Chapter one: Displaced

Thud, thud, thud.

Ginevra opened her eyes blearily as she lay engulfed in a cocoon of blankets, arm and head both hanging precariously over the edge of her mattress, and the moment they were met by blinding sunlight she instantly regretted it. Despite the piercing ache that split through her skull, she slowly sat up, absently wondering what had woken her. Merlin, everything hurt.

She rose to her feet, then clutched her head as a sudden wave of vertigo crashed over her. Oh Merlin, I'm getting old, she thought with despair as she recalled the evening before. What a joke; twenty-four years old and barely able to stomach a couple of glasses of champagne… not to mention that the alcohol had been consumed in her flat, alone, on a Saturday night, while she spent the better part of her evening gorging on chocolate cake, attempting to paint her toenails, and lamenting the fact she could barely reach them and that no wonder she was probably destined to die alone if this was how she chose to spend her spare time instead of going to glamorous socialite events with Her Fiancé (Her Fiancé!) who was undoubtedly going to break up with her the minute he found out that she had cracked open his 1993 Bollinger Blanc de Noir last night in her fit of rebellion... Talk about a quarter-life crisis.

Stumbling toward the window and crashing into things that she wasn't entirely sure were in their usual places, she grabbed her curtains and flung them closed, feeling the tiniest bit better now that the near-blinding sunset wasn't about to fry her corneas –

Wait a minute. Sunset?

That stray thought was enough to snap her lagging brain to attention. She had missed a whole day of work!

She raced toward the door of her bedroom before stopping dead in her tracks, her brain now alert enough to notice a few things:

Firstly, that her pyjamas must have somehow vanished in the middle of the night, because she certainly remembered putting them on before going to sleep.

Secondly, that wherever it was that she'd woken up, it was definitely not her own bedroom. Besides the fact that the cramped space had an extremely solid wall where her door should be, and that the sun must have inexplicably decided to mix things up a little and set in the east today, there was not a chance in hell that she would ever in a million years surround herself in so much clutter. There were things everywhere: shoes littering the floor, pictures of strangers leaning against walls instead of hanging on them, a tie or seven tossed carelessly across a desk and chair... It was like the Room of Requirement had thrown up in there, and when Ginevra spotted a very old-looking pizza box lying innocently in the middle of the floor, she thought she might throw up, too.

Thirdly, Ginevra was entirely sure that amidst the probably dirty blankets bundled on top of the bed, she could see part of a bare arse peeking out at her that was definitely not firm enough to belong to Her Fiancé.

So, naturally, she did the very first thing her very alert brain could think of: she grabbed the nearest thing to cover her naked body, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Harry shot straight up in bed, thanking Merlin that he still slept with his wand under his pillow, even after all these years. Grabbing his glasses from the bed stand, he looked over his bedroom, searching for the culprit of Ginny's distress, but saw nothing amiss, other than Ginny crushing the blanket she had ripped off the bed against her body and staring at the wall behind him in absolute horror. Except after he glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing besides the slightly cracked stucco, he had the curious feeling that she wasn't staring at the wall so much as she was staring at him, her cheeks flushed as though in embarrassment. "Gin? What's wrong?"

The sound of his voice seemed to snap her out of whatever daze she was in. Instead she dropped the blanket to the floor, and covered her eyes. "Oh no, oh dear Merlin, no!" she cried, before she seemed to remember that she was naked and bent over, flinging out a hand to catch the blanket as she shook her head and refused to move her other hand away from her eyes. When she had finally covered herself again, she risked a glance at him through her fingers and screamed again, apparently distressed that he hadn't vanished.

She seemed at a loss as to what to do, and cried out in dismay. "How the hell did I get in your bed, Harry Potter? Naked!"

That took Harry slightly aback. He knelt on the mattress, about to reasonably talk her through what was probably some kind of anxiety attack which, Ron had mentioned, could sometimes happen close to That Time of the Month, until she almost dropped the blanket in her haste to arrange it around her body and he got a glimpse of the inky letters scrawled across her hip.

"What the bloody hell is that!" he yelled, more in shock and confusion than anger.

When she didn't acknowledge his question and began looking around the room, presumably for some kind of clothing, he leapt off the bed and, ignoring her distressed screams, grabbed her arm, twisting her body so he could see the intricate tattoo adorning her skin. "What the fuck, Ginny?"

"What the fuck, Potter?" She turned on him, wrenching her body from his grasp. "I don't know what game you're trying to play here, but it's not funny."

Harry stared at her, absolutely sure that despite any womanly problems she might be dealing with, this behaviour was definitely not normal. "What game? You've spent every weekend at my place since I bought it. What is wrong with you?"

She scoffed, her cheeks flushing pink in anger. "What's wrong with me? We haven't spoken since we were kids, and you suddenly just decided that it would be a fun joke to strip me and leave me in your bed and pretend this is normal?" She pushed him aside with as much dignity as she could muster.

"I'm going home," Ginny declared before storming out of the room.

