bedroom. Scarlet light shone against Draco Malfoy’s shut eyelids. He opened them to glare back at the damned Muggle invention. He hated everything about this life, from electric clocks to burnt toast. He could never be comfortable here. But he must stay here, to hide from the enemies he had made, from the mistakes that had lowered him to life without magic or money.

10:46. The scarlet numbers had won again. Draco resigned himself to another sleepless night and threw back his sheets, swinging his legs around to place his feet silently on the floor. He slowly walked the distance down the dark corridors of the empty house, and made himself a cup of coffee. If he wasn't going to sleep, he may as well fully wake up and make use of the night.

The steam hovered over the cup, and he breathed in deep, the hot wetness making his nostrils flare as he fought back a sneeze. The quiet of the night was alluring, and he did not wish to ruin it. The mug’s warmth slowly seeped into his fingers and he shuddered as feeling crept back, washing away the sweet oblivion of sleep. He walked aimlessly around the house, through darkened hallways, past remnants of what had once been the magical world. His feet creaked against the wooden floorboards.

Suddenly he came face to face with the battered tapestry of the Black family. Toujours Pur – always pure. He doubted anyone could ever claim himself or herself to be pure now that the War had ended. Memories flitted through his mind, haunting him and soothing his pain all at once.

Draco grew grim at the memory. He had not wanted to admit to himself that he was scared of anything. He wanted to be invincible so he merely ignored his weaknesses. He had been scared, though. He had been scared of what Ginny Weasley meant to him, scared of the failure of his plans, scared of nearly everything in his life. He had ignored it all and pretended to be indestructible. That had destroyed him.

Grimmauld Place loomed above him as he read the letter again. Blaise Zabini, the boy he had grown up with, was dead. Blaise had tried to kill him on numerous occasions and had competed with him for standing with the Dark Lord. In the end, Zabini knew him better than nearly anyone else in the world. The bitter winter wind whipped tears from his eyes, and he mourned for a boy whose fate could someday be his. Draco mourned not only for a childhood friend, but also for his ending. A man Blaise considered an ally had betrayed him for the Dark Lord’s favor.

Tears ran from Draco’s eyes, pleading for forgiveness if there was a God somewhere in this world. Draco had destroyed another possible complication to his plans and had won the Dark Lord’s favor in a single move. He had killed a comrade today, all for his own gain.

Blaise had never learned the lesson of trusting no one and that is why Draco stood on top today. The tale Draco told to the Dark Lord had worked beautifully, and now Blaise Zabini was dead. Draco had no room for friendship when his plans were at risk. There was too much at stake…Blaise had gotten in the way.

He recalled three years of cheerful memories of an Order that respected him, and a girl who he had nearly loved. His plans to fool both sides of the War had fallen to ruins, and by that time, it was too late. With his betrayal, he had lost their trust and any chance of a new life. The plans so carefully placed were finished, damned by his own mistakes. In that manner, he was condemned.

Suddenly, he could not bear the thought of staying in this deserted haven any longer. Grabbing his coat, he swept out into the snowy night, keeping the memories at bay once again.

As he walked through the snowy streets, the coffee mug forgotten and slowly cooling within his hands, thoughts flowed through his head just as the past two years of his life had flowed by. He had lost control by the end of the War, his delicate games shattered. He had lost the wagers he laid against Life, and his deceit had destroyed him. He supposed he was not broken, not exactly, but destroyed in a different sort of way. That was enough.

He had not always been like this. A few years ago, at the height of the War, he had been poised for greatness no matter which way the War turned. He was the potions master for the Order after Snape betrayed the Cause. He also stood alongside his father as one of the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord – the thirteen wizards who, out of all the Death Eaters, could dare speak to the Dark Lord without a summons. To each side, he pretended to be spying on the other. He played both ends against the middle, and slowly grew confident that he, rather than Voldemort or Potter, was controlling the events of this war.

He grew too confident, and that had been his downfall. He had forgotten to consider every possibility, forgotten that nothing was impossible. Although he had not risen to the heights of glory as in his dreams, he had survived the mangled Aftermath. He supposed that, in itself, was an accomplishment.

Lost in his thoughts, he walked down the empty streets, the streetlights showing a dim path into the darkness. He held the cold coffee mug in his hands absentmindedly as his thoughts continued to overwhelm him.

