Part One - Prologue - Premonition

July 5, 1987

The tall grass swaying with the breeze seemed to move as if in slow motion, giving the hill from which the young girl observed the six rowdy boys below the appearance of an enormous creature slumbering under a summer sun. Six-year-old Luna Lovegood might have been the lone tick on its back peering through the beast’s fur to watch happy fire ants on the ground.

She blinked her wide blue eyes once and swept a bothersome insect away from her face. This was the first time she had moved since beginning her reconnaissance nearly half an hour ago. The dark blonde hair that her mother had brushed to sleekness early that morning had since collected bits of long grass and wildflowers, giving Luna a wild appearance. She had lost one of her wooden barrettes, carved and painted into the likeness of a radish, by the river near her house.

Luna had never met her neighbors at Ottery St. Catchpole. Her family kept mostly to itself; her father had his magazine, her mother her experiments. She had never had the opportunity to meet children her own age, and without a single brother or sister, she had always been quite alone.

Being alone was not something she had regretted, until now.

The only thing she had known about her neighbors was that they were called the Weasleys. She had not known about their six sons, all with the same red hair that seemed to ignite like fire in the setting sun. They were playing Quidditch, a game Luna had never seen played live, though she enjoyed listening to broadcasts of matches on the Wizarding Wireless. The boys were cheering each other on, screaming insults as well as encouragements, smiling and laughing. It looked like more fun than fishing for Plimpies—and that said a lot.

Even as engrossed as she was in watching the Weasley boys play, it did not surprise her when a voice asked her what she was doing.

Luna turned onto her side to see the head of a girl, probably around her own age, peering at her through the tall grass. Her hair was vividly red, like the boys’, her eyes a sweet shade of brown. Apparently, Luna had not known about a Weasley daughter, either.

“I heard screaming. I thought your family was being attacked by a rogue pack of Picklies,” she replied. The girl giggled and knelt down beside her, setting aside a basket filled with wildflowers.

“What are Picklies?” she asked.

“Daddy says they’re nasty buggers that steal noses right off of peoples’ faces. He featured an article about them in his magazine once. Mama says I’m not allowed to say the word ‘bugger.’”

The girl giggled again. “You’re funny! My name is Ginny Weasley. I live at the Burrow, over there.” She pointed in the direction of the boys and their Quidditch match. Luna peered through the grass again and saw them ending their game, landing on the ground and heading for a strange house that looked unnaturally lopsided. Luna thought magic must have held it up, or maybe the guardian anglos Daddy had told her about.

“I’m Luna Lovegood. I live at the Quibbler headquarters over there.” Luna pointed in the direction opposite the Burrow, but her house remained hidden behind more hills. “Why weren’t you playing with the others?”

Ginny frowned and sniffed, turning her nose up as if she found the idea revolting.

“My brothers never let me play with them. I’m a girl. They think I will get hurt because I’m the youngest, but I can already toss my brother Ron onto his back! I can take care of myself.”

“Maybe they don’t want you to play so they don’t have to play nice. Maybe your mum told them not to hurt you,” Luna replied candidly.

Ginny thought about that for a moment before smiling brightly. “I reckon you’re right. Mum probably threatened to kill them!”

This seemed to Luna an odd thought to take pleasure in, but the smug smile on Ginny’s face endeared her to Luna nonetheless. She liked oddities in other people, feeling she had none in herself.

“What’s in the basket?” she asked.

Ginny lifted the basket onto her lap and pulled out several of the flowers, arranging them in a childish semblance of order.

“Flowers for my boyfriend,” she replied importantly, smiling a secret smile.

“Be careful of Nargles,” Luna warned her seriously.

“Nargles? What are they?”

“Daddy says they hide in plants meant for lovers and make them sneeze all over each other.”

Warily placing her arrangement carefully back into her basket, Ginny asked, “Do you want to help me pick more flowers? I don’t know how Nargles look. You could make sure none of them get me.”

The sun had almost finished setting, and Luna knew it must nearly be supper time, but the idea of doing something with a new friend, helping her out in some way, filled her with such delight that she never wanted to go home as long as Ginny wanted to play.

The girls jumped up and began walking down the hill, scouring the waving grass for nefarious creatures and pretty batches of color.

“He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to marry him one day,” said Ginny.

“What’s his name?” Luna asked.

“Draco Malfoy. You wanna be the bridesmaid?”

Luna decided to like this Draco Malfoy, if just for his funny name, and although she didn’t know what a bridesmaid was supposed to do, maybe clean things, she readily agreed to be one. Their voices faded away with the sun as they continued down the hill.

A woman with long dirty blonde hair dazedly watched the twenty-year-old memory of herself disappear into the darkness with a lazy smile on her face.

“This one will do,” she said to the dusk, before pulling herself out of the Pensieve.

Part Two - War Declared

June 9, 2007

Luna Lovegood was on a quest, not unlike the one Albus Dumbledore had begun years and years ago, though the completion of her quest did not hold the fate of the world at stake. In fact, of the possible outcomes of her quest, the direst would be the absence of a wedding gift from the maid of honor, an unforgivable offense, surely. Luna carried out her mission as if the fate of the world did depend on its completion. It was that important to her.

What Luna sought were memories—very special, very rare memories that she knew only a few people either owned or were willing to acknowledge existed.

She had tracked down a very important memory, which had led her to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office to intrude upon the work of Arthur Weasley. She did not plan to leave without this memory in hand, but she knew Mr. Weasley to be affable enough to be willing to give it to her, which would have been a comfort to him if he had only known how serious she was.

Luna had to be directed to Mr. Weasley’s office door. He seemed surprised to see her when he answered her knock.

“Luna! What are you doing here?”

“I sent you an owl earlier today.”

“Ah, I must have missed it. Please, come in!”

The office, a room hardly bigger than a broom closet, could barely contain the two desks that had been shoved inside it. Innocuous Muggle knick-knacks, most of which Luna recognized only from certain articles that her father had published in the Quibbler, cluttered Mr. Weasley’s half of the space. An advertisement for a travel agency adorned the wall behind his chair like a poster; its bright blue sky, blue-green sea, and colorful airplane contrasted significantly with the office’s dark interior.

Luna sat down in the only available chair, behind the second desk, and informed Mr. Weasley of her quest and her intentions.

“You will get your memory back, of course. No reason to turn you into one of those All Timers.”

“All Timers?” Mr. Weasley repeated concernedly.

“People who remove so many memories that they have no more left and forget to put them all back in. It is very common in Muggles. Daddy covered a story about it in his latest issue.”

Mr. Weasley appeared enthralled. “That’s fascinating! How do Muggles get their memories out? Tell your father to send me a copy of that issue, will you?” Luna agreed to do just that. “Now, which memory is it that you would like to see?”

“Ginny and Draco’s first meeting, if you don’t mind.” As she spoke, Luna placed a strange briefcase on her lap. Instead of latching closed on one of the sides, it opened from the center of the top. She opened her case and removed a stone bowl decorated with carvings of runes along its edges. Mr. Weasley recognized the Pensieve and stared at in amusement.

“Came prepared, I see.”

Luna smiled at him mysteriously as he pulled out his wand from his robes and placed the tip to his temple. A second later, a long, silver strand of thought dangled from his wand. He gently shook it into the Pensieve, and they both watched for a moment as the memory swirled around the smoke-like essence.

“Let’s take a look-see, shall we?” Luna grabbed Mr. Weasley’s hand and dragged him into the depths of his past.

* * * * *

May 15, 1987

Ginny Weasley, only a few weeks short of meeting Luna, walked behind her father through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, as proud of herself as she could be. She had managed to convince her father to convince her mother to let her go to work with him rather than accompany Mrs. Weasley to St. Mungo’s to visit some old lady she had never met. It was only right. None of Ginny’s brothers had been made to go, but, because Ginny was the youngest and the only girl, she had not been allowed to stay at home with the boys. Mr. Weasley had persuaded his wife to let Ginny tag along with him to work, and though she had been reluctant to agree, agree she finally had.

Ginny was so pleased with herself she did not notice when her father stopped walking until she bumped into his legs. She meant to apologize when she noticed his attention was focused on the man before him and the young boy at his side.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Mr. Weasley greeted reluctantly, his tone cool. The man, Lucius, had long, shining hair, such a fine blond it appeared nearly silver. He was taller than Mr. Weasley was and looked down on him with dust-colored eyes set into a pale and pointed face. His mouth was set at an angle that Ginny didn’t like. Her brother Percy wore the same expression on occasions when he outsmarted his siblings, condescending and superior.

“Arthur Weasley… imagine meeting you here.”

“I work here,” Mr. Weasley replied shortly. Ginny had never witnessed such outright dislike radiating from her father, who was normally very playful and amiable to offset his wife’s intermittent severity.

“Ah, yes. In the Muggle Lover’s Office, is that correct?” Before Mr. Weasley could correct him, Lucius had spotted Ginny and turned his attention to her. “Is this one of the brood?”

“My daughter, Ginny.” Mr. Weasley placed his hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer to his body. Lucius’s hand settled upon the shoulder of the boy, who looked like a copy of him in miniature.

“My son, Draco,” he replied as if showing off a superior object, a more valuable collectible. His tone was not one of fatherly pride, but confidence.

Draco smirked at Mr. Weasley and Ginny, who observed his pointed face and slicked back hair and concluded that he looked like a drowned cat. She almost wanted to give him some milk and pet him.

Despite her dislike of Lucius Malfoy, and the strange name and appearance of his son, Ginny could not help but be enchanted by the pair of them. They had a different aura around them, a different way of carrying themselves that other people didn’t have. Their clothing suggested great wealth, while they emitted confidence out of every pore and cavity. They wore their robes as if they were kings, and they wore them well. Young Ginny could tell that they were in want of nothing, and at that moment, she envied Draco Malfoy, in his olive-colored silk robes and polished black shoes. She had never been more ashamed of her father’s shabby appearance or her own.

As she studied him, Draco scrutinized her. Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, causing him to frown in confusion.

“Let’s go, Ginny,” Mr. Weasley said. He guided her away from the Malfoys down the corridor.

They hadn’t made it far before Draco ran after them, calling, “Excuse me, sir!” In his hand, he carried an old coin purse that hung so limply, Ginny could tell it was practically empty. “You dropped this.”

Mr. Weasley’s ears turned red in embarrassment, and she felt ashamed for him. The bottom of his pocket had developed a hole, and the bag had fallen right out.

“Thank you,” he said shortly, barely meeting the boy’s eyes. “Come on, Ginny.”

Draco winked at her, causing her to flush with pleasure. He turned back to meet up with his father and she stared after him, completely and irrationally smitten.