Deep breaths, she told herself firmly as she strode into the unfamiliar apartment.

She heard Potter's hesitant footsteps follow her to the door, and she reminded herself not to look at him since he was yet to put on a pair of pants. "Gin... let me Floo Arthur to let him know you're coming."

That stopped her in her tracks, and she risked turning around to look him in the eye. "How could you?" she cried. "You know I haven't seen them since before..." She stopped, not wanting to say the words aloud, to admit how her parents had shamed the family.

Potter ran a hand through his hair, brow furrowed, maybe mistaking her hesitation for something else. "Ginny," he began, enunciating very carefully, "we were at the Burrow yesterday, remember? For Hermione's birthday supper -"

She cut him off, the last thread of her patience snapping under the weight of the unfamiliar name and place. "I swear to Merlin, Potter, you better stop making this stuff up because it's not funny," Ginevra said, her voice cold as ice.

He stopped, and looked at her cautiously, almost calculatingly. "Okay, I'll take you... home." Her relief at his concession was only slightly diminished by his skeptical pause. "Get dressed and we'll go."

Even as the tension in her body eased slightly, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was off, but she steeled her resolve, determined not to worry about it - at least until she got home and cleaned some of this filth off her. "Okay... um, where are my clothes?"

Wisely, Potter said nothing, only stepped back into the bedroom to find her a bundle of things to put on, then showed her to the bathroom.

Once the door was firmly shut, Ginevra quickly examined the items she'd been given: a pair of grungy looking jeans, a plain nylon shirt, equally plain nylon underwear and a pair of ratty trainers. She nodded her head, satisfied that this must be some kind of a joke, because she had never owned anything made from synthetic material in her life, much less worn them. Sniffing disdainfully at the fact that Potter apparently expected her to wear someone else's used knickers, she opted to go without, though threw on the rest of the clothes quickly, eager to get out of this hell-hole.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Potter was sitting on the couch across the room, watching her carefully as he pulled on his own trainers. Now that she was actually clothed, albeit poorly, Ginevra was beginning to feel a little more like her old self, and so shot him an appropriately haughty look in response. She briefly considered berating him for the doubtlessly filthy clothes he had provided her with, but decided she would be better off channeling her efforts elsewhere. "My wand?"

He didn't take his eyes off her, merely nodded to the short, lopsided table in front of him where a wand was perched haphazardly on a stack of well-used books, and she hiked a slender brow at the thing. "That is not my wand," she told him emphatically, crossing her arms.

Potter blinked at her warily, gathering his thoughts before he formulated a retort, and she didn't like his tone one whit. "Well, it will have to do until you get home, won't it?"

Her lips twisted in a sneer, but with no other choice she gingerly picked the wand up between two fingers.

Potter got to his feet and gave her a pointed look. "It's a wand, Ginny, not an Acromantula."

"Ginevra," she corrected him, shuddering at the ridiculous pet name. She sniffed indignantly as she tightened her hand around the handle, and couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the foreign instrument in her palm. She was used to the feel of sleek elm wood between her fingers, not this warped cypress thing, no matter that they were equally matched in size, flexibility and most probably core. The wand seemed to agree that this partnership was ill-advised, if the half-hearted smattering of red sparks that erupted from the end when she gripped it firmly was any indication. There really isn't anything to do about it, Ginevra thought to herself, then tilted her head loftily. "Take me home, Potter," she ordered him in the most imperious tone she could muster.

After discovering that minorly splinching oneself with a temperamental wand was really not a pleasant experience, it was with a deathly silent, twenty-minute taxi ride that they arrived at Ginevra's Kensington apartment.

Potter had been accusingly silent during the journey, though why he was still here she had no clue.

"You can leave now," she informed him, waving her hand dismissively.

Potter grabbed her hand mid-wave and stared at it, his mouth slightly open. "Don't touch me," she snapped at him, pulling her hand out of his loosened grasp. He continued to stare at her hand, as though there was something wrong with it. "What?" she asked him, but he only frowned, his mouth curving in a surprised 'O.' "Spit it out, Potter, I don't have all day."

That seemed to shake him from his stupor, though it didn't seem to work any miracles for his intelligence. "That. On your ring finger," was all he managed to get out.

She hiked a single brow and glanced down at the ancient rock, set in a delicate platinum band. "My engagement ring. Honestly, Potter, have you never picked up a copy of the Prophet?"

Potter stared at her intently, utterly lost for words. After a few moments he cleared his throat and, some kind of conclusion apparently reached, gestured to the building's entrance. "I'll see you to the door."

Ginevra narrowed her eyes at him, but turned on her heel and made her way into the building, pausing only while she waited for the doorman to hold the door for her.

As she strutted purposefully across the marble foyer like she owned the place - because, quite frankly, she did own the place - her path was blocked by a burly man in a suit. "Can I help you, madam?"

She gave the unfamiliar security guard a once-over. "You can send the lift to the penthouse for me," she told him.