He wondered what the world would think of him now. They would probably gloat and say that what he did was typical of a Malfoy. He could not deny it and that idea made him blister with rage. He had sworn that he would turn out better than his father – obedient to, dependent on no one but himself. Now, he was hiding in a deserted house, waiting to see which side would recover enough to look for him first…merely waiting for death.

Suddenly he shattered the peaceful silence with his harsh laughter, pushing away sharp twinges of regret. You could not escape reality forever. The night and the cold and the silence were merely a blanket hiding his inner thoughts. He could never run, not from his fate and not from himself.

He had dreamed of such foolishness – dreamed that he was strong enough to accomplish what his father could not. He dreamed he could keep his reputation, keep his pride, and remain bonded to no one. Yet he was bonded to both sides tighter than he could escape and his pride was ebbing away as his desperation grew. Despite the fact that Death was inevitable, Draco Malfoy would still do everything in his power to escape his fate. He was already hiding like a criminal, going without a home, house elves, or respectable clothes. He could not deny to himself that he would grovel in front of the lowliest slime on earth to live.

Draco Malfoy had dreamed of respect, not just of the goons his father managed to buy or fool, but also of the entire magical world. Power was just a part of it, but what he really craved was the feeling that he had done something to be proud of. He was a Malfoy, however, and he could not deny the facts. If you were not honest with yourself, how could you have a chance at surviving? He would not only lose his life, but his dignity. He was not sure which was more important.

His chuckles sounded desperate as he fought to deflect the bitter tears that were filling his eyes. He continued to move, the wind whipping at his hair and stinging his eyes. The snow coated his jacket, soaked his hair, and his face became chalk white from the cold. His body lost all its warmth to the frigid air, the jacket providing no protection from the soft, downy snowflakes. He shivered, wet clothes clinging to him, giving him goose bumps.

He loved the cold. There was no hurting when it was winter. His Dark Mark grew numb, and stopped aching. While it was cold, he could afford to let his mind wander freely, because his body was too cold to rebel…to end this misery with one act, one blow. He would not allow them to see that they had destroyed him - not the Death Eaters, not the Order, not anyone.

He had survived the War and he would survive this. Dreams, he had forgotten, were for noble people…surviving was for the flawed – ones like him. With or without his dignity, he would show them that they could not kill him. He pushed away the thought that without his dignity, without his pride, life was not worth living at all.

---

Ginny Weasley shook the snow off her coat as she hurriedly walked through the snowy night. She had left the store to do something, but she could not recall exactly why she had left her haven on New Year’s Eve. Nevertheless, she did not want to go back home in this state, panicked and hurting. So she stayed outside, the snow coating her like it coated the ground, her body shivering in the freezing air.

She did not notice how she shivered, the numbness of her fingers, or even the uncontrollable shaking that made her legs tremble. Memories rushed at the wall she had put up in her mind, and she fought with every fiber of her being to hold them back. They would ravage her, and she would come undone.

She hated snow. It bared raw wounds in her heart; wounds that she had thought were old scars by now…that should have been scars, if the world had any compassion. She could not feel, could not remember anything, without recalling what she had done. Wasn’t that enough punishment for any crime? She held herself together at the seams and a mere breeze of ill fortune would blow her apart.

She barely spoke anymore, drowning herself within her own thoughts. Her silence had killed Neville Longbottom, and due to his death, Harry Potter had died. All because she had felt something for a man named Draco Malfoy. She sighed to herself as the memories overwhelmed. She had wasted so much of her life longing for men who had only broken her heart.

“Draco, you give that back!” Ginny Weasley was turning red, as Draco pretended to rip out the pages of a book that he had stolen from her.

He smiled at her. “If I give it back, you’ll whine at me a few hours later for food because you missed dinner while reading,” he said seriously.

She groaned. “I swear there’s an attention-starved two year old trapped inside of you? Can’t you just leave me to read in peace, Draco?”

Draco said sarcastically, “Oh, I’m starved for attention. What about the girl who refused to stop talking yesterday until someone went with her to get some coffee?”

Ginny winced. The darkness reminded her of the Chamber of Secrets. A memory from the Chamber came over her, drowning out Draco's voice.

--------

Ginny looked around to find herself standing in a stall of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She turned to leave but her feet instead led her to the chipped ivory sink. She struggled as a garbled language spilled from unwilling lips.

Suddenly, the tap widened to reveal a small entrance. Ginny recoiled but something deep within her, perhaps a voice, compelled her forward through the entrance.