* * * * *

“I didn’t see him wink at her! Who did that little bugger think he was? And I knew Lucius tore my pocket on purpose!” Mr. Weasley cried upon exiting the Pensieve, after witnessing events he had not noticed the first time through nearly twenty years ago. “I could never prove it, but it seemed like something he would do to embarrass me!” Luna noted how his ears had turned red just witnessing the scene. She let him rant and ramble as she removed two glass vials from her Pensieve case and placed Mr. Weasley’s memory into one of them, muttering a spell that effectively copied the thought, then deposited the copy into the second vial. Stoppering both, she handed the original to Mr. Weasley, who accepted it with affronted thanks.

“Which will you look for next?” he asked, overcoming his mortification for curiosity.

“The break up,” Luna replied with a smile.

* * * * *

Not many people knew the history behind Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley’s relationship. Luna, one of the trusted few, was privileged enough to know the whole story from the day the two met to the moment Draco commanded Ginny to marry him. Knowing the story was not enough for Luna. She wanted to see it. The advantage of knowing the details of the relationship meant that she knew which memories to look for and approximately who had them. Some people were unwilling to share their memories. Some memories were difficult to track down. Luna had persevered, but mostly she had been very persuasive.

The work and time involved with her search was worth every challenge. She loved Ginny as a sister, and she wanted to give her sister the best wedding gift imaginable.

* * * * *

July 17, 1987

One tradition that the Ministry of Magic had done away with, and that no one felt sorry to see gone, was the annual employee family picnic. Once a year, Ministry workers put off their usual work to plan and put together a week of activities meant to honor and support the employees and their families. This tradition lasted six years, until a new Minister of Magic took office and abolished it, claiming that picnics and frivolity were the cause of the lax quality of work. From then on, the Ministry of Magic never hosted another family picnic torture event again, and everyone was much happier for it.

In this memory, a new Minister of Magic was still years away and the Weasley family was one of the few families that actually enjoyed attending. The children, all except for the three eldest, Bill, Charlie, and Percy, took delight in declaring war against the children of employees in other departments.

The twins, Fred and George, fought with weapons they purchased from joke shops, but Ginny and her brother Ron liked to improvise with sticks, used as fake wands or ammunition, and mud, if available.

Ginny liked this week best of any all year (excepting Christmas and her birthday, of course, two events she and her brothers tried to stretch out as long as possible, if they were able). She rarely had the opportunity to play with other children, and, for some reason, employee family picnic week was the only week of the year that her brothers ever considered her presence an asset rather than a burden. She had the best aim of Fred, George, and Ron, and her brothers utilized that completely to attack those sneaky devils whose fathers or mothers worked at Auror Headquarters.

The picnic was traditionally held in the countryside near a pond. The days had been uncharacteristically hot this summer, causing the pond to dry up some and reveal the excellent mud that usually stayed hidden underwater. Ginny wasn’t interested in mud in the least this year; her heart could not be less concerned with the war raging around her.

Wide brown eyes searched the crowd of employees for a certain head of platinum blond hair. She thought Draco would shine like a beacon in the noonday sun, but she hadn’t spotted him yet, and she grew more anxious the longer she looked for him. She knew he wouldn’t be participating in the children’s war. After meeting him once, it was obvious to her that he would never stoop so low as to play silly games with common people, and she hadn’t expected him to. Part of the reason she had chosen not to participate in the game this year was to keep her clothes and hair, shabby as they usually were, as tidy as possible. She couldn’t possibly meet Draco again, with his impeccable robes, his neat, glossy hair, and shiny shoes, covered in mud and sweat.

“Come on, Gin, you can’t stay neutral!” Fred complained, clapping her on the shoulder. She shoved his hand away in vain; he put it right back and smiled wider because he knew it bothered her.

“We need our Cannon!” George said.

“I don’t want to be The Cannon anymore,” Ginny lied. The title had made her extremely proud when they had bestowed it upon her a couple of picnics ago. It signified her worth in their eyes, but right now, she was growing impatient with her brothers. Searching for Draco became impossible while the twins bounced around her.

“Women,” Fred said in disgust when it became apparent that Ginny was not going to join in this year.

George rolled his eyes, equally disgusted. “What fickle fiends.”

The twins finally left her alone just as she spotted Draco standing between his father and an exceptionally beautiful, although rather snotty-looking, woman. She shared the same ash blond hair with her son and her husband, and the haughty look of distaste she wore revealed just how much she was enjoying the picnic.

Draco caught Ginny’s eye before speaking to his father briefly, and then Ginny was alarmed to see him walking directly towards her. Smirking must have been his default expression upon birth, she thought, like some people were prone to smiling. He did it often enough.

“Ginny Weasley, is it?” he asked when he reached her. Ginny blushed, thrilled that he had remembered her name, and nodded.

“Draco Malfoy,” he said with an air of imparting privileged knowledge.

“I remember,” she replied nervously.

He looked her over once, a quick tilt of his head down and then up.

“My father told me the Weasleys are poorer than dirt. He said your parents look forward to these picnics every year because normally you can’t afford to eat. I saw your mum earlier. Does she eat all of your food? Is that why she’s so fat and the rest of you are so thin?”

Ginny was speechless! Shocked and horrified! For the past few weeks she had been unable to think of much else besides Draco Malfoy and the power that he emanated. She understood now where his power came from: belittling others, trying to make them feel small and insignificant compared to him, doing what he could to make himself feel more important than everyone else.

He smirked at her as if he knew exactly how much regard she had had for him and delighted in crushing her expectations and admiration. Her ears and face burned with the intensity of a flaming phoenix, in embarrassment that quickly turned into fury.

“Do you always listen to what your father says?” she asked through a clenched jaw.

“Of course,” he replied pompously. He obviously thought very highly of his father, while she thought very little.

Suddenly, Ginny’s temper cooled. She had always mastered her anger better than her brothers, and this instance was no different. Somehow, the right words came to her and she knew exactly what to say. She couldn’t tell it, but the abrupt grasp of her composure unnerved Draco, who thrived on pushing peoples’ buttons and getting reactions out of doing so.

“I feel so sorry for your mother,” she said pityingly, adding an exaggerated sigh to the act for extra effect.

“What for?” he asked, outraged by the very notion that his mother, a Malfoy, should be pitied for any reason.

“It must smell at your house. Just look at the expression on her face!” Both she and Draco watched Mr. Malfoy as he spoke to a man in burgundy robes. Mrs. Malfoy stood at his side though looking away, her nose wrinkled with revulsion.

“Oh!” Ginny continued, covering her mouth as if just realizing something. “Maybe it’s your father who stinks so terribly. I’m sure I’m right, I can smell him from here!” Ginny hoped her own mother would never hear these words uttered from her lips or she’d be dragon food for sure.

That remark brought some color to Draco’s pale cheeks. He held his fists tightly at his sides, ready to fight.

“At least I know for certain that I’m an only child,” he snarled.

“What?” Ginny asked in confusion.

“For all you know, you had ten more brothers and your mother ate them all!”

Ginny’s body shook with rage. She tried to control herself, tried to stop her face from turning red, but the smug, satisfied sneer on his face told her that she failed, and soon, words exploded from her mouth.

“I DECLARE WAR, DRACO MALFOY! WAR!” She ran off screaming, “The Cannon is back in business!” Draco stared after her as if she was insane. Perhaps she was, for all he knew.

Barely a minute later, Ginny had returned with Fred, George, Ron, and several children from Auror Headquarters, each child’s hand loaded with a fistful of mud from the pond.

“FIRE!” Ginny yelled, and shot the first bullet, which landed dead center in the middle of Draco’s stunned chest.

They didn’t call her The Cannon for nothing.

* * * * *

After the first wave of attacks, in which Percy had been hit by a stray glob of mud as he sat reading under a nearby tree, Draco had sought his friends for help, and an all-out battle had soon commenced.

By the end of the day, every child engaged in the Weasley-Malfoy War had been covered nearly head to toe in dripping muck. Not a single child’s parents were happy about this at all. Mrs. Weasley and the Malfoys were more outraged than most.

“Just look at the state of your clothes, Ginevra Weasley!” Ginny’s mum screamed as she used her wand to try to clean the mud off her daughter.

“…acting like an animal! This is not acceptable behavior for a Malfoy!” Mrs. Malfoy scolded her son coldly, being careful not to touch him or have her expensive robes come in contact with his muddy ones, as she also cleaned her child. “A fine set of robes ruined.”

Ginny met Draco’s eye over the attentions of their mothers. She stuck her tongue out at him, which he returned by making a disgusting gesture with his hand, or, to be accurate, a finger.

Mrs. Malfoy got Draco as clean as she could with magic and turned to apologize to the mother of a rat-faced boy on his behalf as Mrs. Weasley finally set Ginny free to scold and clean her other children. They examined each other critically before Ginny said, “I thought I liked you at first, but it turns out you’re my worst enemy.”

“And you are mine,” he confirmed.

“Same time next year?” Ginny asked.

“And any time between now and then,” Draco agreed.

The Malfoys left soon after. As the Weasleys were leaving the picnic grounds, Mr. Weasley put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and muttered, “Don’t tell your mother—I should be scolding you as well, you know—but well done.” He smiled down at her, causing her to beam with happiness and pride.

“Thank you, Percy. That will do,” Luna said to her companion. The memory disappeared into a swirl of gas as the inconspicuous lookers-on exited the Pensieve.

Less than ten minutes later, Luna had copied the memory, packed up her precious cargo, and was on her way, one more memory under her belt and a self-satisfied smile on her face.

* * * * *

June 14, 2007

“Bill,” Luna greeted as she seated herself in Bill Weasley’s living room at Shell Cottage. She carefully set down her Pensieve case on the coffee table in front of her as Bill sat in an armchair close by.

“Luna.”

“You know why I’m here,” she said seriously, gazing at him with her wide eyes, which would have made him uncomfortable if he hadn’t grown so used to her absurdities.

“Yes,” he replied with a smile. “And I think it’s brilliant, what you are doing. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

Luna grinned widely to match the wideness of her eyes. “Oh, good. I’d be glad to use anything you can contribute.”

“What have you got so far?” She briefly described the memories she had collected until that point. “I think I might have one for you.”

“Let’s take a look.”

Bill performed the ritual of removing his memories from his temple as Luna unpacked the Pensieve. A moment later, they had entered the unalterable past.

* * * * *

July 20, 1988

Ginny knew that the Ministry of Magic employee family picnic wasn’t going to be any fun this year. As Bill and Charlie had grown older, they had become boring, worrying about dull things such as summer jobs, girlfriends, and school. Charlie hadn’t even come to the picnic this year, and Ginny could see Bill chatting up a girl not twenty feet away. Percy was always a bore; that was a given. He sat under the same tree he had sat under the year before, his face buried behind a book.

Once again, it was up to Ginny, Ron, and the twins to carry on the war. One difference between this year’s picnic and the last was Draco Malfoy. Just like last year, Ginny anxiously searched through the crowd of attendees for his snotty, stuck-up face, except this time, she didn’t fancy herself in love with him. She wanted to catch him off his guard and strike him with the Dungbomb she had smuggled along, before he got her.

“Looking for someone?”