It was his turn to give her a once-over. "Madam, I'm afraid that the owners won't be home for quite a while. Would you like to leave a message for them?"

Ginevra scowled at the guard, her temper flaring. What was wrong with everyone? "I am the owner, you stupid Muggle, and if you don't get out of my way I will Crucio you into oblivion -"

Potter slapped a hand across her mouth and she turned on him, elbowing him viciously in the ribs to no avail. "I am so sorry, sir, we'll just be on our way," he told the guard, who looked utterly bemused. Potter took advantage of the situation and dragged her back out onto the street.

"Are you insane?" he demanded, sotto voce, once he had dragged her all the way across the road.

"Okay, fine, I'll humour this bloody mental story you've come up with, and I won't ask any questions about that thing on your hip or that ring on your finger, but don't you dare think for a second that I will stand by and allow you to compromise the Statute of Secrecy."

She glared at him in irritation. "Am I insane? You're the one who let that filthy Muggle speak to me like that - he needs to remember his place-"

Potter grabbed her arms and shook her forcefully. "This isn't you," he told her vehemently, "'Filthy Muggle'? Using an Unforgivable on another person? This isn't you."

"Get your hands off me, you - you disgusting little blood traitor," she spat at him, trying to tear herself from his grasp to no avail as her pulse began to race with adrenaline.

He held her firmly in front of him. "This isn't you!" he repeated, as though saying it over and over would somehow make her whoever he thought she should have been, and she shook her head, wishing that this veritable stranger would let go of her.

"I said get your hands off me!" she yelled in a panic, and before she knew it the wand she'd been given was in her hand and she threw the first spell she could think of at him.

"Crucio!"

The next few moments happened so quickly that Ginevra scarcely had time to react. Potter had dropped to the ground, writhing in pain as she tried to calm her racing pulse and then she was suddenly surrounded by a trio of wizards, all pointing their wands at her.

It was then that she spotted a flash of familiar platinum blond hair. A voice she knew as intimately as her own yelled 'Stupefy,' and her last thought as her world faded into darkness was for the man who had somehow betrayed her.

Draco.

Ginevra’s headache was back with a vengeance. She curled up tighter on her side, shivering in the cold air, trying to convince herself that this whole ordeal was just a terrible nightmare. Soon she would wake up in their king-sized bed with Draco smirking sexily by her side, ready to make her feel guilty for not accompanying him to some function or another and making her promise all kinds of sexual favours to assuage his bruised ego and everything would be back to normal.

She popped one eye open, taking in the dull grey walls around her and the lack of a sexy, smirking fiancé on the cot next to her. Damn.

She practically jumped a foot into the air when a voice broke the silence. “Comfortable there, Weasley?” Ginevra didn’t need to look out through the steel bars trapping her inside the dreary cell to know who had spoken, but she did anyway.

Scratch that last thought; her sexy fiancé was definitely there, and she couldn’t help the smile that slid across her face at the sight of him.

The delighted grin only lasted a moment, until she really saw him. He looked... different. Older, as though he’d seen more than he’d cared to, or grown up too fast, though his casual stance as he leant against one of the bars might have said otherwise. And his hair was longer, impossibly longer than it had been when she last saw him... yesterday? It felt more like a decade ago.

Suddenly Ginevra was feeling very, very tired.

She looked him in the eyes, those cold grey eyes that had seen more than his mere twenty-five years could attest to, and saw none of the love and affection he’d claimed to have felt for her in that time. That was the moment she knew without a shadow of a doubt that whatever reality this was that she’d stumbled into, it wasn’t hers.

“Where am I?” she asked him cautiously.

He gave her a measuring look. “The Ministry.”

The Ministry of what? She bit her tongue, since she knew his tone left no room for questioning.

Draco tilted his head thoughtfully. “The Ministry of Magic,” he clarified, as though he’d read her mind.

She frowned, trying to place the name. It sounded so familiar... because she’d learnt about it in History of Magic, in her seventh year at Hogwarts. That was what the government had been called, before the Revolution had begun. But how could it exist here?

Ginevra let her head fall back onto the bed and closed her eyes as it began to ache even more. “This isn’t right,” she murmured to herself.

There were a few moments of silence before Draco spoke again. “Potter seems to think you require a Healer.”

That got her attention fast enough. “I am not mental,” she told him emphatically, swinging her legs over the edge of the cot and rising shakily to her feet. “This is wrong, all of it. Can’t you see?”

He kept his eyes trained on her, his features carefully blank. “It doesn’t matter what I see. I have a job to do, and I plan to do it.”

Ginevra shot him a pleading look, but before she could say more there was a scuffling noise to the left side of her chamber and Draco turned towards it.

“Where is she?” a woman’s voice cried, and an older couple walked into her line of vision - the woman short and dumpy, the man tall and rangy - and Ginny’s breath caught in her throat when she saw their unmistakable red hair. She gingerly lifted her hand to touch her own hair, as though to check that it was, in fact, the exact same shade and texture, but immediately regretted the action when she saw Draco’s nostrils flare in anger from the corner of her eye. For a moment she wasn’t entirely sure what had caused the crack in his cool composure, until realisation struck and her hand snapped firmly to her side. The ring.

