Draco stared at the way the candlelight reflected off the edge of his knife. The only reason he didn’t slash his wrists was because his death would bring Ronald Weasley too much joy. He set the knife down and picked up the chocolate chip cookie from his plate. Only Molly Weasley or her daughter would think to give a prisoner of war a cookie.

He’d been at Grimmauld place for two months. The room he was confined to was sparsely furnished, but clean. Three times a day Ginny or her mother would enter the room, call out a greeting and place a tray of food on the small round table by the foot of his bed.

He would nod and murmur a thank you for the food. In truth he was grateful. While he was in the thick of the battle working for Voldemort he’d been lucky to have one decent meal a day.

When Charlie Weasley had captured him, Draco expected torture followed by death. Instead, Mr. Weasley and Professor Snape asked him a series of questions while Mrs. Weasley insisted he eat a bowl of soup.

It wasn’t until he’d finished the bowl of soup that he began truly spilling his guts. He chuckled at the memory. Veritaserum in chicken soup was not something he’d been taught to watch out for.

After he’d told them everything he knew about Voldemort and his fellow death eaters, Mrs. Weasley said, “You can stay here with us if you like. I’m sure the war will end soon.”

Since the Veritaserum was still in his system he’d blurted out. “I don’t want to fight anymore. Voldemort is insane.”

Mrs. Weasley had smiled at him and patted the top of his head like he was five rather than twenty-five. “Ginny will take you up to your room.”

It wasn’t until he heard her name that he realized Ginny was in the kitchen. Apparently she’d been sitting in the corner reading a book. The dark blue kerchief she had tied over her hair may have been why she’d gone unnoticed.

She’d nodded at him like she escorted death eaters to their room every evening. “Come with me, Malfoy.”

On the verge of hysterical laughter, he’d clamped his lips shut and followed the small young woman up the stairs. She seemed so at ease in his presence. He should be insulted. He was Draco Malfoy after all. Except, he didn’t feel like a Malfoy anymore. He felt tired.

She stopped walking at a room halfway down the hall. Producing her wand, she performed a spell and opened the door. “There are spare clothes in the armoire. The door on the right opens to a bath. Knock before you go in. Snape and Charlie use the bath as well.”

He’d no idea what to say. His stomach chose that moment to rumble.

“Here.”

He looked at the paper sack she held out to him. “Mum packed you a sandwich.”

Taking the bag, he met her gaze. “Thank you.”

She nodded, turned and left. It struck him as odd that she didn’t stay to watch him enter the room. Then again, he had nowhere else to go.

Since his arrival two months ago, he’d been well fed and largely ignored. Ginny delivered his meals on a regular basis. She would smile, greet him and accept his thanks with a nod. He wished she’d stay and talk, but he didn’t feel he had a right to expect social niceties. He was, after all, a reprehensible person who’d done terrible things.

One evening, Ginny surprised him by carrying two dinners into his room. “Mind if I join you?” she asked.

“No.” He was afraid to say much more, but he craved human interaction. As she sat, he noticed the tightness around her eyes. “Are you all right? You seem upset.”

She chuckled. “You don’t know me at all, but you can tell I’m brassed off. My idiot brother, who claims he knows me better than anyone, thinks I must be coming down with a cold.”

“Which brother would that be?” He took a bite of his sandwich and waited for her to continue.

“Ron,” she supplied as she stirred sugar into her tea. “He thinks I shouldn’t be upset about being trapped in this house.”

“After what I’ve seen I’d be happy to stay in this house forever.” He ducked his head wondering if someone had put veritaserum in his tea. Maybe he’d been talking out loud to himself more than he realized.

“Why did you do it?”

Her question pulled him out of his thoughts. “Why did I do what?”

“Throw in with Voldemort.”

“I believed in my father. My father believed in the dark lord. It turns out we both had terrible judgment.” Bitter laughter escaped his throat. “Once, I approached my father and asked if I could take my mother to a safe haven. He said removing my mother from the manor would appear disloyal. When I told my mother of the conversation, she suggested I find my own sanctuary because it was too late for her and my father.”

The tears that leaked from his eyes took him by surprise.

Ginny reached across the table and placed her hand on his. He closed his eyes and relished the sensation of human contact.

When he opened his eyes, she gave his hand a brief squeeze and then introduced a new topic. “What do you plan to do after the war?”