Ginny spun around; her target had somehow snuck up behind her. He looked the same as the last time she’d seen him a year ago. The same pointed face featuring the same supercilious sneer; the same platinum blond hair slicked back in the same style. He was a bit taller, but that was to be expected.

“Yes, actually. I’ve got a gift for you,” Ginny said, clutching the Dungbomb carefully behind her back.

Draco examined his fingernails indifferently. “I don’t want it.”

“That’s just too bad,” she sneered, and launched her ammunition straight at his chest. The Dungbomb bounced off leaving not a mark on his still-impeccable clothes. Bewildered, Ginny picked it up and tried again. It bounced off, and Draco Malfoy remained untouched by it.

“It won’t work. My mother charmed my clothes this time. We had to burn those robes after last year. They were filthy, just like you.”

Ginny didn’t like this Draco at all. She hadn’t liked him the previous year either, but this year his demeanor was ultimately different. His indifference aggravated her. He acted as if he was more mature than she was, as if she was a child and he too old for her games. At the last picnic, he had been fun because he had played with them all like a child. He had thrown as many globs of mud as she had, but he had turned into Percy’s twin between now and then.

“You used to be fun,” she said as she tried to keep the tears from forming in her eyes. That was impossible, so she vowed not to let them spill over, at least.

“You don’t know anything about me. You never have and you never will. My mother says I am not allowed to play with Weasleys ever again. In fact, I hate them—all of them.”

Ginny fought as hard as she could, but this was one battle she knew she would lose. The tears fell down her young cheeks and obscured her vision enough that she couldn’t see the split-second look of regret that crossed Draco’s face.

“Well, I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” she cried passionately, and then turned and fled before he could hurt her feelings more.

She found Bill sitting at a picnic table close by.

“Bill! Bill!” she sobbed, launching herself into her favorite brother’s lap.

“Ginny! What is it?” The alarm in his voice calmed her, though she couldn’t stop the tears. Bill loved her, and he always would. He listened to her when she felt troubled, and he didn’t laugh at her, as Fred and George did, or dismiss her impatiently, like Ron and Percy.

Through her sobs, she eventually got the whole story out. His kindness and his tenderness soothed her as nothing else could, until she could sit composedly at his side. Bill couldn’t offer her any advice. She was seven years old, and quarrels between children occurred often enough. They usually worked themselves out in due time.

Ginny had different thoughts than her brother. She never wanted to make up with Draco Malfoy. She had liked him, even though he was a nasty snot, even though he insulted her family and humiliated her dad. Some part of her had admired his rude straightforwardness, while another had been envious of his obvious wealth and attracted by his self-confidence.

He had hurt her deeply, and she never wanted to let it happen again. She vowed to hate him for as long as she lived.

Bill looked down at his sister in concern. She looked downhearted and fierce at the same time; it wasn’t natural for his spunky little sister to be so serious. Then she turned her face up to him and smiled as brightly as ever, and, taken in by her faux-cheerfulness, he was appeased.

* * * * *

September 1, 1991

From an obscure bystander who happened to be present, though her attention had remained completely on the child who was leaving her for Hogwarts—

Fred and George, now third years at Hogwarts, helped the black-haired, speccy boy get his trunk onto the train as Ginny watched tearfully. This year, every one of her brothers would be gone from the Burrow. The emptiness of the year ahead stretched out in front of her like a nightmare. She wanted to go to Hogwarts with Ron, Fred, George, and Percy! Even Bill and Charlie were too busy to bother with her. They were working in Egypt and Romania, of all places! She rarely saw them anymore.

As she lamented internally, her eye caught a familiar shine about three cars down. As she turned, the crowd parted, and who but the Malfoys became visible to her?

Ginny had kept the promise she had made to herself three years previous—to hate Draco Malfoy for the rest of her life—but she couldn’t help but admit that he made it difficult.

The Malfoys attracted the attention of the people around them in the same way that a flame attracts moths. The acquaintance of one with the other burned just the same; she, of course, knew from experience.

Ginny couldn’t stop herself from looking or even smiling. Draco looked the same as always, she thought. He had grown taller, but not by much. His face had become leaner, giving him a pointed, pinched appearance. She still thought he looked like a drowned cat—especially with his hair styled just the way she remembered it—but this time, he looked quite starved too.

If he ever set foot in the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley would remedy that immediately by feeding him several helpings of whatever she had on the stove, but, with a sinking feeling, Ginny remembered that no Malfoy would ever set foot in her house. Draco hated her, and her whole family, because his parents told him to, and she knew her father was no fan of the Malfoys either.

Draco spotted her watching him and smirked at her, causing her to blush and look away, her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest. Maybe she’d developed that disease Luna had told her about a few days ago, the one contracted from the bite of gooberbies. She didn’t know why her heart would be racing, otherwise.

Why did he have to smirk at her that way if he hated her so much? Shouldn’t he have just ignored her? Cruelly pretended not to see her? Why did she even care? She planned to hate him until the day she died. How much of his attention she attracted shouldn't have mattered.

All of this had happened in seconds, and Ginny’s brothers had already returned to say goodbye.

“Hey, mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?” asked Fred. “You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?”

“Who?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“Harry Potter!”

That caught Ginny’s attention because of course she knew Harry Potter; everyone did.

“Oh, mum, can I go on the train and see him, mum, oh please….” she begged as she tugged on Mrs. Weasley’s sleeve.

“You’ve already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo,” she answered reproachfully. “Is he really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked him. Saw his scar. It’s really there—like lightning.”

Ginny lost interest in the conversation, too disappointed to listen to Mrs. Weasley warning the twins against acts of mischief. She tried as hard as she could to remember every detail of the boy before he’d gotten on the train, but all she could recall was that he was only slightly taller than she was, wore baggy Muggle clothes, and had round glasses and black hair. She tried to imagine his lighting bolt scar and almost convinced herself that she had seen it.

Then the train began to pull away, taking her brothers with it. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she chased after the Hogwarts Express, crying, laughing, and waving to those onboard. Harry Potter was on there. She had seen him for a few brief moments; Luna would never believe it.

Ginny tried one more time to imagine Harry Potter’s face. She couldn’t picture it, other than general features: two eyes behind Spellotaped glasses, a mouth, and a nose. His appearance was too unremarkable to remember without knowing his identity first, because, certainly, had she known who he was beforehand, she would have made a greater effort to get a look at him. Disappointment suddenly filled her once again. He was Harry Potter! He should have radiated some kind of power, like… like… she stopped in her tracks, staring after the train she so wished she could have boarded, until it disappeared around a corner.

Why was Draco Malfoy a more impressive figure than the Harry Potter?

At that moment, Ginny became more determined to hate Draco, or if possible, to forget he existed, and planned to throw all of her energy into making Harry Potter fall in love with her when she attended Hogwarts with him next year.

Part Three - Combat

February 14, 1993

From a reluctant Harry Potter, who knew when he had lost—

Draco spotted the traffic clogging the corridor as he made his way to Transfiguration and frowned in irritation. He didn’t particularly care that he’d be late for class—except for not wanting to give Gryffindor’s Head of House the satisfaction of deducting points—only that his path was blocked. He didn’t have much sway in the castle, or the crowd would have parted for him immediately, but he aimed to be a Prefect and Head Boy one day. Then he would have influence in the school, just like his father had influence over Hogwarts’ board of directors.

No one stood aside for him, so Draco had to shove people out of his way to see what caused the commotion.

“What’s going on here?” he asked the crowd in general. Percy Weasley showed up then with a similar question. Draco scowled at him, at his red hair and abundance of freckles. He didn’t like Weasleys. Well, he wasn’t supposed to.

The sight of Harry Potter standing up, only to be tackled to the ground by a grim dwarf wearing a nappy and a pair of wings, caught his eye. Draco watched gleefully as the dwarf sat on Potter’s knees and began to sing.

As the little man sang about how divine Potter’s fresh-pickled-toad-colored eyes were, a flash of bright, shining red that wasn’t Percy grabbed his attention and held it. It didn’t matter that Potter’s face had turned a bright shade of mortified red, or that people were laughing at him, because she was there. Her eyes were focused on Potter with a strange intensity that could have been anxiety. It dawned on him that she had sent the valentine, and, for some reason, that made him angry.

Draco had to pull his eyes away from her. Her vivacity alone was enough to enchant him; he enjoyed it far too much. The first thing his eyes landed on was a black diary he was sure he had seen Ginny carrying around the school, but when he picked it up, Potter was the one demanding to have it back. As if he’d do what Potter wanted. Really.

Ginny’s brother Percy stepped into the confrontation he didn’t belong in, but Draco refused to give the diary back because he said so too. He never expected the spell Potter shouted, causing it to fly right out of Draco’s hand and into Ron Weasley’s.

At first, Draco was dumbfounded. He looked at Ginny to see a smug expression on her face that said exactly what he never wanted to hear out loud: Ha! Harry Potter is better than you! The words rang in his head combined with Ginny’s valentine song for Potter. It infuriated him that her attention had turned onto his enemy. She couldn’t be in love with Potter, could she? That song had been too terrible for her to be serious. She had to have sent it to make Draco angry. Well, it had worked! Besides, what did Potter have that Draco didn’t? What could she possibly see in Scarhead?

Ginny purposefully walked past him as she left, and Draco yelled after her with all of his fury and hatred, “I don’t think Potter liked your valentine much!” It sounded like jealousy, even to his own ears.

She stared at him in shock for two seconds before he saw her eyes fill with tears, and then she ran off, her face in her hands.

Draco ignored Potter and the youngest Weasley boy, the latter of which pulled out his wand and aimed it at Draco, while the former held him back. Draco’s mind was too full of his own to thoughts to pay much attention.

His father had told him what despicable wizards the Weasleys were, and Draco despised them for their lack of pride as wizards and their poverty, but Ginny Weasley he could not hate. From the first moment he had met her he'd been intrigued, and their second meeting had cinched the deal for him. He liked to make fun of her family and watch her face turn red. He liked the way her hair shimmered in the summer sun, coming to life in the appearance of fire. He liked her brown eyes and the way they looked at him with amusement and with hurt.

He hated that she had shifted her attention to Potter, but he didn’t hate her. Twelve-year-old Draco wanted Ginny for himself.

* * * * *

December 24, 1994

A Hufflepuff boy and a Ravenclaw girl cozied together on a bench hidden between conveniently placed hedges in the fairy garden, oblivious to everything except each other. Their lips couldn’t be more attached than if someone had jinxed them with a Permanent Sticking Charm, but that was fine. It was perfect, in fact, because while the couple was lost in all their senseless snogging, they could not see Draco leaning against a statue with his arms crossed impatiently, and they could not hear Ginny’s approach. Even if these facts had registered in their minds, they would have ignored them. They were not important.