Ginevra stared at him, wide-eyed, but he said nothing. With one last cold look, he nodded politely to the couple then marched out of sight, a door slamming in his wake.

They didn’t seem to notice anything amiss with his behaviour. “Ginny, sweetie, are you okay?”

Ginevra dragged her eyes away from the place where her fiancé had vanished to stare at the two strangers looking at her with concern. They looked a little like her, she supposed. She was only a little taller than the woman, but the man was almost as tall as Ronald and her twin brothers - she’d never met the others, though she’d heard that was a trait the men all shared, red hair aside. Ginevra thought she might have looked a little more like the woman than the man, but when she looked into his eyes she saw the mirror image of her honey gold irises staring intently back at her.

Molly Weasley reached a hand out to touch her face, and she flinched, backing away from them, unable to hide the shame and disgust in her eyes. These were the people who were responsible for ruining her name, who had torn her family apart before she’d even known what family was, what family meant, what her foster parents had had to teach her over the years.

Molly Weasley looked taken aback and turned to her husband. He seemed to take some cue from her and came closer, the action causing her to tense despite the solid bars separating them. His eyes flickered to hers, his expression deliberating as he shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. “It’s okay, Gin-bug. Harry told us everything.”

“Potter,” she spat out with a scowl, and as though she’d summoned him herself, he appeared from the periphery, his gait cautious. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut.

Ginevra shot the group an arrogant look while she considered her options. Three veritable strangers who thought she was an absolute basket-case had suddenly entered her life, her fiancé - who didn’t seem to know her at all - had abandoned her, and in this warped reality she appeared to be a Muggle-lover with questionable hygiene practices, who happily went through life being referred to as some kind of insect-liquor concoction. She was wandless, totally without allies and stuck in the custody of “The Ministry.”

First things first, she thought, I’ll get away from the blood traitors, then worry afterward about how everything got so royally stuffed up.

No matter how Ginevra looked at the situation, there was only one way she was getting out of here, and she wasn’t sure she liked it one bit. She slouched, sitting heavily on the cot, and looked at Molly and Arthur Weasley in defeat as tears pooled in her eyes.

Then she went against every well-bred bone in her body, and begged. “Help me?”

Draco arrived at the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor with an audible crack, having Apparated there directly from the Auror’s offices.

A house elf clad in an oversized bed shirt appeared to greet him a moment later, but Draco brushed it off before it could waste a second of his time. “Mother!” he yelled, striding up the grand staircase toward his parents’ apartments.

He was met at the door by his father, who had just emerged from the door that led to his mother’s private parlour. “For Merlin’s sake, Draco, speak with a little dignity.”

“I need to speak with Mother.” Draco crossed his arms, unflinching under his father’s stern gaze.

“You will do no such thing,” Lucius told him sternly. “She has been bedridden all day, and you will not disturb her.”

Draco shook his head. “It’s important -” he began, but was cut off mid-sentence by a shaky voice from within the room.

“Let me see my son, Lucius.”

Draco offered his father a half-smirk before skirting around the man and entering the parlour.

His mother lay across her velvety, blue chaise in front of a wall of panelled windows, looking far too thin and pale.

“Mother?” Draco asked, hesitantly.

She offered her only son an affectionate smile. “I would speak with you alone, darling.”

Draco gave his father a half-smug look as he stood watching them in the doorway. Lucius narrowed his eyes at Draco before giving his wife a concerned look. “Try not to exert yourself,” he ordered, not unkindly, then shut the door with a soft click.

Draco moved to Narcissa’s side, and knelt on the ground beside her. “What’s wrong?” he asked her, taking her hand in his own.

She gave him a knowing look. “I think you have an idea, Draco.”

He ran his thumb across her knuckles, not missing the absence of the ancient engagement ring that ordinarily sat next to her wedding band. He was careful in wording the question, aware that any accusations against a member of the Weasley family would not be received well by the Wizarding world. “Has your ring been... misplaced?”

Sighing, she pulled her hand from his tender grasp, as though disappointed in the conclusion he had come to. “It hasn’t, darling. The ring is in the possession of its rightful owner.”

That statement almost stopped his pulse. The Malfoy family ring had been in the family for centuries, passed from mother to the first-born son to present to his chosen bride. The revelation was rather shocking, considering that to the best of Draco’s knowledge he was yet to even entertain the idea of a long-term relationship with any particular witch, much less marry one of them. Clearly his mother was confused.

“Mother, we took a witch into custody this afternoon. She was wearing your ring.”

She paled visibly, which was quite a feat considering her current pallor. “Ginevra is in the Ministry’s custody?”

“Mother, who cares about the Weasley girl?” He paused, frowning as her words sunk in. “How did you know it was her?”

