The shadows kept me hidden,
From the light that calls my name,
All the creatures stirred above me,
Now I'm crawling towards the sun.

-Crawling Towards the Sun

After the defeat of Voldemort, during what would be the summer before Ginny's final year of schooling at Hogwarts, the Wizarding World was already showing signs of great and significant change. Intermingled were the insuppressible feelings of elation and grief, both overwhelming in their unique power and both combining to forge what would be the New World. At the head of it all was the icon, the pariah if you will, of all things virtuous and good: Harry Potter. Pursuing his ambition of becoming an Auror, he had become the most celebrated of the Heads of the Department with understandably little resistance. Perhaps more pivotal even than the new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shackebolt, Harry had become a beacon of hope for the general populace of the wizarding community. Ever the martyr, Harry felt personally obligated to be the shepherd of said community into the New Age, and Ginny stood faithfully by his side. With
determination equal to Harry's, Ginny felt she needed to be Harry's sole and most stable crutch during the post-trauma, a job rarely recognized compared to The Leader of the Free World and not half as celebrated. This is when, where and how our story takes place.

"Ginny, dear, wake up. I need your help setting up."

Ginny rolled over in bed only to face the glare of the sun filtering through her blinds, penetrating the thin film of her eyelids. Nothing for it, she'd not be able to get back to sleep now that she'd been woken.

"'M up. I'm gettin' up."

Ginny heard the soft retreat of her mother's footsteps out of the room and down the stairs. Molly Weasley didn't linger often these days, when it wasn't necessary. Ginny thought it might be for the benefit of everyone else in the house rather than her mother. With that thought, Ginny slowly rolled herself to the edge of the bed and swung her feet to the floor. Changing briefly into clothing she barely glanced at, she wandered downstairs to await instruction.

Ron, conscious but not looking quite awake, glanced up at her from the kitchen table upon her entrance. He made an odd grunting noise which Ginny took to be an acknowledgment of presence and continued to lazily spoon the steaming bowl of porridge placed in front of him.

"Did Mum have to bribe you to get up this early, or was there a spider in your bed sheets?" Ginny quipped, pulling out the chair opposite him and opting to pour herself a glass of pumpkin juice rather than start on a real breakfast.

Ron's second grunt was muffled by his porridge, but accompanied by a weak glare. Ah, progress. Molly re-entered, carrying a stack of freshly laundered clothing, some of which Ginny ecognized as her own.

"Ginny, why aren't you eating?"

Ginny almost smiled but instead rolled her eyes. "Because I'm not hungry, Mum. You ask me that every time, and I've told you, I just don't like breakfast."

"'S the most important meal, y'know." Ron mumbled from across the table while Molly began to ladle porridge into a bowl for Ginny.

"Tell me, Ron, have you found a publisher for your book of Useless Statements of Fact yet? I'm certain it would fly off the shelves." Ginny responded, eyeing the porridge with resigned distaste.

Grunt the third. Ah, sweet victory.

___________________________________________________

Two hours later found Ginny in the yard, setting up tables and chairs for the event to take place very soon indeed. The Order of Phoenix was to come to The Burrow for an official induction as the new volunteer-based branch of the Auror Department. Working alongside the Department and privy to the subsequent details, the Order of Phoenix was now becoming a recognized policing force throughout Wizarding Britain. It was to be a rather formal event with a press
release and all the newest Order members, including but not limited to Neville Longbottom, Angelina Johnson (soon to be Weasley, though, as George proposed following the Hogwarts Battle), Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and Oliver Wood. Ginny and Luna would of course be joining the moment they turned of age. With that thought in mind, Ginny took extra care in setting everything up perfectly so as to make the best impression possible.

"Guess who?" said a voice in correspondence with a pair of hands covering her eyes. Resisting the reflex to reach for her wand, Ginny smiled.

"Viktor Krum? Is that you? Ouu, I knew you'd come for me!"

The voice chuckled, and the hands were removed and placed on Ginny's hips, turning her body. Ginny smirked at Harry, feeling the swell of heart she always did in his presence. "You're lucky I know you're joking," he said, "or else I'd be horribly offended."

"You would not," Ginny replied, taking in Harry's mock-serious face which was ruined by the humour in his eyes. Harry cracked a smile.

"You're right. Because you're mine, and I wouldn't let anyone change that. Not even Viktor Krum," he murmured, already leaning in for a kiss. Ginny gladly returned the sentiment. She couldn't really say how long they stood there, Ginny blissfully ignorant of the work she should be doing before a voice interrupted them.

"Oy, if I'd have known we'd be coming to watch you snog my sister I'd have stayed at home."

Ginny broke the kiss reluctantly and stepped back from Harry, exchanging an exasperated look. The couple had very little alone time these days and every moment counted. But not to George.