Draco saw Ginny before she noticed him. He had followed her outside, anticipated where she was heading, and gotten there before she could to wait for her. For a few moments, he took in her appearance. The not-quite-new, or possibly hand-sewn, pink dress robes she wore clashed horrifically with her hair. She should have worn navy blue or emerald green, he thought. A nice russet would have brought out her eyes. Her body was shapeless and awkward, on the verge of growing into a woman’s body, but, for now, her arms and legs were long and skinny, her chest not quite flat. Her skin could have been perfect, peach-colored and smooth, without a single blemish—it would have been, if not for the freckles that dusted lightly over her shoulders, arms, and nose.

Her garish orange hair glittered like sparks from a flame under the fairy lights. She looked splendid. Awkward and ungainly, poor and unsophisticated though she was, he could not take his eyes off her.

He hated her for it.

“So you came with Longbottom,” he hissed. The dim lighting and the shadow of the sculpture had sheltered him from her view. She gasped and spun around, her eyes searching, one hand at her chest; then she registered who had spoken and her eyes hardened.

“He was sweet to ask me to come with him!” she replied defensively. He smirked at her reaction.

“Potter wouldn’t take you? His number one fan?”

Ginny turned away and tried to ignore him by walking off, but he would not let her. Before he knew it, his hand had snatched her arm and grasped it in a firm grip.

“Let me go!”

“You know he originally wanted to take Cho Chang, right? But he didn’t do too badly, did he? Parvati Patil is the prettiest girl in fourth year, and he took her instead of you!”

“I don’t care!” she cried, finally managing to snatch her arm back. “You’re an idiot if you can’t see what I’ve been doing!”

“What have you been doing?” he asked. “Something befitting of a Weasley, I’m sure.”

“You are an idiot.” She did something unexpected, then. She smiled at him—strangely, fiercely. It was a smile full of smugness. It was a smirk. “I don’t care about Harry. Believe me, I’ve tried to make myself fall in love with him, but I can’t. He’s nice, but I don’t want nice. I’ve only acted the way I have about him to annoy the hell out of you.”

Draco was startled, but he refused to let her see that. Unfortunately, the way she eyed him told him that she saw right through him. Her eyes were like that, he thought. They saw through people. She could see a person’s intentions. When she looked at him, he felt foolish and exposed.

He hated her for that too.

“What do I care what you do? I despise you. I despise your whole family,” he retorted, feigning casualness.

“The fact is, whether you despise me or not, that you do care. A lot. In the same exact way that I loathe you but can’t stop trying to catch your attention. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“I don’t care how you feel!” His voice had risen in exasperation and anger. She wasn’t listening to him. He did not like her. He didn’t care about what she thought or how she felt. Ginny turned to look at the couple seated in one of the garden’s corners and then moved closer to Draco so she wouldn’t be overheard.

“I’ve felt guilty for years because I like you and I don't know why. When you put down my family, I can’t help but think that your insults are clever and funny, even if they make me angry. You try so hard to act as if you are all grown up, but you’re not. You’re only fourteen. You’ve been acting this way since I met you. I liked that in you back then—I thought you were something special—but now I see it’s because you want so much to be like your father that you can’t even be yourself.”

“You think I’m not being myself?” he hissed, unsure if he was angry or not. Her accusations incensed him, but he couldn't fathom what she was talking about.

“No. I think there’s more to you than the foul cockroach people think you are.” She had the audacity to smile at him. Fondly! He would have been more annoyed by what she’d said if he hadn’t been distracted by that smile.

“This is me, Ginny! I will always be this way! You think I’m going to realize that my father is evil and suddenly start worshiping Potter like the rest of sodding Europe does? It is not going to happen, no matter how much you want it to!”

“Don’t you get it? I don’t want you to do that! And that’s why I hate you! You make me feel like I have a dirty little secret—as if I’m betraying my family. For some reason, I like you, even though you aren’t a nice person at all. I loathe you. Do you understand that? Loathe. But I still look for you when I sit down to meals, and my eyes are always watching for you when I’m walking down corridors, and I act like an idiot in front of Harry to make you angry, and I hate Pansy Parkinson because I’m jealous that you brought her to the Yule Ball! I hate you for making me feel this way!”

Draco knew better than she did not to spill all of his secrets to his worst enemy, for that she was. He felt exactly, exactly the same way. He hated her because he liked her, and his liking her was a betrayal to his own family. She had absolutely nothing to offer him—not money, not connections, not even good looks—but he wanted her all the same. Powerfully. Irrationally. He didn’t even know what he would do with her if she were his.

“I know I’m irresistible….” he preened, once again feigning nonchalance to cover his uncertainty about what to do next.

“You are!” Ginny cried furiously.

“I don’t know what you want me to say after that nice little speech. I don’t like you at all. As I’ve said, I despise you and your family!” he said, a part of him wanting to grab her and shake her until she made sense.

“Well, good! I don’t want anything to do with you! Just stay away from me!” she said, and before he could get out the words describing just how much he hated her, she stormed away, deliberately disrupting the snogging couple hidden in the corner of the hedges on her way out. She left Draco staring at the spot where she had stood and hating her more than ever because she lacked the respect to listen when a Malfoy was speaking.

However, contradictory to his hate, that was also exactly why he liked her.

* * * * *

May 8, 1997

Pansy Parkinson floated on metaphorical cloud nine. Things were going her way—their way. The Dark Lord’s presence could be felt permeating the whole country in the Dementors’ breeding mist. It could be felt opening a newspaper and reading about the deaths and disappearances of those foolish enough to cross him. It could be felt in wizarding, as well as Muggle, Britain. He was everywhere. Their side was winning.

On top of that, Draco Malfoy was almost hers. He’d been given a special mission by the Dark Lord—and he only sixteen years old!—that, once completed, would restore his family to its former glory. Mr. Malfoy had nearly lost them everything in the Department of Mysteries that summer, allowing Potter and his disgusting gang to get away, never retrieving the weapon that the Dark Lord had sought, but Draco would solve everything. He’d be number one in the Dark Lord’s eyes, and once Draco finally made her his, she’d be number one with him. Draco couldn’t fail, and all year he had continued to show interest in her. He’d allowed her to touch him, to sit with him, to talk to him as he never had before. He didn't even need to say the words; she would give herself to him willingly. Anything for him. Anything for the Dark Lord.

Pansy heard his voice in the second floor corridor and automatically stopped. She would miss curfew if she didn’t hurry, but Draco was a Prefect; she knew he wouldn’t take points from her. He never took points from Slytherin.

She thought about sneaking around the corner to surprise him, but she heard another voice as well, this one female. Her smile falling off her face, Pansy flattened herself against the wall, trying to listen to the conversation.

“Potter tried to kill me!”

“You tried to use an Unforgivable on him! It was self-defense!”

“That’s right, take his side.”

“Am I supposed to take your side over my boyfriend’s? Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy!”

Pansy peered carefully around the corner to see their faces. The sight of Ginny Weasley disgusted her. Her ugly red hair, the freckles that covered her skin like a disease, the scowl on her face as she looked at Draco… Pansy hated all of it. All of her. Why was Draco talking to her so familiarly?

“I can’t believe you are dating Potter,” Draco spat hatefully.

Weasley’s face contorted in anger. “Someone was finally showing some interest, so I laid it on thick. Does it rub you the wrong way to see us together?”

“Of course it does! You’re—” He stopped talking, his eyes shooting down to look at her face.

“I’m what?” that boyfriend-stealer challenged.

“You’re both stupid! I hate seeing stupid people together.” It looked as if that wasn’t what he had originally intended to say; Weasley noticed it as well.

“You’re insufferable!” she hissed as if restraining a shout. “You know very well I would not be dating Harry if…”

"If what?" Draco asked mockingly.

“If you had asked me out first!”

“I don’t want you,” he responded with a tone of disbelief.

Her voice lowered; Pansy had to strain her ears to hear her.

“Then why do your eyes follow me everywhere I go? I see you staring at me. Don’t pretend you don’t do it!”

Draco stared at her now, at a loss for words. Pansy wanted him to deny it all, hex her, and walk away, preferably with a disgusted sneer in place. Afterward, she could comfort him any way he wanted to be comforted. If only he’d give her the chance!

“I stare because you told me two years ago that you liked me, but now you are dating Potter!”

“I also said I hated you, remember? I’m sorry that Harry got there first, that you were so determined to despise me that you let the opportunity pass you by!”

“You told me to stay away from you! Dammit, I don’t know what you want!”

“I don’t know what I want, either.” Her voice had fallen along with her head, unable to look anywhere else except at the floor. Pansy watched Draco as emotions flitted across his face too quickly for her to identify. He probably couldn’t identify them himself.

Suddenly grabbing Weasley’s shoulders and pinning them against the wall, Draco said, “You’re mine, do you hear? You always have been and always will be. Dump Potter. Be with me.”

Pansy’s heart pounded achingly with longing. How she wanted to hear him say those words to her!

“It’s too late for that. You’ve chosen a path I can’t follow you down.” Weasley eyed his left arm, where Pansy knew the Dark Mark was burned onto his skin, just underneath his sleeve.

One of his hands darted up to her face and grabbed her jaw, jerking it up so that his lips could crash down on hers in an explosion of emotion. All the feelings that they had bottled up over the years poured out, like a potion turned toxic by the addition of a wrong ingredient that spilled all over the brewers. Draco and Ginny could only name a few of those feelings. Pansy could see them all.

There was hate in the way she bit his lips, anger as he pulled her hair. Love drove their bodies so closely together it looked as if they couldn't breathe. Jealousy saturated the frantic nature of the kiss, every touch, every nip. His hand clutched her waist possessively, fingers digging into her skin as she caressed his face. It was the definition of love and hate, an amalgamated mess of confusion and uncertainty.

The kiss seemed endless, and finally, Pansy had to look away. She stared at the ceiling as tears of hurt and betrayal pooled in her eyes, her fists clenched at her sides. She heard when they pulled apart, Weasley speaking first.

“I’m sorry. It’s just too late.” It sounded as if she was close to tears, though Pansy felt absolutely no sympathy for her. She had stolen Pansy’s kiss with Draco, stolen something precious and perfect to her. Now she understood why he was so cold to her, though he let her stroke his hair while his head rested in her lap. He wanted Ginny Weasley. He would never want Pansy as long as Weasley existed, even though Pansy’s blood was pure and her allegiance would always be to the Dark Lord.

“Have I told you how much I hate you?” Pansy heard Draco murmur in a resigned voice. He sounded exhausted and angry, much like Pansy felt just then.

“I… hate you too,” Weasley replied, choking on a sob, and then she fled around the corner, right past Pansy, though she didn’t notice the Slytherin girl lurking there.

The dull thud of a fist hitting stone sounded, and then Draco turned the corner as well and saw her there, with stupid tears in her eyes and her jaw clenched in fury. Things had changed. Pansy would never have that spot next to Draco, now or in the future. Even if he completed his mission as planned and restored the Malfoys back into the Dark Lord’s esteem, Draco would never be hers. He belonged to Ginny Weasley.