She smiled at the question, as though he was amusing. “Why, darling, who else would have my ring?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you?” he asked sarcastically, returning her smile with a scowl.

Narcissa’s smile immediately faded. “Draco, that is no way to speak to your mother.”

He shook his head. “She was wearing your ring.”

“Oh, sod the ring.”

Draco looked taken aback. “Mother?” he asked uncertainly.

She grasped his arm. “Draco, you must bring her to me -”

“Mother!” he exclaimed, more forcefully, but she continued.

“No, Draco, this is important.” Her grip tightened, and her expression grew desperate. “You must bring her to me. Tell her that I can help her.”

He glanced at her hand, which was weakly clutching his arm, and considered what she was asking of him; to risk himself, and the already tarnished Malfoy reputation, to assist and harbour a fugitive from the Ministry. After all of the work, all of the sacrifices they had made to try and restore their family’s standing in society, she wanted him to throw away their meagre progress for the sake of a Muggle-loving Weasley.

He searched his mother’s clear blue eyes, and made his decision. Narcissa Malfoy was, by nature, a shrewd witch, and she would not request this of her son lightly, and if there was one thing that time had tried and tested, it was this: there was nothing that Draco Malfoy wouldn’t do for his mother.

Ginevra sat in a plain white examination room wearing nothing but a hospital gown, feeling relieved if only because she’d finally managed to get out of all that dirty polyester. They had tried to give her a dose of some kind of calming draught, which she had slyly tipped into Potter’s tea while he had been in deep discussion about her mental instability with her assigned caretaker, Healer Tanaka - he definitely needed it more than she did.

She’d been dismayed to discover that Potter somehow had the authority to summon a Healer to the Ministry, rather than try to transport her to St Mungo’s (if it even existed in this world) and provide her an opportunity to escape. She had waited for a long time - not that there was a clock for her to tell, but after a lifetime of having what she wanted, when she wanted it, the waiting was beginning to grate on her nerves.

Healer Tanaka entered a moment later, a pair of spectacles perched on her nose, parchment and quill in hand. “How are you feeling, Ginevra?” she asked her in a soft voice.

Ginevra shrugged, eager to get this over and done with. “Fine. Can we make this quick?”

The healer bobbed her head, then wordlessly sat down on the chair opposite Ginevra’s exam table and... did absolutely nothing.

Ginevra crossed her arms, raising a single brow at the woman. “Well?” she asked, but the woman remained silent. After a moment, she began writing something on the parchment, only looking down every so often as though afraid she might miss Ginevra do something utterly fascinating.

Well, Ginevra Weasley wasn’t going to be frothing at the mouth or predicting the end of the world any time soon, so she figured that she might as well wait the Healer out and contemplate her escape plan in the meantime.

What felt like hours, but was probably not nearly more than half that, passed, and Ginevra’s scheming had brought her to one conclusion: she was stuck, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it, short of overpowering her Healer and making a break for it... then being taken down by the numerous Ministry staff outside that they had passed on the way over.

Healer Tanaka sat silently, continuing to scribble away the entire time Ginevra had been failing to come up with a brilliant escape plan, and suddenly the horrible little scratching noises of her quill against the parchment became extremely annoying. “I think we’re finished here,” she told the Healer, then slid gracefully to her feet.

The woman shook her head, but continued to make notes on her piece of parchment, scratching away so furiously that Ginevra wondered irritably how she hadn’t filled the entire piece of parchment yet.

Ginevra scowled at the woman. “What are you writing?” she demanded to no avail as her Healer continued to ignore her. She marched over, trying to peer at the piece of parchment.

Healer Tanaka made a ‘tsking’ noise and shook her head once more, finally speaking when Ginevra attempted to pry the parchment from her hands. “Miss Weasley, could you please attempt to act in a more civilised manner?”

“‘Civilised manner’?” Ginevra echoed her words flatly. “My little finger is a thousand times more refined than you will ever be in your pathetic little life, so I strongly suggest you finish up with whatever conclusions you’re leaping to about my sanity instead of giving me advice on how to behave, or I promise you, you will regret it.”

Healer Tanaka peered over her spectacles at Ginevra. “I see the situation was more drastic than we had initially thought... A definite tendency toward violence.” She made one last note on her parchment, before pulling out her wand. “A little electrotherapy should do just the trick.”

Ginevra was immobile before she could utter a protest.

Draco walked purposefully through the Auror's offices, toward the holding cells, not bothering to acknowledge the people he passed along the way. He burst into the long corridor, and continued until he reached the last cell where Ginevra was being kept.

It was empty.

"You looking for someone, Malfoy?" asked a voice behind him, and he turned slowly to meet Potter's green gaze. "She was asking for you, you know."

He didn't bother asking who the 'she' in question might be, nor did he bother to consider why exactly 'she' would ask for him, of all people. Draco had a task to complete, and by Merlin he was going to get it done. "I assume she's been moved, then?" he asked imperiously, raising one brow.

"For treatment," Harry confirmed, "to the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo's."