"Hullo, Angelina." Ginny greeted, ignoring her brother's commentary and his appearance altogether. The shine of Angelina’s engagement ring caught Ginny’s eye.

"Hey, Gin. How's setup going?" the dark-skinned girl asked, her eyes twinkling slightly. George and Harry were having a conversation further down the yard now, heading toward the make-shift Quidditch Pitch, and Ginny figured asking either of the boys for help was all but a lost cause now.

"Just fine, thank you. I could use some help, actually, if you don't mind?"

Angelina glanced toward George's retreating back and sighed. "Guess there's nothing for it, now. He's long gone. What do you need done?"

With Angelina's help Ginny managed to set up the dining area in very little time whatsoever. The dinner would be ready soon, and when finished the press would arrive and the real business would begin. Perhaps Ginny could get in just a little Quidditch before then. She followed Angelina, who was already on her way and seemed to be on the same level as Ginny.

After a brief game, which Ginny was proud to say she and Angelina won (Harry, she discovered, was rubbish at being Keeper) the four returned to the house for some last minute preparations. The number of people outside had increased significantly and there seemed to be little left to do in the way of set-up, for which they were all grateful.

"Harry!" called Hermione from near the chicken coop, waving her arm as though she were stranded on a desert island.

"Be right back," Harry whispered in Ginny's ear, giving her waist a little squeeze before setting off toward Hermione, where Ron had also just appeared. Though the days of the 'Golden Trio' were over, the three continued to act as if they were on some sort of secret mission at times, which irritated Ginny to no end. Feeling slightly annoyed at the exclusive behaviour and lowered voices, Ginny left the company of George and Angelina, who were staring into each others' eyes and cooing, and made her way over to her eldest brother for whom she'd always had a reverence.

"Bill!" she cried, throwing her arms around him.

"Hey, Gin," he laughed, hugging her back. "How's it been?"

"Not bad," Ginny admitted, stepping back and taking in his little earring and the gentle banter going on all around her. "Mum wasn't too barmy, pretty relaxed over all I'd say."

"That's a nice change. Excited to be going into your final year?"

"Not really." Bill laughed, but the rest of their conversation was cut short by Molly's voice.

"Dinner's ready, and if we want to be finished by the time the reporters get here we ought to tuck in now, everyone."

Murmurs of agreement around the yard, and Harry rejoined Ginny, smiling apologetically for his brief absence. Ginny gave him a small smile in return, and they both took a seat near one end of the large table comprised of three separate tables. There was very little talking from that point
on aside from praise for Molly's cooking. Ginny loaded her plate with almost everything around her, feeling rather peckish seeing as how she had decided to skip lunch due to her large breakfast. Dinner, now there was a meal one could appreciate.

Sometime later when everyone was comfortably fed, and some fit to burst, Ginny finally took a real look at everyone in attendance. She spotted many old Gryffindor Quidditch Team members, Luna was at the far end wearing her radish earrings and talking animatedly to Seamus with whom she had struck up a very close albeit unexpected friendship, Dean, Lavender, Neville, the Patil twins...so many familiar faces. Ginny felt a great swell of pride mixed with triumph
at all of the people who had come so far to be here, fighting to maintain what was right and soon to be rewarded with true recognition. It was going to be different now. It was all going to be completely different.

I am not your concern,
The world will still turn,
When I’m not around,
Rely on me and you’ll fall,
Back’s up to the wall,
Someone let me out

-Not Your Concern

Everything was going to be different now. The thought was both inviting and terrifying to Draco Malfoy. It had always been so singular, so straight-forward; The Dark Lord’s way provided little room for differentiation. His decisions had been made for him from the beginning and all Draco had to do was follow the path already laid in front of his feet. That, at least, had been his attitude until his sixth year at Hogwarts. Things seemed to become only steadily more complicated from that point on, and all notions had been thrown out the window in favour of survival. Now what? What to do now that that path and those decisions were completely obliterated. His mother seemed to have as little a clue as Draco himself did, suffering once more from his father’s absence. Narcissa had begged and bartered her way out of sentencing, accompanied by a testimony by Harry Potter about some kind of help she had given him during his supposed execution by the Dark Lord. But now, without Lucius and the lifestyle which she and Draco had maintained from their respective births onward, they were both completely lost.

Completely lost in his own musings, Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when a stag Patronus glided smoothly into the study and rested in front of his armchair. He stared; the stag stared back. It then opened its mouth and delivered a message in the voice of Harry Potter: “My office at three p.m. You know what to bring. Don’t be late.” With that, the stag dissipated.

Taking a few breaths to calm his racing heart, Draco was brought back to the reality of his situation and what he had had to do in order to avoid Azkaban. He had agreed to help Potter.