* * * * *

October 22, 1997

At the beginning of her seventh year, Pansy could still remember the unfortunate conversation she had overheard a few months earlier as she walked down the same corridor, with Draco by her side. As they headed to their next class, she could see the Weasley girl, the only Weasley left in the school, walking in the opposite direction, moving towards them. When Pansy glanced up at him, she noticed Draco’s eyes widen for only a moment as he saw Weasley’s approach, and then he looked down and away.

Pansy could see the change in Draco this year. He ate less, smiled less, was less of a presence than he used to be. She used to think the lack of an antagonist when Potter, Granger, and Ron Weasley did not return to Hogwarts that year had caused the difference, but time had passed, and Pansy no longer thought that that was the cause. She didn’t know why his face had become paler, his attitude darker, gloomier. She wanted to remove the purple bags from beneath his eyes, but that took magic she wasn’t capable of performing.

She remembered the fire he had had in him when arguing with Weasley the year before, all of the emotion in their kiss. None of it remained. Something had happened to him that had zapped all his energy away and not even Ginny Weasley herself could return it to him.

Weasley wasn’t walking towards them; she was walking past. Pansy couldn’t help but rub it in her face that her side had lost, that she no longer had any reason to be so self-righteous when her hero, her savior, had saved nothing but his own hide. She wanted to rub it in Draco’s face, as well. He knew she had witnessed their confrontation last term; she spitefully held it over his head as often as she could. She wanted him to see that Weasley wasn’t worthy of him, that she shouldn’t even be a contender for his heart. She was dirty, poor, and tainted by Potter’s touch. She took cruel delight in reminding him of that often.

“Where’s Potter, Weasley? Has he abandoned you? Grown tired of your filth and poverty?” Pansy crossed her arms and smirked, something she’d learned to do from Draco. It did not escape her notice that Weasley’s hands clenched into fists or that her eyes had hardened, slight as both reactions were.

“I can’t wait until you get yours, Parkinson,” she said, and though her words sounded angry, her expression was devoid of emotion.

“Get mine?” Pansy laughed. “I’ve already got mine!” She grabbed Draco’s hand and tangled her fingers with his. Draco snatched his hand away immediately, and when she looked up at him, his face had turned away from both girls.

“I hope you’re happy with what you got, then,” Weasley said. “It’s everything that you deserve.” Then she walked away, right around Draco and Pansy, without once sparing him a glance.

His face never lifted. He couldn’t even look at her.

Part Four - Truce

March 3, 2003

Astoria Greengrass had been a friend to Draco for a very long time, long before the war, before he had even started school. The friendship would have surprised many people because she was several years younger than he was, and it wasn’t common knowledge that they were friends. Her older sister, Daphne, had been a Slytherin in the same year as Draco, but they hadn’t gotten along well since they were children.

They were good enough friends that when Astoria had left Hogwarts and needed a job, Draco had been kind enough to give her one. Granted, it wasn’t the best job in the world, but he paid very well for her trouble, since trouble her he did.

For the last eighteen months, Astoria had been his personal assistant. She scheduled his life and his work for him, made him tea when he wanted it, checked his post for Howlers and curses people still sent five years after the war, and generally made him a functioning human being. It was natural for her to wake up in the morning and follow him around all day, sometimes sharing dinner at a restaurant before he allowed her to go home. Not that she worked all the time. Draco gave her days off—he could function without her.

Despite their friendship, she and Draco just didn’t talk about some things. It had never been a problem for either of them, simply a lesson that they had learned when they were young. Never share your secrets with anyone, but most especially your friends. Astoria had never in her life been so curious about the things Draco didn’t tell her as to make her sick, but it was evident when they walked into the Office for National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues in the Department of Magical Games and Sports that he did have secrets about which she was curious.

The secretary sitting behind the desk had long red hair that waved just slightly in a way that made Astoria, with all her delicate looks and glossy, straight hair, envious. While Astoria had never known or interacted with any Weasleys personally, she knew their reputation well enough to know that this woman was one of them. She only faintly remembered her from school, and only then as Harry Potter’s girlfriend.

When they walked into the office, Draco froze and his face contorted into a strange expression. It happened for a second before he relaxed and pretended that nothing had happened, while Astoria pretended she hadn’t seen it. It occurred to her then that he had just balked. Balked! She hadn’t seen Draco so frightened since the height of the war, during his last two years of school.

The Weasley woman reacted almost identically, though she had a harder time trying to control her expression after the initial shock wore off. Astoria smiled at the sight of her wide eyes staring at Draco, her mouth partially open, her expression one of dread. The quill she had been holding fell out of her numb fingers.

“Uh… Malfoy?” she finally said with a little shake of her head.

“Ginny…” Draco responded, as if reluctant to say her name.

Astoria watched with interest. She hadn’t known of the two being well acquainted, but their reactions to seeing each other now seemed to signify that they were, or at least had been once.

“What are you doing here?” Ginny asked, unable to get rid of the disbelief in her voice.

“I have a meeting with Mr. Fieldman today at two.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot to her hairline with surprise, and then she started lifting pieces of parchment off her desk, searching frantically beneath them and in drawers for something.

“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap… And he left me to deal with this… Not him! Anyone but him!”

Draco interrupted her mumbling, too impatient to be ignored. Not that he ever liked to be ignored. “Weasley, we just want to see Mr. Fieldman.”

Ginny closed the desk drawer she had been ruffling through and turned to face them, slapping a big, though tremulous, smile on her face.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Fieldman is out for today. He’s asked me to handle this meeting instead, but if you would rather reschedule—”

“It’s fine,” said Draco, inviting himself to sit in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Sit, Astoria.” Astoria did as she was told.

The smile slithered off Ginny’s face like melting candle wax. Evidently, she had hoped that they would reschedule the meeting rather than stay.

“Right… uh, so what can I help you with?” Her hands shook as she pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and picked up her quill again, but Draco didn’t notice because his eyes were too busy staring at her face. Ginny’s head lifted, but upon meeting his intense gaze, she looked at Astoria and then at a painting on the wall behind their heads.

“I would like to put together an amateur Quidditch tournament, the proceeds of which would go to St. Mungo’s.”

“Charity. Really,” Ginny commented sardonically as she jotted down a note on her parchment.

“Come now, Weasley. That’s not very professional, is it?”

Her expression turned to one of disappointment before resignation settled on her features.

“Of course. I’m sorry, sir.” Her face flushed scarlet and she couldn’t meet Draco’s eyes. Astoria peeked at Draco to see him smirking quite happily. He seemed to rather enjoy her calling him sir.

Throughout the meeting, Astoria took notes about his charity Quidditch tournament while watching the two interact. They had history and such amazing chemistry it was a wonder it had stayed secret for so long. Ginny was clearly uncomfortable. Her shoulders were tense, her voice overly polite, and she did not seem to want to look at Draco or Astoria for any length of time. Draco, on the other hand, seemed to take strength from her discomfort and tried to tease her further by “accidentally” brushing her hand when reaching for a piece of parchment on her desk and deliberately staring at her for extended periods of time—or maybe he didn’t realize that he was doing it at all.

“Astoria, will you wait for me in the hall?” Draco asked at the conclusion of the meeting. She stepped outside the door, but only just. Her curiosity was too much for her in this instance. He had never before dangled such a juicy secret as Ginny Weasley in front of her, and Astoria wasn’t going to be satisfied until she got the whole story. Not that she could ask Draco for it—that was a strict breach of the rules—but she could get the information she wanted other ways.

“Ginny.”

“That’s all for today, Mr. Malfoy. You may leave now.”

“You don’t have anything to say?” Draco asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

She dismissed him as if she hadn’t heard it. “No. Please leave.”

“I have something to say.”

“You always have something to say, but I’m at work right now, and I don’t have to hear it! I don't like you, remember?”

“It’s my turn to try to convince you that you do like me. You do. You didn't marry Potter.”

“I didn't love Harry!”

“So, what?” Draco hissed sarcastically. “You don’t love me either?”

The laughter that bubbled up from Ginny’s throat was cold and cruel. “I could never love you! I dated Harry because of you, to try to forget you.”

“To make me jealous!”

“Well…that’s in the past!”

“But you actually liked me! You told me that!”

"Just leave! Take your girlfriend and go!” Ginny hissed, shoving him straight out the door. Both were surprised to see the girlfriend in question, as if they’d forgotten she would be there.

Draco stared at Ginny and she stared back stubbornly. They ignored the people who had come out of their cubicles to stare at the commotion they had created.

“The war ended years ago,” he said.

“Not ours. Ours will never end. This,” she made a gesture with her hand, signaling the both of them, “never had anything to do with that war. It only served as ammunition!”

With nothing else to say, Draco, his face livid, called, “Let’s go, Astoria!” and stalked down the hall without even waiting for her.

Ginny’s eyes watched him go, and only the look on her face could have convinced Astoria to say what she did. Otherwise, she would have enjoyed misleading the woman a little—it would have been the Slytherin thing to do.

“I’m not his girlfriend, Ms. Weasley. Draco Malfoy never has girlfriends.”

She could take that to mean two things. If she was smart, she’d understand the true meaning, but she was a Weasley, and Astoria knew it was inevitable for a Weasley to misunderstand.

* * * * *

July 1, 2003

Hogarth Fieldman took great pride in his job despite the fact that its existence was about as obscure as the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He and his trusty secretary were the only employees in the National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues Office, but they worked hard and put their all into every client they received, infrequent as they were.

Surveying the turnout to the Malfoy Charity Amateur-League Quidditch Tournament, Hogarth felt that this project was another success, his best yet. He knew he couldn’t have done it on his own, which he would have had to do four years ago, before Ginny Weasley turned the one-man team into two. Hogarth had never known a harder worker, a more loyal employee, or a prettier girl than her. Even with a thirteen year age difference between them, he had tried every way he knew how to convince her to let him take her to dinner, but she always refused. He couldn’t possibly harbor any hard feelings against her because of her rejection. The joking manner in which he had asked her out had made it easy for her to decline, probably because she never took him seriously.

It was no matter. Their time working together had formed a great friendship between them. Besides, Ginny was still young, and while the difference in their ages was practically meaningless compared to the span of their lives, right now, to her, it made all the difference in the world. Such a pretty girl couldn’t possibly see something in a man such as him, whose width might have been three times her own, whose dark hair never seemed to meet a comb, and whose unruly beard always obscured his face. She would want someone closer to her own age, someone attractive, someone who could at least ride a broomstick without causing it to lag under his massive weight.

He amused himself by teasing her about her lack of a love life instead.

Something about the way she and the younger Mr. Malfoy interacted during the charity tournament planning meetings seemed to hint that he had been mistaken about her love life. Ginny sat in on all the meetings to take notes and serve tea when necessary, but she did so being very careful not to look at Mr. Malfoy or his assistant. This was such a significant change in her demeanor that Hogarth took notice immediately; Ginny was always very friendly and lively when they met with clients, but she had suddenly turned cold and unwelcoming. At least, it appeared that way at first, until he recognized her expression to be one of discomfort rather than dislike.