Draco became very still. The Janus Thickey Ward was where St Mungo's long-term patients were kept - one of the places, anyway, since St Mungo's full time wards were at capacity after the war - and there had been more than a few stories circulating about the treatments that had gone on there... And thanks to all the volunteer work the Malfoys had done for the hospital, he knew the truth better than most.

Without so much as another glance in Potter's direction, he Apparated to St Mungo's, the dizzying rush in his head not entirely due to the Apparition itself.

The second his feet touched the ground he was off, careful to keep to back corridors, though he was confident that the staff were so used to seeing him visiting patients that they wouldn't pay him much mind. It was late evening, but the hospital was busy at all hours, and no one had time to worry about a regular volunteer going about his work.

He skidded to a halt outside the Janus Thickey Ward, conscious of the staff and patients going about their evening. He hastily cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, then slipped inside.

It was quiet - quiet enough that he checked his breathing as he carefully made his way through the beds of damaged witches and wizards. He flinched as he passed a vacant-looking Katie Bell, who had been admitted to the ward shortly after the war began.

Draco pressed on, searching the beds for the Weasley girl, dodging out of the paths of the occasional Healer, until he reached the end of the ward and came up empty handed.

Realisation struck. She must still be undergoing treatment, he thought to himself with a curse.

He paused, unsure of what to do since he could hardly just barge in and grab her. The one and only time an incurably ill patient had escaped the ward, a lot of staff and civilians - wizards and Muggles alike - had been fatally wounded. Weasley's diagnosis would ensure that they were at the top of every hit wizard's list - not a position he had ever aspired to be in.

He'd have to bide his time until they could escape in secret, so the Aurors might be less likely to pin her escape on him and he could come up with a decent alibi in the meantime. His parents would vouch for him, of course, but these days it was always safer for a Malfoy to have the support of the public.

Draco's gaze unwillingly drifted back to where Katie Bell sat on her bed, all but unresponsive to the Healer's attempts to tuck her in. The lights were on but she wasn't home, and he couldn't help but wonder if that was a result of her illness or her treatment. Then his mind wandered back to Ginevra Weasley, and whatever treatment she was being forced to endure... And his mother's desperate plea for his assistance.

He cursed. Draco had said it himself only this morning, and the mantra he had immersed himself in since the ruin of the Malfoy name seemed to reverberate through his skull. I have a job to do, and I plan to do it.

With a scowl, he strode back through the ward and made his way to the treatment facilities for the many mental health wards within the hospital. The corridor was deserted, so he quickly walked past the open rooms until he came to one with a firmly shut door.

He glanced to either end of the corridor to make sure no one would interrupt him. "Defigo," he murmured, locking the door at the end of the hallway, then turned his attention to the door before him. "Homenum revelio." He shivered as the familiar swooping sensation told him that the room was occupied by only a couple of wizards.

Get in, disarm any Healers, grab the girl, get out, he ran through his task mentally as he backed up to the opposite side of the corridor and took a deep breath. Then he charged the closed door and kicked it clean off its hinges.

There was a loud screech as the door swung violently inward, and Draco charged into the room. A quick glance of the relatively empty space showed him that the witch currently backed up against the far wall, clutching a clipboard to her chest for dear life, was the only Healer present. The small room was mostly barren but for a hospital-standard chair and desk in one corner of the room and the examination table where Weasley was strapped down, her body convulsing uncontrollably.

"Stupefy!" he yelled, and the trembling Healer's next screech froze in her throat as the flare of red sparks hit her straight in the chest.

He vaulted over the table and ran to Ginevra's side as the convulsions began to subside. Her eyes swivelled toward him unseeingly, her teeth locked tight around a piece of wood from the pain, and the sight of her made him feel sick to his stomach.

Draco cursed, knowing he'd have to wait for her to ride out the after-effects of her treatment before he could move her, so quickly ran back to the hall to ensure no one had heard them despite knowing the ward was magical and structural soundproofed.

No alarm bells ringing, as far as he could tell, but he was sure that that wouldn't last for long.

He darted back into the room to check on Ginevra. Her body seemed to be twitching slightly, but it seemed that she had regained a semblance of control, for the most part.

"Weasley, I'm going to untie you," he told her, but she didn't respond, though her breath continued heavily.

Scowling, Draco leant over her body, his hand gently cupping her jaw and twisting her neck so that she looked him in the eye. "Ginevra, look at me," he ordered, and much to his surprise, she did. "I'm going to release you." She bobbed her head deliberately, and he removed the warped piece of wood from between her teeth.

Her mouth opened once or twice, but not a single sound escaped her lips. Hoping her voice had only been taken by a simple charm, he pressed his wand to her throat and muttered the only counter curse he knew.

When she did speak, her voice was thick and scratchy as though she'd screamed it raw. "About time," she quipped.

Draco snorted at the remark then quickly went to work on her restraints. "I'm more likely to wring your neck than save it right now, love, so I strongly suggest that you can the attitude."

She scowled at him, but remained silent until she was free.