She moved blindly, not seeing the basilisk husks or the elaborate entrance, just feeling that she must keep moving.

A statue of a man's face came into her vision. She frowned; that face looked familiar. It was an older version of how she imagined Tom's face. She looked blankly at the diary that appeared in her hand. She did not remember bringing this with her.

She felt clammy all over, and her head began to spin. She collapsed in front of the statue, her vision blackening around the corners. She could barely make out a hazy form coming out of the diary's pages, which had fallen open when she dropped to the ground.

"Tom?" came her tremulous whisper.

He grinned triumphantly. "Thanks, Ginny. You helped me return to my beloved school, and I always reward my allies."

His form darkened as she slipped into unconsciousness. His last whisper would haunt her feverish, comatose dreams.

"I won't let you live to see Harry Potter die." His ghostly hand ran down her side in an affectionate, punishing caress.

--------

Tom Riddle's husky whisper faded against the sound of Draco's chuckles.

Ginny cried defensively, “Don’t make fun of me, Draco. I am afraid of the dark; at least I admit it!”

Draco grew serious. “Are you implying that I have fears that I hide?”

Ginny’s voice softened. “Yes.”

Draco tossed the book to her, his eyes suddenly cold. He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Ginny watched his receding back with a worried expression. Draco was so sensitive about the strangest things. Ginny followed him. Growing tired of the chase, she pulled out her wand.

"Impedimenta." As Draco froze, she ran up to him, her breat coming in light pants.

"We all have secrets, Draco," she said gently. "I don't expect to know all of yours."

Draco's eyes were cold. "I don't like being forced to do anything, including listening to a lesson about myself. I don't like girls who think they know everything."

Ginny's eyes flashed in annoyance. "That is not what I was saying, Draco. You can be such a prat sometimes! Everything has to be about you? I merely said that I didn't want to know everything about you, that everyone has stuff they hide."

Draco snarled, "I doubt that Ginny Weasley has any deathly secrets that she is keeping from the world."

She shivered. Tom had hurt her worse than any Death Eater could imagine that night.

All her anger at Tom showed in her voice, "How the hell do you know, Draco?" You've lived here less than even Harry has, and suddenly you know me better than my own brothers do?"

Draco yelled, "You're not exactly hard to read, Ginny! You wear your heart on your sleeve, just like all these other -" He stopped.

Ginny said quietly, "Say it. Say what you were going to."

He spat, "Just like all these other Gryffindors. Happy?"

Ginny was so furious at that point. She didn't think as she walked nearer to him. She didn't see his eyes widen as she put her hands on his shoulders. All she could think about was showing him that she wasn't just someone he could judge and then stop thinking about. She wasn't someone to fit in a little stereotypical box.

She wasn't thinking when she slammed her lips across his fiercely. She was thinking, and thinking hard, when she stepped back quickly.

His eyes looked at her with a dazed expression. She smirked in an eerily Draco-like fashion.

"Surprise you?" Her heart was pounding.

She was having trouble holding her composure. She hadn't planned to lose her heart to Draco Malfoy.

As he walked away, the tears she had held back while thinking of Tom Riddle spilled over her cheeks.

She hadn't planned to break her own heart, either.

She should have listened to her brother. Ron had always been impetuous but he had never led her down the wrong path. She should have known to never trust a man who was once – still was – a Death Eater.

He had won her over, telling her the tale of his initiation, and how Dumbledore’s last words had convinced him joining the Order was the right path. He had showed her the scars on his back. He said they were from his father, and at the time, she had believed him. She knew they were lies now. He told her of how much he loved and missed his mother. She, being the innocent idealist that she was, lapped it all up and begged for more. He was her hero, then, just as Harry had been before him.

She had thought that she was older and wiser when he came along. Nevertheless, he had enthralled her, entrapped her within his lies, and she had remained silent whenever she saw glimpses of the man behind the mask. The mask he held it up for the world to see – for her to believe.

Draco thought she had only known when he killed Neville at the Department of Mysteries. However, she had watched for so long before that.

When he cried over Zabini’s death on that wintry night, he could not see the pale face that watched him from the window. Ginny had known then that Draco was not who he claimed to be. He had told the Order that Blaise had killed his mother. He would not be crying over Zabini’s death.

Ginny watched the tears fall and remained silent. Without Draco’s help, however sly, there really was no hope for the Order. She had denied the true reason for her silent defense of him until the night he ran. She loved him. She had protected him because she thought – no, she wanted to believe – that she could never love an evil man.