Mr. Malfoy’s behavior was wholly different from Ginny’s. He asked her what her thoughts were on some issue in the planning, what she would suggest to fix it, and never showed a sign of discouragement when she was less than forthcoming. He seemed to take amusement in annoying her.

Surprising him the night before the charity tournament was to take place, Ginny had asked Hogarth to be excused from attending. He had refused. They were the planners of the event, the only two representatives of the office, and they always attended the events they planned. She was good for business. People were more likely to approach the National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues Office for business if they knew that such a pretty girl was representing it, as well. Hogarth's elephantine appearance scared more customers away than it attracted.

Sitting next to her as they watched the first match of the tournament begin, Hogarth knew he had made the correct decision. Ginny smiled and cheered along with other fans in attendance and seemed to be enjoying herself well enough. He smiled to himself, happy to see her happy.

The game really didn’t warrant much attention, though. The players were all amateurs who had signed up to play and were randomly placed on teams. They had been given a month to practice with their teams before the tournament began, but it was clear that a month had not nearly been enough time. Some of the players were stronger than others. The best player was Draco Malfoy himself.

Hogarth had to hand it to him, not only for sponsoring a charity event open to anyone who could pay the cheap entrance fee, but for participating in it as well. The Malfoys had fought for years against the reputation they had obtained during the war; Draco seemed to work the hardest to earn back wizarding Britain’s respect.

One person who seemed wholly unimpressed by him was Ginny.

“Flashy show-off,” he heard her mutter under her breath as Mr. Malfoy pulled out of a steep dive just centimeters from the ground, to the gasps and applause of the drawn-in audience.

“You really don’t like him, do you?” asked Hogarth in amusement.

“Not at all. What is there to like?” she replied moodily.

“Some would say his wealth, his good looks, his charm—”

“Charm! Who thinks he’s charming? He’s not charming at all! He’s the complete opposite of it!” she scoffed.

“Some would beg to differ,” he said through his smile, trying not to laugh. “You talk as if you know him very well,” he continued, hoping to draw out any nugget of information about their relationship that she would give.

“I’ve known him since childhood. He’s nasty and arrogant and… and … indecisive!”

“Really! That’s interesting.” Hogarth hadn’t realized they’d known each other for so long, and he wouldn’t have pegged Draco Malfoy as indecisive based on Hogarth’s impression of him during their meetings. Mr. Malfoy had always made his decisions quickly and with finality.

“I absolutely, one hundred percent—”

“Loathe me?”

Draco Malfoy sat on his broomstick in midair before them, smirking very widely indeed.

“What are you doing? The game is still going!” Ginny cried in outrage.

“I’m aware. I just came to see how you’ve been since I saw you last week.” Hogarth’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“I—you… Get back in the game!” she yelled in response. “You’re letting your team down, terrible though it is!”

“We’ll win,” he said simply.

“Not if you’re hanging there talking to me rather than looking for the Snitch, you won’t!”

He smirked at her as if he knew more than she did.

Crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at one of the goal posts at the end of the pitch, she said, “I don’t care if you win anyway, but your teammates certainly will!”

“Well, how about I give you a reason to care?” he asked. “I’ll win this tournament for you.”

Hogarth studied Ginny’s reaction. Uncertainty, disbelief, agitation, even fear showed up clearly on her flushed face.

“What?”

“I will win this whole tournament for you.”

“You mean St. Mungo’s, of course,” she contradicted, looking slightly relieved as she said it.

“No,” he disagreed, leaning closer to her until their faces were centimeters apart. “I mean you.”

As Draco dashed away on his broomstick, back into the game to continue the search for the Golden Snitch, two things happened at once: Ginny began to laugh hysterically and derisively, and a Bludger pounded her in the face.

* * * * *

The Healer attending to the Weasley girl smiled at her kindly, hoping that by being easy going she would calm the redhead down. Hogarth, who was familiar with Ginny’s temperament, did not have a hope that that would work.

“Where is that bloody bastard! I'm going to hex—no, murder him! I don’t have time for a wand!”

“Please calm down, Ms. Weasley, or I won’t be able to heal your nose,” the Healer said soothingly. Ginny continued to thrash around and tried to get out of bed, but Hogarth shoved her back down.

“Where’s his pale neck? I want to wring it!” she screamed.

“Come on, Ginny, let the nice lady fix your broken nose,” he pleaded as if trying to convince a stubborn child to eat her vegetables.

Ginny huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing herself back against the fluffy pillows of the hospital bed. Yes, he thought, very childish.

“Fine! Fix my bloody nose!”

“It is rather bloody,” Mr. Malfoy said from the door.

“You!” growled Ginny. Hogarth kept his hand on her shoulder to restrain her, ignoring the glare she shot him as he did so. If looks could kill, he would have been dead ten times over.

“Don’t ‘you’ me. It’s not my fault you got hit with a Bludger.”

“It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t flown away, that Bludger would have hit you instead! OW!” Ginny’s restlessness had caused the Healer to accidentally hit her nose with her wand in the process of trying to clean the blood off her face.

“Well, if you would just sit still!”

Ginny slouched in the bed, finally defeated.

“How long was I out for?” she asked with resignation.

“Long enough for my team to win,” replied Mr. Malfoy smugly.

“Who asked you?” she snarled.

Hogarth interrupted before Mr. Malfoy could reply. Ginny winced as the Healer tapped her nose—on purpose this time—and the cartilage re-aligned itself.

“Less than half an hour. There was so much blood everywhere… I thought you were dead.”

“But don’t worry,” Draco butted in, smirking widely. “The game didn’t stop. I caught the Snitch for you.”

The Healer scanned her wand along each side of Ginny’s head, while Ginny muttered something about annoying rich people.

“If you want to do something for me, Malfoy, you’ll leave. Seriously. Leave.”

The smirk on Draco’s face turned into a scowl. “Fine, Ginny,” he said heatedly, his eyes hard. “I’m glad you were not hurt.”

“I was hurt,” she grumbled as he left, and then she sighed in relief that he was gone.

“Is that any way to treat that poor man?” the Healer berated her stiffly.

“What?” said Ginny, confused.

“After that boy carried you here? You could have at least thanked him first!”

“Mr. Fieldman, what is she talking about?” she turned to Hogarth and asked.

He looked faintly uncomfortable to be put on the spot, but Mr. Malfoy had his sympathy, and as such, Hogarth felt obligated to set the record straight.

“Ah, well, Mr. Malfoy had actually already caught the Snitch when he stopped to talk to you; the referee hadn’t even noticed. He’s actually a rather good Seeker. Don’t know why he didn’t go professional….” At Ginny’s warning glare, he got back on topic. “Right. When the Bludger hit you, it made this terrible, loud cracking kind of sound, which he heard, then immediately announced he had the Snitch and flew back—jumped into the stands from midair, he did—grabbed you, and then Apparated here. The Healers had already taken you from him by the time I realized what had happened and got here. He hasn’t left your side except to go contact your family.”

“M-my family?” Ginny stammered, looking a bit dazed.

Maybe it was his imagination, but Hogarth thought she looked regretful. It was painfully obvious that Draco Malfoy loved her a great deal, though his behavior around her might have suggested otherwise. He didn’t seem to know how to act while he was with her, how to talk to her in a way that didn’t raise her cackles. He thought Draco’s loving Ginny was unfortunate because it was obvious that she did not love him back. From the first moment he had witnessed their interactions together, Draco had been the one trying to pursue her, while she had ignored his advances and constantly argued with him. She was clearly uncomfortable in his presence. Hogarth felt he and Draco were brethren in that regard. Ginny Weasley had rejected them both.

As Mrs. Weasley burst into the room with a worried, wailing sob, Hogarth let himself out.

* * * * *

July 8, 2003

“Master? A lady is here to be seeing you!” the young house-elf cried timidly as she poked her head inside the door of Draco’s study.

Draco looked up from the paperwork on his desk. “Thank you, Misty. Ah, show her in.”

“Who could it possibly be?” asked Astoria sardonically. “I thought I was the only lady in your life?”

Draco scowled at her over the desk and would have said something to her if the door hadn’t opened to reveal Ginny standing tentatively at the entrance. Shocked, he shot out of his chair and didn’t even realize that her name had been torn from his lips involuntarily. He had never expected to see her so soon—not after she had kicked him out of her hospital room a week ago.

“Astoria, you may leave,” Draco said, his eyes never once leaving Ginny’s nervous face. She rolled her eyes in response as she left, closing the door behind her, and even though Draco wouldn’t know it until he viewed the memory again, she kept her ear pressed tightly to the keyhole on the other side.

Ginny walked toward the desk and stood in front of it, glancing around Draco’s office as if afraid to look at the man himself.

Draco did not ask her to sit. As glad as he was to see her—astonished, really—he still could not forgive her for dismissing him as she had. Since that day, he had obsessed over it, wondering if she didn’t have something going on with her obese employer. He had spent a week in anger over this thought—that she had forgotten him for that man—and his anger returned now, when the shock of seeing her had worn off.

The return of anger soothed him as nothing else could. It didn’t act as a balm, cooling the hurt and healing the uncertainty that had grown inside him. It was acid, burning both away until they became festering wounds. Not healed. Not covered up. Obliterated, until nothing remained. He felt calmer destroying his pain with anger than he did acknowledging his weakness.

“What do you want?” he asked coldly. He wondered how uncomfortable she felt standing there while he sat, and a bit of a satisfied smirk tugged at a corner of his lips. He hoped she was very uncomfortable.

“It seems I… Hogarth told me what happened,” she replied quietly.

“Really? Is that so? Hogarth told you what happened?”

He could tell that his tone angered her, because her ears turned an alarming shade of red as she finally looked him dead in the eye and snapped, “I’ve got something to say and I’m not leaving until I say it! You are going to shut your bloody mouth and listen to me!”

Her outburst surprised him—in a good way. She had always had a spark, a feistiness that he had loved. He wasn’t ready to deal with her if she wasn’t going to fight with him. He gestured with a hand for her to continue while he sat back in his chair and watched in amusement.

“Do you remember how we fought at the Ministry of Magic picnics, when we were little?” she asked hotly.

“Yes,” he replied simply. He wanted to elaborate, to say that of course he remembered, to tell her how he still thought of it frequently, how he thought of her frequently. He refrained from making a fool of himself.

“I promised myself once that I would hate you until the day I died. I thought I had kept that promise pretty well.”

He waited, but she didn’t speak. “But?” he prompted her.

“I’ve been lying to myself.”

Draco stood up, not quite certain why he did, just that it seemed to be the right thing to do. Her eyes watched him as he slowly circled the desk. Those brown eyes he loved glittered with several emotions he didn’t feel comfortable naming because it meant acknowledging the truth. He couldn’t know that his eyes glittered with the same emotions.

“I see.”

“No, you don’t,” she murmured, turning to face him now that he stood beside her. “I… thought to hate you meant that we had to fight. That this war could only exist as long as we hated each other. And… and I didn’t want the war to end.”