He sipped his tea while he considered the question. “I have no plans. I never expected to live through the war.”

She stared at him for a moment. “You were willing to die for Voldemort?”

He shook his head. “You misunderstood. Voldemort kills off his followers when he is displeased. I watched Blaise die because he questioned the dark lord’s plan of attack. It only took a moment. One flick of a wand and my best friend keeled over at my feet. I was tasked with removing his body.”

Ginny cleared her throat and blinked her eyes rapidly. “Didn’t...didn’t anyone ever think to rebel against him?”

“He’s too strong.” Draco took a drink of his tea. “Blaise and I talked about our options a few times. I’ve often wondered if he knew what his punishment would be for questioning Voldemort. It makes me feel better to think he planned his own death.”

She stared down at her hands as she spoke. “Do you think we can win the war?”

He didn’t even have to think about it. “No. I don’t. There’s no one on your side who is willing to risk the lives of their friends the way Voldemort risks the lives of his followers.”

“So, what do we do?” She met his gaze.

“We live, day to day, and enjoy the little things.” He picked up the cookie from his plate, broke it in half and passed her the larger piece.

“Thank you.” She stood. “If cookies are the best we can hope for, then I say we go down to the kitchen for glasses of milk.” Waving him toward the door, she said, “Come on.”

He wanted to follow, but didn’t want to cause her any trouble. “Am I allowed to leave my room?”

“I don’t see why not.” She chuckled. “Ron will probably object, but my mum won’t mind and she rules the roost.”

He followed in her path. When they reached the kitchen, everyone stopped talking. Years of hiding his feelings allowed Draco to keep a neutral expression on his face.

“We need milk for the cookies,” Ginny announced to Ron, Charlie, Snape, and her mum.

“What’s he doing down here?” Ron asked.

“Milk.” Ginny glared at her brother. “For. The. Cookies.”

Ron opened his mouth.

Charlie cut him off. “Milk sounds good, Gin. Pour me a mug?”

“Sure.” She grabbed three mugs and filled them with milk. Two she passed to Draco and one she handed off to Charlie.

Draco had no idea what he was supposed to do next. He waited for Ginny to give him a clue.
She placed a dozen cookies on a plate. “Let’s sit in the parlor.”

He joined her on the faded red couch in the front room. He dipped a cookie into his milk while he scanned the room for possible weapons. When he realized what he was doing, he shook his head. Old habits died hard.

“Looking for some means of entertainment?” Ginny asked.

He nodded. A white lie was better than admitting to the ugly truth.

She pointed to a stack of books on the mantle. “We have some reading material.” She pointed at the end table. “We have blank scrolls of parchment, quills and ink if you like to draw.”

Finally, he had a conversational opening. “Do you draw?”

“I draw badly,” she admitted. Brushing her hands on her skirt, she retrieved a few rolls of parchment from a basket under the end table. Spreading a piece of parchment on her lap, she asked, “What do you think this is?”

He took a long sip of milk while he tried to figure out what the creature on the paper was supposed to be. “I believe it’s a hippogriff with a terrible overbite.”

Her mouth dropped open, and then she laughed. “It’s supposed to be Ron.”

“I’d no idea you hated your brother that much.”

She laughed again. He liked the sound of her laugh. Maybe in the time he had left, he’d do whatever he could to amuse her.

Another piece of parchment was opened to reveal a bat shaped creature with multiple limbs. “Guess this one,” she demanded.

“Now that has to be a portrait of Professor Snape.”

She chuckled. “It’s an owl.”

“No. It isn’t.” Draco deadpanned.

“Look right here,” Ginny pointed to one side of the bat. “These are the wings.”

“Where are the feathers, and the beak, and the big soulful eyes?”

“Think you can do better?” she challenged.

“Yes.” He stood and retrieved a blank piece of parchment, ink and a quill. Glancing at Ginny, he did a quick sketch of her face. A few dots sufficed as freckles. He took his time adding the tendrils of hair, which had worked their way loose from her braid. When he deemed it good enough, he presented it to her. “Can you guess who this is?”

She blinked in surprise. “It’s me. I look happy.” This seemed to confuse her.

“Aren’t you normally happy?”

“No.” She smiled at him.

He found himself smiling back. Perhaps his future wasn’t so dim after all.