She forgot that, long ago, she had loved Tom Riddle. Now, the man was Draco Malfoy and, try as she might, she could not stop loving him. Instead of stopping, she removed herself from the part of her soul that loved, but that left her cold without the joy that had given her cheerfulness. Only guilt and despair kept her company now. The wind whipped at her eyes harshly, bringing her back to the present.

She pulled her the sleeve of her arm and revealed it to the unforgiving flakes. They covered the scars running down her arm, melting and running down her fingers in icy trickles. Her eyes widened in slight shock. She had not thought she was warm enough to melt snow…she had not thought there was enough feeling left in her soul, enough blood in her veins. She was ice. She could be shattered, but she was numb, and the guilt could not overwhelm her.

She had tried to feel, she thought as she traced the scars running down her arm, running a light touch over the remnants of her salvation. She had tried to feel something other than regret, despair and anger. Pain was a happier alternative.

However, it seemed as if the deeper the more of the white snow was tainted with her blood, the deeper the knife cut into her, the more vulnerable she became. Not to pain, but instead to all the memories, all the feelings she wanted to avoid.

Then, she had tried not to feel at all. Forget the feeling and become ice, cold and invincible. Yet, the snow melted on her arm, and she knew that she had not succeeded. She had never succeeded. Her blood still pumped in her veins and feelings still flooded her heart. Her legs gave out and she collapsed into the white blanket beneath her. She lay perfectly still, suddenly not willing to let this struggle go on any further.

She laid there, a dark form in the midst of white snow. Hidden by the shadows just beyond the lighted street, she willed the snow to come. Come. Cover my memories and destroy me. Encase me with ice. I am ready and willing.

Snow landed on her, slowly covering the redness of her hair, her skin nearly blending in with the fair untainted snow, her beautiful chocolate eyes shut against the flakes landing on her eyelashes. She would not come undone, this beautiful snow angel. The peace of the night surrounded her as she waited.

She had not come undone. She had simply lost control. She had finally given in to the struggle that ravaged her. The snow had blown her apart with its downy softness. Now it would cover her, freeze her and make her whole once more.

---

Draco’s brisk footsteps rang and echoed along the narrow alley through which he now trod, his shoes making shallow prints in the layer of white snow. The darkness of the road, revealed by his wandering, quickly faded, buried under a new flurry.

His hat blew off his head and he cursed. With what little clothes he had, and magic impermissible, he had no choice but to chase the unruly wind that had snatched it off his head. Finally he grabbed it as it landed on the snowy ground. He turned around and sighed.

He had passed the coffeehouse that he frequented; he had been hoping to get a new cup of coffee. Slowly he trickled the coffee beneath him, watching the brown liquid stain the translucent white snow beneath his feet.

Turning around, he saw something that was unexpected. Though he was in hiding, he hadn’t lost all of his skills from the time of the War. Not a lot tended to take Draco Malfoy by surprise. But a deathly looking girl lying in the snow without a jacket, hat or gloves, was enough to take his breath away.

He crept closer, ignoring his conscience. His survival instincts told him to stay away, but this girl looked familiar. Maybe she could help him, or at least, tell him what had happened recently. He hadn’t been able to read a paper for nearly two months, and he had no idea how either side was progressing.

When he got close enough to see her face, he reached out a hand, slipped it under her head and turned her head gently to face him. Suddenly he froze and yanked his hand back, feeling burned by the slight contact.

Ginevra Weasley lay before him, her face deathly pale. He suddenly could not stop shaking. Of all the people, he could have found it had to be her. Merlin, the mistakes he had made…this girl being the biggest of them all.

Memories flooded back to him, and he shuddered at the impact, embracing the pain and riding it like a wave of triumph. It was all he had left now.

“Malfoy? What are you doing?” Neville Longbottom stared at him with disbelief.

Draco froze. “Nothing, Longbottom. Nothing of your concern, just personal business.”

Neville managed a glimpse of what Draco held. “That’s the floor plan of Voldemort’s hideout in Persia! That is what we are here for! Why didn’t you give it to Harry?”

The boy was pitifully dull as always. Draco sighed. He had hoped to avoid killings until after the New Year. Neville had found out more than what was good for him, and he, of all people, would not keep silent. Draco reached out a wand.

Nevilled stuttered, “M-M-Malfoy, what do you think you’re – “

“Avada Kedavra,” Draco’s voice echoed through the aisles of prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. His secret was safe.