“That is so convoluted,” he said softly.

“Yes, it is.” She laughed slightly, just as softly. His hand swept up to her hair, pushing it off her forehead, out of her face. Her eyes fluttered closed. He hadn’t touched her hair since he had kissed her in his sixth year. It was as silky as he remembered it. The flames in the fireplace set it alight so that it sparkled and danced. He’d thought her splendid once. He still did.

“I’ve realized something since you got me beat up by a Bludger,” she continued. Draco, outraged, started to set her straight, but then he saw the smirk on her face, which calmed him down.

“What did you realize?” Their faces were centimeters apart. He stared at her lips wondering how different it would be to kiss her again—or maybe it would be just the same, just as confused, just as uncertain as their first.

“We can call a truce. We can put an end to this fighting. Stop the battles. We don’t even have to like each other. Just… stop.”

Draco couldn’t resist a taste, just one. His lips met hers gently, softly. Too softly. The kiss was teasing, tickling, electrifying, and promised so much more for both of them, if only they’d give in to each other. They wanted to, but they didn’t know how to let go. They could have, but they were afraid that they were dreaming, and to deepen the kiss, to change it in anyway, would shatter the dream.

Draco reluctantly pulled away first and waited to hear the sound of something breaking, lost forever.

“I only have one problem with that plan,” he whispered against her lips before giving in to temptation and desperation and stealing another quick kiss. One more out of the thousands he wanted to steal from her.

“What’s that?” she asked breathlessly. He could tell she was barely paying attention to what he said, and a smug smile lit his face at the thought of his effect on her.

“I do like you. Quite a lot.”

“Oh, good,” she said, her smile a bright sunbeam, not only blinding to his eyes but also able to defeat the darkness that still lingered in his soul. “I like you quite a lot, too.”

Ginny threw her arms around Draco’s neck, and their lips met once again in a frantic dance of love that conquered the hate they had stubbornly held onto for fifteen endless years. In her kiss, Draco found the balm that soothed his soul, healed his wounds, cooled his anger, and made him whole.

Ginny tore her face away from him—how could she possibly be strong enough to pull away? he wondered—and glared at him weakly. “But I still hate you!” she retorted unconvincingly before he silenced her with his lips once again.

On the other side of the door, Astoria stood up and rolled her eyes as she dusted off her robes. She walked away, muttering under her breath, "Idiots…”

* * * * *

May 12, 2007

A storm rolled through the Ministry of Magic in the form of Draco Malfoy, barreling down innocent bystanders like hurricane winds, hair glinting like the flash of lightning, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.

Astoria tried to keep up with him, tried to slow him down, but she could do neither. He was determined and that determination made him unstoppable.

“Draco, listen to me! You can’t do this to her. She will hate you. Did you hear me? Hate you! Do you know what that means?”

“Shut it, Astoria. She could never hate me. She never has and she never will.”

Groaning, Astoria finally gave up. She’d been at it all day, but if he was just going to ignore her, then so be it. She had tried to warn him.

“Fine! But if you lose her, I will not let you cry on my shoulder!”

He ignored her, but, being a good assistant, she continued to follow him. No one stopped him as he slammed open the door adorned with a gold plaque that read “National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues Office.”

Ginny, startled, jumped out of the chair behind her desk, crying, “What is going on?”

“What are you doing on July 17th?” Draco asked as he leaned against her desk so nonchalantly it would seem he hadn't just stormed through the Ministry and barged into her office.

Staring at him as if he’d just sprouted an extra eyeball in the middle of his forehead, she said, “What?”

He replied, “Check your calendar, check your schedule, check your biological clock for Slytherin’s sake, and tell me: do you have July 17th free?”

Her face expressed her doubt that he was either thinking clearly or sober, but she flipped through a calendar on her desk as he requested.

“I’m free that day,” she said.

Draco snapped his fingers at Astoria, who stood near the door in the small ante-office.

“Did you hear that? Book it. Write it down.”

Astoria sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, but she did as she was told, scribbling in his day planner with a quill.

“Now,” he said, turning back to his confused girlfriend of four years and pointing to the blank box on her open calendar that represented the date 17 July. “I would like you to write Malfoy-Weasley wedding, one o’clock.”

“Excuse me?” Ginny retorted. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“You did hear me. Write it down,” he commanded, his voice rising with his temper.

Ginny stared at him in disbelief. “Why? Who decided this?”

He leaned over her desk, his face deadly serious. “I did, because I’ve been asking you to marry me for the last three years and you keep refusing. I don’t know why you do it, but if you don’t want to marry me, then we have no reason to see each other anymore. I think I’ve been patient, but my patience has just about run out.”

Ginny didn’t say anything for several moments. Her eyes lowered, looked at Astoria, and returned to Draco’s serious face, all as if waiting for him to say, “Surprise! May Fools!”

“But, Draco, that’s… that’s only two months away!”

He straightened his back and crossed his arms, trying to look imposing even though Ginny never backed down from him. They always met head-to-head, and he was ready to do the same in this instance.

“I have a lot of money. We can get everything ready.”

“But… my family!”

“They’re free that day, too. They can’t wait to see you in white,” he replied sarcastically.

Ginny gasped. “You told them already?”

“Of course. I asked for your father’s permission three years ago, and your mum’s exact words were, ‘It’s about time!’” His impression of Mrs. Weasley was uncannily accurate.

“And they didn’t threaten to murder you?”

“If you have no real objection….”

“What about my job? I have to work, you know!”

“You already said you were free that day!” His patience had indeed run thin. He didn’t understand why she was still objecting, but her waffling made him angrier and angrier. Had he wasted all this time on her? Would she really refuse him once and for all?

“Mr. Fieldman might need me!”

“No I won’t!” Hogarth Fieldman’s muffled voice called from the door behind Ginny’s desk. “Send me an invitation, will ya?”

Ginny shook her head.

“If that’s your final answer, I’ll be leaving then,” Draco said, his body shaking with rage borne from his hurt. The only person he had ever loved, ever acknowledged loving, was turning him down. She’d strung him along for the past twenty years, but he was tired of it now. All he had ever wanted was her. Maybe she hadn’t felt the same.

A hand on his shoulder stopped Draco. He turned, and she stood there smiling at him, a small, uncertain smile that he recognized because he was feeling exactly what her smile expressed.

“Two months isn’t long at all. How will we possibly get everything done?”

A small piece of him deflated like a balloon, releasing an internal sigh of happiness. A grin graced his lips, revealing his relief. These days, his smiles came much easier than they had in the past, thanks to her. What would he have done if he had lost his reason for smiling? For happiness? For living? Because he did live for her, to make her happy, to make her angry, to fight with her, to comfort her. She was his everything, even if she was a Weasley.

“When you’ve got money, everything is possible,” he replied, his grin turning into his more natural arrogant smirk.

“You mean anything is possible,” she corrected him.

“No,” he disagreed. “I’m pretty sure I mean everything.” She shook her head, marveling at the logic of the rich. In the past, he would have made some crack at her own family’s financial situation—or lack thereof—and Ginny waited for it to come, though she waited in vain. Something dawned within her, a revelation of sorts, as she realized what marrying Draco would mean.

“Are you ready to finally put an end to this war?” she asked, taking his hand in hers.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles. “You said it before,” he replied. “Our war will never end.” That didn’t sound like such a bad thing to either one of them.

From the door, Astoria called, “I’m enjoying all this mushiness immensely, really, but I think I’m going to have to resign my position, now.”

“What?” Draco said, looking away from Ginny to stare incomprehensibly at his assistant of nearly six years.

“Yes, just think of it as my wedding gift to you,” she replied as she set Draco’s day planner down in the chair that sat next to the door. “And to me,” she continued with a very satisfied smirk, indeed. “You’re not worth all the trouble I’ve been put through. Weasley can have you now.”

“It’ll be Malfoy to you, come July,” Ginny responded, though her eyes remained fixed on Draco.

“I think I might puke,” a two months older Astoria Greengrass said as her memory-self rolled her eyes and shuddered in horror. “This really is too sickeningly sweet.” No one batted an eyelash at her words except Luna Lovegood, who suddenly began to applaud the engaged couple before her.

“Must you do that?” Astoria asked.

“But they’ve come so far!” Luna said. Astoria stared at Luna in disbelief as she noticed the tears running down her face.

A moment later, both women were standing around the Pensieve in the Greengrass’s parlor.

“Thank you for the memory,” said Luna as she wiped her eyes and then proceeded to copy the memory.

“It was nothing. I needed a break anyway,” Astoria replied while pouring a cup of tea for herself. “Between Draco’s mum and Ginny’s, I haven’t had a moment’s rest since I began planning this cursed wedding.”

“It’s not cursed. It’s beautiful!” Luna said blithely, taking the teacup from Astoria’s hand. The Slytherin woman glared at the oblivious Ravenclaw in annoyance.

“You’re not the one planning it!” Fixing herself another cup, she sat back in her armchair and sighed. “I’m looking forward to their honeymoon. Then I can get some decent sleep for the first time in two months.”

Luna’s blue eyes lit up with excitement. “I bet their honeymoon will be just as lovely! Relaxing… and peaceful…”

Choking on her tea, Astoria scoffed, “Relaxing! Peaceful! Who are you talking about? Those two can never be at peace! They’re always yelling at each other and arguing, and spend as much time hating each other as they do snogging. Take my word for it—that’s a lot!”

“They don’t hate each other,” Luna replied dreamily, as she stared at the fire roaring in the fireplace. The sound of the wood burning and cracking filled the room, as did its ambient glow.

“Fire is underestimated, in my opinion,” she continued a moment later, earning Astoria’s dubious attention. “It’s feared because of how destructive it can be and how hard it is to control. I don’t think it means to be either one. It does provide warmth, doesn’t it? It hugs and protects the wood, gives it warmth, but it doesn’t know its own strength. It doesn’t realize that the closer it gets to what it loves, the more it hurts it.”

A piece of wood snapped in half, and a shower of embers flew up into the chimney.

“But the wood doesn’t run away, does it? It likes the fire’s warm embrace too much to care that it is being burned. I think Draco and Ginny are like that. They know that their love isn’t the most beneficial for their well-being, but they love each other too much to care if they burn. I think their passion for one another gets mistaken for hate, just as fire’s love for wood is mistaken for destruction.”

Astoria stared at Luna’s preoccupied face for several moments, her hand limp around her teacup.

“You are… unbelievable,” she said with disbelief. “It’s just wood. It can’t run away if it’s getting burned!” Then she adopted a slow tone as if speaking to a child. “Weasley is human. She can get away or fight back if someone hurts her, Lovegood.”

Luna turned to Astoria, whose hand still hung in the air, miming a person running away.

“Who said Draco was the fire?”

“If he’s not, then which one is?”

She turned her attention back to the fire, watching as the black wood gave all of its life to it until there was nothing else to give. It wouldn't be long before the fire starved and eventually died along with it.

“Exactly.”