Draco stared anxiously up at their faces, a fine sweat breaking out over his entire body. They had to let him explain, they had to let him off.

“You understand the circumstances under which you have been called here?” boomed the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the man’s face impassive and blank from the podium in front of him. Draco nodded numbly, eyes shifting restlessly around the room, desperate for a pair that would meet his own. A pair of deep, chocolate coloured eyes met his gaze steadily and Draco felt a brief shock go throughout his body before the eyes moved past him to look at the wall. “Then you understand that we have sufficient evidence to send you to Azkaban for being a known Death Eater.”
“I didn’t do anything, though! I didn’t commit any crimes!”

Kingsley Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow, and there was now angry hissing coming from all around the room. He had apparently said the wrong thing. Beside Shackebolt, on either side, sat Granger and Potter. Granger was looking at Draco with a mixture of disgust and pity, while Potter’s face simply looked pensive. On both walls of the large, wood-panelled room where Draco’s hearing was taking place were raised benches filled with newly appointed witches and wizards, and some old ones, ready to vote on his fate. The thought made Draco nearly hysterical.

“You were part of an organization with the purpose of exterminating all those without pure blood and which committed acts of unspeakable evil. Simply joining condemns you to be as much at fault for the actions of the group as a whole, whether you actively participated or not,” Shackebolt replied, just as calmly but with a note of coolness. Several people nodded and vocalized their agreement. Shacklebolt was about to speak again when Potter began to speak quietly into his ear. Granger leaned in, looking irritated to be left out of the discussion. Shacklebolt’s face turned to one of surprise, and he began speaking back to Potter, a look of doubt on his face. After a few moments, Shackebolt turned to face Draco again.

“Mr. Potter seems to think that you would be an invaluable tool in understanding, undoing and conquering the Dark Arts, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco’s heart leapt straight out of his body through his head and landed with a thunk back in his stomach, emitting a huff of air through Draco’s lips. He stared, unable to form words. Harry Potter had said it, if Harry Potter had said it they would listen, wouldn’t they? They had to!

“Harry?” Granger asked in an incredulous tone, giving her best friend a disbelieving look. She was not the only one who seemed less than fond of this idea. Potter ignored the dialogue going on all around him and looked straight at Draco.

“I have spent a great deal of my life in Draco Malfoy’s company, and I believe that he is, more than anything, a victim of circumstance,” Potter said, effectively silencing the room. Granger snorted, sitting back and frowning. “Raised how he was, with the information he was given, I believe that we may be able to gain a great deal of insight from his knowledge. It is only with a thorough understanding of the enemy that we may be able to completely vanquish it. I believe this is a pivotal step in that direction.”

It took a moment for Potter’s words to sink in, and Draco was beside himself with anticipation, watching the faces in the room change from scepticism to contemplation. Draco felt a gaze burning into him and looked again to find those brown eyes boring into his own.

“All in favour of clearing Draco Malfoy of all charges?” Draco did not look away, sure all of a sudden for some strange reason, that maintaining this contact would make all the difference. That this person held his life in his hands; and maybe that was true. Without breaking the eye contact, Draco saw the owner of the eyes shift her weight. As he watched, Ginny Weasley raised her hand, and successfully tipped the number to twenty one versus nineteen for his freedom.

From that moment on, Draco was indebted to Harry Potter, something which never failed to irk him. Not to be mistaken with a lack of appreciation, Draco just found his current position rather compromising and was not used to relying on any one person for the right to live his life. Now, his life included meeting Potter once a week with any and all information Draco had on the Dark Arts (of which there was plenty to be sure). Without going into extensive detail about his current beliefs in comparison with those of many years passed, Draco could safely say that he felt...awkward. There was nothing to be done about the fact that Draco felt he was betraying his father, himself and going entirely against the natural order of things by sitting in Potter’s office, helping him to understand, get around and ultimately destroy all thinks dark.

Yet, he was grateful and had struck up a sort of civil relationship which would never blossom into friendship but somehow never fall back into true enmity again. Potter had gained a sort of irritating, serene wisdom after the battle. He was certainly on his way to being the next Albus Dumbledore, which suited both Potter and Draco just fine, as Potter had admired him greatly, and Draco never really had time for that kind of nonsense. Once this project was over and Potter was satisfied with the results, Draco could go back to living his life and going about things his way. Which, of course, was exactly what Draco wanted.

With that, Draco raised himself from his chair, walked over to the fireplace, took a handful of glittery green Floo Powder from a vase on top of the mantel and threw it into the flames. Taking a deep breath, he stepped in the now emerald fire and said firmly: “Harry Potter’s Office, Ministry of Magic.” And he was gone.