Playing both sides against themselves sometimes required a little sacrifice. He pocketed the plans, handed to him by the Dark Lord a month earlier. He was going to give them to Harry Potter, just not now. Wait for a bit of desperation to set in, and Draco would be the savior, the hero of the Light when the plans were finally revealed. He would finally have what money could not buy: respect.

He spun around to face Ginny Weasley’s accusing eyes. “Murderer.”

Draco smirked, “You watched me and didn’t do something to stop me.”

Ginny merely stood looking at him, burning his conscience with her still gaze. She made no move with her wand, merely stood and watched him. His eyes locked into hers and he was trapped.

Harry Potter came down the aisle, and began running when he saw the scene. He pulled his wand out of his robes in a smooth gesture that came from practice, closing the distance between the standing pair and him.

When he got a glimpse of the killer, he cried, “Malfoy, you bastard! You killed him!”

Draco, broken out of his trance, spun to face Harry and saw the wand. Ginny got a glimpse of his torn gray eyes before Draco Apparated away.

That had been the last day he openly showed his face to either side. The murder of Neville Longbottom had broken his allegiance with the Order. How could anyone expect Draco to have known that Neville's blood would be the only blood that could revive Harry in case of mortal peril? After he killed Neville and ran, Harry had been hit, and there was no Neville to save him.

Since then, the Order had never trusted another ex-Death Eater. Draco had revealed the plans to the Persian hideout hoping to win the favor of the Order, but that had only caused the Death Eaters to abandon him.

He struggled for many seconds over what to do. This girl could have killed him. He hated being in debt to someone, and he owed Ginny Weasley his life. Saving her now could repay his debt, and he could disappear before she regained consciousness.

He hoped he could still perform wandless magic. Concentrating on her face, he whispered, “Caluoro.”

The snow melted from her hair, and her cheeks began to redden. Entranced, he watched her return from near death to the vivacious girl who had almost managed to save him from his games.

When her eyelids began to flutter, he returned to his wary state of mind. Slowly he slipped his hand out from underneath her head and began to walk away, footsteps crunching in the snow. He was too late.

---

Ginny’s eyes slowly opened and she gazed up at the dark sky. Why hadn’t she died? Why wasn’t snow burying her in a grave that she created? She supposed the world was not going to let her go free so easily. She supposed she could never suffer enough.

She heard the crunch of footsteps moving away from her, and she sat up looking in the direction of the sound. She could make out a silhouette against the golden light of a streetlamp. She looked down at the ground around her and saw the snow had melted for an inch around her body…that wasn’t naturally possible.

Realization hit her. This stranger had kept her from her respite, and she wanted to know why. Standing on numb legs, she began to follow him, her stride quickening as feeling returned to her extremities.

The distance between them shortened gradually. Finally, she reached out a hand and spun him around. When he faced her, she stepped back in surprise and hatred, and her legs began to shake again.

This man had done so much, told so many lies, and she had known the truth from nearly the beginning. She had kept her silence thinking that it would help the Order, but it had broken them. Now, Harry Potter was dead.

She never let go of his hand. She knew, from bitter experience, that Draco Malfoy would disappear as soon as you let him. She said nothing, not trusting herself enough to speak, merely hauled him over to a bench and threw him on the seat. Surprisingly, though she knew he could easily break her grip, he submitted to her direction.

She stood in front of him, sensing that sitting next to him would weaken her position of advantage. She pushed away the thought that sitting would weaken her resolve as well. She should not feel what she felt for him, and so she would forget it. He had seemed to forget their friendship quickly enough to kill the cause she believed in.

Her voice cold, she questioned, ‘Who do you think you are, Malfoy? Why the hell would you do it?” Her voice held no inflection, smooth as glass.

He hid his shock. This girl looked like the girl who saved him…but talked and acted like the death that he had just saved her from. Ginny Weasley was either much better at hiding her emotions, or war had touched her greatly since he last saw her. Still he felt he owed her a response. After all, someone you should hate saving your life had to be a bit unnerving. He felt sorry for her, in a way.

“Do what? Keep you from killing yourself? Well, I figured I owed you my life. I do not like owing anyone anything. Therefore, I saved your life. You can easily go back and do it again…I swear I won’t stop you this time.”

Knowing he meant what he said, she smiled bitterly. “Thanks, Malfoy.”