Part Five - Epilogue - The Never-Ending War

July 17, 2007

To wizarding Britain, the announcement of a marriage between Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley could not have been a bigger surprise. An engagement announcement had been expected for a long time, but the younger Greengrass girl was thought to become the Malfoy bride. She had been seen with Draco all over London, including inside the most expensive restaurants. For the media and the public, both of which had assumed that Draco and Astoria had been dating for several years, the sudden inclusion of one Ginny Weasley into the Malfoy family was a shock and a scandal. Headlines in all the most popular newspapers proclaimed Draco’s unfaithfulness to poor Astoria and denounced Ginny as an immoral woman.

The trio in question had not paid much attention to the rumors or the whispers. Astoria had received some satisfaction from the sympathy she got from shop owners when she went shopping, and she took full advantage of it, just as a Slytherin would. Ginny and Draco were indifferent to the ill treatment they sometimes received. Draco was used to being disliked, due to his family’s involvement in the war, and Ginny could never get away from the stigma of breaking Harry Potter’s heart, even if Harry had gotten over their break up several years ago, himself.

The people closest to them had known of their relationship for years, but they were not a couple to flaunt their love. Their families still did not quite understand their relationship sometimes, due to the way they conducted themselves when surrounded by people (such as by picking fights with each other over inconsequential matters). Despite this, and the very short amount of time he had given Astoria to plan it, Draco had expected his wedding to be an even bigger event than that of Harry Potter.

It had been.

Once the vows were said, the cake eaten, the dancing done, and the bouquet thrown, Draco and Ginny heaved a sigh of relief inside the carriage that would take them to the nearest Floo station, where they would then embark on their honeymoon to Spain.

Ginny’s face glowed red with happiness and excitement as she leaned out the window and waved to her friends and family receding into the distance. Draco crossed his arms and smirked at her, filled with a calm contentment he had never experienced before. She sat back down in her seat across from him when it became impossible to see their friends any longer.

“That went well!” Ginny said happily, her smile as white and blinding as the moon that was slowly rising in the sky. It still disconcerted him when she smiled that way; he could never get used to the feeling of peace that settled on his heart and soul when she beamed at him.

“I should hope so,” he replied arrogantly. “Nothing less could be expected of the wedding of a Malfoy.”

“You’re not giving Astoria her credit,” she berated him lightly.

“Of course she did an excellent job. If she hadn’t, she’d have had to face my ire.”

“Your ire. Right. I know all about your ire,” Ginny said from behind her hand, trying to stifle her laughter.

“What was that thing that Lovegood gave you?” Draco asked, ignoring her slight, referring to a strange kind of briefcase that Luna had handed to Ginny as she and Draco entered the carriage.

Ginny had forgotten about it in the excitement of leaving, but now she lifted the case onto her lap and read the piece of parchment stuck to its top.

"Take me with you; carry me close.
Here are some things you value most.
You’ve seen me once, now watch again
With fresh new eyes. From, a friend.”

“Loony’s got talent,” Draco said. Ginny frowned at him and punched him.

“We’ll take a look at this when we get to the villa,” Ginny replied as he rubbed his arm.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, we do! Luna gave it to me directly! It must not be able to wait until after the honeymoon.”

“But it’s our honeymoon!” he complained. “Do you know what a honeymoon is for?”

Ginny rolled her eyes despite the blush that crept up her neck to her cheeks and ears. “Of course I do!” she said agitatedly, trying to cover her embarrassment.

“Well, then…!”

“We’ll talk about it when we get there,” Ginny said. Her word was final.

* * * * *

Ginny’s word actually turned out to be final. Once they’d deposited their luggage in the master bedroom of the Malfoy villa, she pulled out Luna’s gift again and began to unlatch the clasps that held it closed, before Draco could object. He threw himself down onto the sofa hoping that if he didn’t argue with her about the dumb gift, she’d finish playing with it soon enough, and they could finally begin their wedding night.

“Look at this, Draco! It’s a Pensieve!” Ginny pulled the Pensieve out of the case and set it gently on the coffee table as Draco leaned over, a smidgeon of curiosity tugging at him to look.

“What’s this?” he asked, lifting one of the vials containing a swirling silver string of memory out of the case.

“Look!” she exclaimed, lifting another vial and observing the label stuck to the glass. “The Proposal,” she read.

“This one says Ginny and Draco’s First Meeting,” Draco said with a frown. “These are…”

“Events in our relationship!” Ginny pulled out each vial and studied their labels. “They’re all dated. March 3, 2003. July 17, 1987. Luna was very thorough, wasn’t she?”

Draco looked at his new wife, his face blank. “I’m rather frightened,” he said. “Remind me to change the protective enchantments around the villa.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “We’re not under attack.”

“With us, you never know,” he replied.

Ginny remembered what had been said about them in the media and how people had treated them because of it, not to mention their past offenses in the eyes of the public soon after the war ended. She recalled the twenty-year struggle between themselves, the other war, the one they called theirs.

“I guess you’re right.” Ginny studied the vials in her hand again and then frowned as she reread one of the labels. “Hey, wait a minute… our wedding date.…”

“What about it?” Draco deliberately averted his attention to digging through the case to see what other memories Luna had collected.

“It’s the anniversary of the Ministry picnic where we met for the second time.”

“Is it?” he replied with disinterest.

“You should know! You picked the date!”

“I wonder why Lovegood thought this would make such a great wedding gift. These aren’t happy memories,” he said to change the subject, putting down the vial that read First Snog.

Deciding she would get more information out of him later, Ginny dropped the matter about the date. “No,” she replied instead, “but we can’t forget them just because they’re not happy memories. They’re a part of us. I think she wanted us to remember what we’ve been through to get to where we are now.”

“I don’t need anyone to remind me. I can remember,” he grumbled.

Ginny began to unstop the vials and pour their contents into the Pensieve. “Don’t pout, Draco. It’s unbecoming of a Malfoy,” she said sarcastically.

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“I want to watch the memories, see what she found. You know she couldn’t have possibly collected a memory from every instance we interacted. If I watch them all, I can see what to add.”

“I’ve got a very, very good memory we could add, but it hasn’t happened yet because you want to play in the past!” he growled. Ginny’s face flushed.

“That’s…”

“Kinky.”

Ginny shook her head sadly, but Draco could see one side of her face and the blush that reached her ears and knew he had embarrassed her. He smirked, satisfied with himself. One of his favorite pastimes was to find new and inventive ways to make her face turn red.

“Look, Luna’s got this one vial labeled Premonition. Let me see what it is, and then we can play,” she said, giving him a placating smile.

Draco waved a hand at her to carry on. Ginny stared down into the basin and watched the memories swirl together, only catching snippets of an event from her past before it turned into another. The corners of her lips bent down in a frown.

“What is it? Aren’t you going?” Draco asked with an irritated pout.

“I… I’m afraid,” she whispered, looking at him with brown eyes that revealed uncertainty.

“Of what?” he asked in a softer voice, leaning towards her and taking one of her hands in his.

“The truth,” she replied, her eyes darting away from his in shame. “Memories fade as time passes, and sometimes we remember things the way we do because of how we felt at that time. I’m afraid of watching it again and seeing what really happened. We were so… combative. So full of hate. Every time we met, it felt like we were breaking up.”

Draco was startled by the sudden melancholy turn in her mood and even more so by her reasons. It was a rare thing to see her this way. She had always personified fire, burning with life, happiness, and even anger, always passionate and alive. She didn’t often share her fears with him, which had led him to believe that she had none, that he was the only one who had them. It soothed him to know that her fears and his were the same, even if he hadn’t known what his own fears had been until she had voiced hers.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles tenderly.

“You are mistaken,” he said. His smirk drew her eyes to his face again. “One—we couldn’t have broken up, because we were never together. We both made sure of that. Two—combative, yes, but I think we both know that we never hated each other. And three—these memories…” He gestured toward the waiting Pensieve dismissively. “We experienced them alone the first time through. This time, we’ll be together.”

He couldn’t say it, but he understood her. It frightened him to have to face himself too, to witness the destruction of their war as an outside observer, rather than being in the moment and fueled by emotions he couldn’t always name. He would be able to name them this time; he just wasn’t sure if he wanted to have that objective position in the memory. But he would have Ginny with him, and they wouldn’t be fighting against each other; they’d be on the same side, fighting their past. He knew it would be a difficult battle and one that couldn’t easily be won. They did not have the ability to change what had happened between them, only their attitudes toward it.

“You’ll come, then?” Ginny asked, smiling at him with that bright smile he loved.

“I suppose,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “But only if you promise that we will play right afterward.”

A blush crept up her cheeks, threatening to camouflage every freckle sprinkled across her nose. He could spend eternity counting the freckles on her body and then making fun of her for her polka-dotted skin. In fact, he looked forward to it.

“I promise,” she said. Draco rewarded her with a swift kiss on her lips that quickly grew more heated, at Draco’s subtle persuasion. Her hands wandered to his face and stroked his cheeks, while his fingers tangled themselves in her god-awful orange hair. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Suddenly pulling away and glaring at his innocent face, she said, “You can’t change the subject on me. I still want to look at those memories!”

“All right, then,” he conceded airily, then assumed a businesslike façade.

She took his hand again as they situated themselves on opposite sides of the Pensieve. Ginny took a deep, steadying breath while Draco watched her. If she’d have only looked up, she would have seen a genuine smile lighting his face, but she missed it in preparing herself for the plunge.

“Have I told you how much I hate you recently?” Draco suddenly asked. Ginny looked up and smiled wickedly.

“No. Not in a very, very long time,” she said.

“Good,” he replied with a wide smirk. “I hope I never do it again.”

“I love you too, Draco.”

A moment later, they were surrounded by tall grass that swayed with the breeze as if moving in slow motion, giving the hill from which they, and six-year-old Luna Lovegood, observed the six rowdy boys below the appearance of an enormous creature slumbering under a summer sun.

And so their war continued.

Fin

ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic:
The tone/mood of the fic: Anything is fine with me - fluff has always my preferred cup of tea, but angst, humor, or even some darker fics are okay as long as there is a happy ending. The happy ending is a must.
An element/line of dialogue/object you would specifically like in your fic: I'd like to see a fic with Draco and Ginny as they are growing up - maybe even before they start at Hogwarts. Other action can take place when they're older, of course, but a large chunk of the plot must happen when they're children - maybe show it through flashbacks or something. And it would be interesting - though not required - if the narrator was someone who wasn't Draco or Ginny, just to switch things up. Extra points if you can work this "fighting couples" theme into Draco and Ginny's childhood! (If you want an example, think Derek and Odette in The Swan Princess - I know, it's an oldie children's movie but that doesn't mean it isn't fantastic!)
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: Anything below NC-17 is fine - the "Sorta Naughty" range if you're going by FIA terms.
Canon or AU? Either is fine.
Deal Breakers (anything you don't want?): No rape, incest, etc. No Harry or Ron bashing, please. And (this one's a little harder) no first-person point of view fics.