"Can you walk?" Draco asked her as she shakily got to her feet, but her knees gave way before she could take a step and he flung out an arm to catch her. "That's a resounding 'no,' then."

"I'd like to see what kind of shape you'd be in if you'd just undergone "treatment" for a non-existent medical condition," she told him weakly.

Draco scowled at the redhead. "What did I just tell you?"

She twisted weakly in his arms as though to try and get away from him, though it was more like a half-hearted flop as she shifted her weight. "If you want me to be quiet, then stop asking me questions."

"I like you better mute," he muttered before throwing her over one shoulder, giving her an extra bounce when she shrieked in indignation.

Ginevra thought she was going to be sick; Draco's hurried strides caused her stomach to lurch at every turn.

On the bright side, the view was great from up here, though she was absolutely positive that this Draco wouldn't take things too well if she gave him a slap on his well-rounded ass - and thank god that his posterior was as excellent in this reality as hers, or she might have been of mind to call off the entire wedding.

Except that there wouldn't be a wedding. This Draco wouldn't marry her in a million years, because he didn't love her. Heck, he didn't even like her, she thought with a strangled sob, and the overwhelming nausea pressed at the back of her throat again.

"Hush," Draco hissed at her, bouncing her heavily once more.

Her temper flared. How dare he attempt to boss her around when he didn't love her? "Bounce me one more time and you'll have breakfast down your back," she told him quietly. His shoulder tensed under her abdomen, and she let out a small sigh of relief when his strides evened out slightly, though he didn't slow his pace.

Her stomach rolling significantly less, she managed to twist her head and peer through a curtain of curls at the hall around them. Ginevra hadn't spent a lot of time in St Mungo's - hadn't needed to, since the Malfoys employed a private Healer - so this hall didn't strike her as different from any other part of the hospital she'd visited. Well, at least he seems to know his way around, she thought with a grimace.

Draco suddenly skidded to an abrupt halt, darting into a small alcove and uttering a soft curse.

Ginevra let out a sigh of relief as her insides found a moment to settle, and when she squirmed across his shoulders Draco clenched his arm tighter across her thighs. "What-" she began to ask, but stopped when he cut her off with a quiet 'shush'.

He slowly knelt to the ground, allowing her to slide off his shoulder, and she clutched his arm tightly as she settled back on her feet. When she glanced up at him, he was peering down the hall keenly, as though waiting for something she hadn't seen.

Remembering to remain silent, she squeezed a well-formed bicep once, and he briefly glanced toward her at her questioning expression. He pressed a single finger to her lips, telling her to remain quiet as his other hand reached into his pocket and removed two shrunken items.

Before she could wonder what he was up to, she saw a pair of silent forms move toward them in the periphery of her gaze, and glanced worriedly toward them. She felt all of the blood rush to her toes when she saw Potter and a man she thought looked faintly familiar slinking carefully through the corridor. She crouched there next to Draco, frozen in place by her absolute terror at the sight of the pair, and she clutched at his arm to steady herself. Oh Merlin, don't let them take me back.

She felt Draco's hand on her own and he gave her a meaningful look when her breathing became laboured and she clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at him with wide eyes. The men were fast approaching, and her grip tightened as she awaited the moment they would turn and spot them.

But they didn't, and Ginevra realised too late that Draco must have cast a Disillusionment Charm on them. The two continued on their way, utterly oblivious to Ginevra and Draco huddled in plain sight... until a hiccup slipped from between her lips.

The men whirled around, wands at the ready as Draco clapped a hand across her mouth and they sat, frozen. Potter peered down the hall warily before motioning to his partner. "Neville, scan the area. I'll take offensive."

Neville tensed, his lips parting as he prepared to cast a spell, and while Ginevra quivered in anticipation of her unpleasant fate, she dimly registered Draco moving beside her.

They were about to be caught, and Ginevra would spend the rest of her life trapped in a cell, alone, and the worst part was she was going to ruin the life of the man she loved right along with hers.

This was it. I've lost everything.

Then Draco threw something to the ground, and they were all plunged into darkness.

Draco didn't waste a single moment once the hall turned black as pitch. He could see Potter and Longbottom searching blindly about them and didn't bother to suppress his smirk as his he tightened his grip around his mangled Hand of Glory.

He stood, pulling Ginny to her feet, and she cried out at the unexpected contact.

"I've got you," he breathed in her ear before hauling her away from the men, who were currently attempting to reverse the Instant Darkness Powder Draco had dropped. Morons should have learnt their lesson the first time, he thought smugly.

To her credit, Ginevra managed to stick to his side like spello-tape, though her wide-eyed gaze seemed shaken as she stumbled into the darkness. He pressed on, only pausing to set up a few obstacles for the Aurors, intent on completing his task before worrying about the condition of his cargo.