He looked up at her in surprise. “No Aurors, no Ministry? Aren’t you going to arrest me, Ginny?” he said, slightly teasing, slightly hurting.

His use of her first name brought only icy indignation, not the rage or tears that he expected. “Don’t you dare call me that, Malfoy,” she said quietly.

He nodded, his stomach sick at the sight of this – this shell that used to be the person that brought light, brought fire, into everyone’s life, even his own. She felt nothing, said nothing. She had turned into what Lucius Malfoy had always wanted his son to be. Cold, unfeeling and numb, she turned her back on a world – on the man – that had betrayed her. She turned her back on him.

He could not leave her, knowing she was like this. He could not add another burden of guilt to a load that was already nearly too heavy to bear. She was like this because of him…and he would fix it. He reached out, burning her with his touch, with his words.

“Ginny, what happened to you?” She looked at him, poison in her eyes.

“You happened to me. I was always so damned innocent, so well-protected, and you took advantage of that.”

Draco shrugged off the hurt that this woman should have not been able to inflict. “I didn’t come to the Order with hurting you in mind, Ginny. All I wanted was the trust of the Order, and I got it. I never asked you to keep silent, never asked you to do the things you did. Don’t blame this on me.”

He continued harshly. “I helped both sides and watched them fight, knowing that no matter who won, I would still be respected. I never claimed to be a good man. All I ever dreamed of was respect, the one thing my father could never buy.”

Ginny said cruelly, “You were never better than your father.”

His grip on her arm tightened and she winced. “Don’t you dare insult me that way.”

Ginny’s eyes grew hard. “Still denying it, Draco? You are a monster just as he was. You killed for your own purpose. You never believed in anything or trusted anyone. Everything you did was for yourself, for your games. That makes you as bad as your father, regardless of who you helped.”

Draco said angrily, “I am nothing like my father.”

Ginny laughed. “You can’t deny it forever. You are smarter than your father was, but you lost your games. Now you have nothing, not even your pride.” She watched Draco’s face change, took pleasure in his pain. “Am I hurting you, Malfoy? I meant to. You hurt me more.”

Draco backed away from this stranger. “Hurt you? Pray tell, Ginny…I doubt I did a thing to hurt you. I see not a scar, not an ounce of grief. How did I hurt you?

Ginny’s voice shook before she steadied it. “Damn you, Draco Malfoy. You know. You know and still you feel it fit to rub my face in it. I cannot help who I love, and damn you, you know that as well!”

Draco’s eyes widened. “You don’t love me, Ginny.” His voice held no doubt, no question, merely statement. “I hope you find yourself, because this sure as hell isn’t you.”

Ginny laughed. “No, this isn’t the person, the girl, I used to be. I guess you thought that war would not change me.”

Draco said defensively, “It hadn’t while I was there.”

Ginny turned serious. “You pulled down my protection. I saw people die, saw my friends hurt. I saw what war was like because you let it into my world. Every time I saw another person suffer, I asked myself, ‘Did he do this?’ If I had told the Order what I had seen, you would have never had the chance to hurt anyone.”

Draco looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

Ginny said grimly, “You cried over Blaise Zabini that night in the snow. A few days later, I watched you look at the plans to that hideout. I wondered both times, but I could never convince myself that you were evil. I could never believe that you would cause people’s death just to help yourself.”

Draco stepped back, stung. “I only did what I did to get respect. If either side had given me respect rather than contempt or fear, none of this would have happened. I was waiting until the Order was desperate to give them the diagrams. I thought that if I waited, you – all of you – would think of me as a hero. For once, I would finally be able to get what Harry had always had…the people’s respect.”

Ginny said tartly, “You are just the same as you always were, Draco. You want what you want, no matter the cost to others. Was this was all because of Harry? Did you let a schoolboy grudge kill thousands of people?”

Draco said furiously, “I handed over those plans, and I spent the next two years in hiding. I never knew that Neville could save Harry if he was on the brink of death, and I never knew that Harry’s death would result in a pointless slaughter on both sides. I was not omnipresent!”

Ginny snapped, “No, you were just a player in a game. Innocent of all wrongdoing, just like always.”

Draco sighed in exasperation. He could swear someone would discover them soon, and he would be dead. All he wanted was to get out of here. Watching her wake, sitting here talking to her, all of this had been a mistake. Now he just wanted to get away.

“All right. I hurt you, I killed Neville, and that killed Harry. I am guilty. What do you want from me, Ginny? Why are you so hell bent on torturing yourself? This was my fault. I drew the bloody wand, I said the spell, and I killed Neville. If that somehow makes me responsible for Potter’s death, I take that burden as well. You had nothing to do with it, and I am not putting up with this self-righteous, self-pitying trash from you any longer!”

Rage filled his voice. He had enough of being compassionate and kind for the day, even to Ginny Weasley herself.

Ginny said fervently, “Why, Draco? Could you explain because I can’t, not even to myself. Why do I feel this way about you when you’ve killed people I love? Why can’t I kill you now?”

Draco sighed in regret. “Ginny, if you killed someone, you would kill your very being. It’s not in your soul to kill under any circumstances. You couldn’t kill a person if they were holding a wand to your neck…that’s just your nature.”

Ginny said firmly, “I could’ve told them about you.”

Draco tucked two fingers under her chin and turned her face to look in her eyes. Tears finally filled them and leaked out from her cheeks.

He whispered, glad to see her walls broken, “Yes, you could have. Is that why you think you should be punished, Ginny? You kept your silence. If I had not given the Order crucial information until the day I ran, thousands of people alive today would have been dead. This entire War would be your fault if you could find the evidence to back yourself up.”

He looked out at the horizon for a second and then continued. “I was instructed to kill Ron days before you saw me with Zabini. Obviously, I never did, considering he’s probably frantic waiting for you right now. Do you know why? He was your brother, and I simply couldn’t hurt you like that after you had accepted me into your trust wholeheartedly. I had never been trusted by anyone before, and for some reason, I could not bring myself to risk that trust. There were so many people close to you that I saved in those months, simply because they were close to you.”

Ginny said stubbornly, “You wouldn’t have had the chance to kill them if I had gotten you kicked out of the Order.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “The Dark Lord’s best assassin would have thought of something. I guarantee you, they would have been dead. Ginny, if you had not remained silent, had not believed that there was something good in me…you would not be you. Don’t lose yourself just because you think that you caused the outcome of the War. I never thought you could be so incredibly self-centered.”

Draco tried to convince her with his words. "The war was lost because I managed to kill enough on both sides that neither was strong enough to pull off a win. The war was lost because both Voldemort and Harry were too proud to use methods of killing each other besides a wizard’s duel. The war was lost because good people were too easy to deceive, and evil people were too suspicious of one another to work together. You did not affect this war any more than most common witches and wizards did when they decided to believe in something that didn’t turn out to be quite true.”

Ginny asked quietly, “Did it not turn out true, Draco? If it hadn’t, would you be standing here?”

Draco smiled slightly. “I take it you are redeemed?” Ginny nodded slightly. Draco said, “Good. Maybe it did turn out true, or maybe it’s just because I’m here with you. You’ve always managed to change me in some ways. I’ve never been able to resist.”

Ginny said quietly, “What I said, about loving you…it was true.”

Draco did not smile and pain filled his eyes. “Thank you. But you waste your time on me. I am a dead man. Whether it is today or tomorrow, someday my guilt will catch up with me and I will die facing it. Judgment approaches and I will not satisfy, Ginny.”

Ginny did not respond, merely standing there watching him, as she always did. This time, he turned away, not wanting to get lost in her gaze ever again. It would only delay the inevitable.

As he walked out onto the street and disappeared, Ginny knew it was the last time she would see him. That was all right. Her silence had freed her just as it had trapped her.

Draco had finally told her, in a way, that he loved her. She finally knew that her silence had saved a good man, not helped an evil grow. She supposed, after all the layers came undone in her mind, she knew what he was going to do.

---

This was the last sunrise Draco would ever see. He had finally allowed the guilt to overcome him after seeing her face. It was the one act that would end it all, the one thing he had prevented himself from doing, because it would kill him. He supposed no man could control Fate, and Fate had led him to her today.

His last act would absolve his actions in the face of his regret. He could only think of the pain he had caused the woman he loved as he looked at the glowing sunrise. It was a new year, and redemption was such a sweet word, such blissful release.

Green oblivion swallowed the scarlet rage of anger, hatred and guilt and left behind nothing of the man who would ever be known as the greatest traitor to ever live in the magical world.

None of this showed in the face of Redemption, taking account of only the past, never the future. Redemption revealed nothing of the girl this man loved, the laughter they shared or the pain they bore.

It only left behind a body…lying in the white snow.