As Draco pushed on through the darkness, he quickly assessed the situation with the Aurors. After the initial breach they would only send in one or two teams, wary of spreading the already meagre arsenal of Aurors too thin. Since the hospital had multiple exit routes for emergencies, two teams were the far more likely option, and he was sure that the second team would reach the security breach at the Janus Thickey Treatment Ward and discover her missing soon. After they found the incapacitated Healer they would call for further reinforcements, in case the threat proved to be mortally dangerous.

He mentally checked the progress of their escape, and scowled in displeasure. Not close enough to the exit to make a clean get away before reinforcements arrived, but Draco knew he had an advantage; the best wizard to outsmart an Auror was another Auror.

Feeling slightly mollified, his scowl faded once they reached one of the minor stairwells. He scanned the area, confirming that no Aurors were waiting for them within, then dragged Ginevra inside. Blinded by the sudden brightness of the stairwell, she was pliant enough until he started to pull her upward. "The exit's downstairs," she observed flatly.

We do not have time for this. "I'm aware of that," he replied impatiently, giving her another push. "Trust me."

To his amazement, she didn't say another word and began climbing. Her curious acquiescence made him narrow his eyes at her rear as he followed, and he forced himself to quell the urge to investigate that reaction further and turned his attention to the task at hand.

Draco didn't doubt that Potter, even in his infinite stupidity and poor judgement, would be able to put two and two together and implicate him for this. Luckily he had a contingency plan for the event that would force his hand, although that wouldn't stop the Aurors from raiding his apartment and Malfoy Manor at the first opportunity.

Unfortunately, Malfoy Manor was the exact place he needed to be. The Ministry had pulled his ancestral home apart at the conclusion of the war, but there were still undetectable places that even he didn't know of. Once the Aurors arrived for another search, they would monitor the estate for any visitors - the two of them just had to beat the Aurors there. Time was of the essence.

Ginevra felt like she'd been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and she wondered if she might be climbing an infinite staircase. Her muscles were burning from the effort, and the only things keeping her going was the adrenaline rushing through her veins and the comfort of Draco's footsteps right behind hers.

She wasn't sure how much longer she could go for, was afraid that her legs would give out and ruin Draco's plan for their escape. When he suddenly stopped, she practically collapsed against the railing in relief.

To her consternation, it was only long enough to cast a spell.

"Expecto patronum," he muttered, and she looked on with wide eyes as tiny wisps of silver flourished from the tip of his wand, tangling together until a bright, white bird soared from the residual smoke. The bird circled the narrow stairwell briefly before coming to rest on Draco's forearm, its enormous wings tucking close either side of his body as it cocked its head at its master intelligently.

Ginevra felt a jolt of dismay as she looked upon the regal hunting bird, oddly deflated by the idea that this Draco's Patronus was not her fiancé's silvery mink. It was a silly thought, and she knew it was ludicrous of her to expect that it would be the same - that he might not be so different, after all.

"The Seekers are chasing the Snitch," he told it, and the bird opened its mouth in a silent caw before he thrust it into the air and it took off in a burst of brilliant smoke.

She didn't have time to consider what had just happened further before they were off again, and when she was slow to follow he grasped her hand and tugged her along behind him.

His touch sent sparks shooting up her arm. The action was so easy, so... intimate. She bit her lip, trying to recall the last time Draco had held her hand before stopping herself short. This was neither the time nor the place.

Draco turned his head to give her a measuring look, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking, and her breathing became laboured as they rounded up to the next flight of stairs. "We're almost there," he told her, surging forward with new energy that had her stumbling to keep up. The man's stamina knew no bounds.

She was about to give a breathless reply, but her quippy response died in her throat when Draco burst through a door and they arrived on the rooftop of the building. London glittered below them in the dark, and she sidled to Draco's warm body as the cold air licked at her mostly bare skin beneath her hospital gown. He looked down at her, and when his hot breath caressed a cheek she fought to suppress a shiver.

"What now?" she asked, her mouth dry as Draco spelled the door behind her and she looked intently anywhere but the view.

He watched her carefully, his expression grim. "We jump."

Ginevra was petrified.

"Hurry!" Draco ordered, but her legs refused to move.

He grabbed her hand, clearly determined for her to get her to the edge of the rooftop, but she dug her heels into the ground, hardly flinching as the rough concrete scraped against the bare soles of her feet. "I-I can't," she barely managed to stutter.

Her skin felt impossibly hot despite the freezing wind whipping at her furiously as she stood, shaking, looking anywhere but the view.

"We don't have time for this, Weasley. They're coming," he yelled as the wind picked up, threatening to carry his voice away.

Ginevra blinked furiously as tears welled up in her eyes. He expected her to jump, as though it was no big deal.

She stepped back, pressing her back against the solid door behind her, fighting to calm her racing heart. "Merlin, the air is thin up here. Where are we, the Himalayas?" she snapped, breathless as she attempted to stop herself from hyperventilating.

She saw him staring intently at her from the corner of her eye, his brow furrowed. "You're afraid of heights?" he asked after a moment, his voice almost incredulous.

"No," she snapped at him, "I'm just really, really circumspect."

"You're afraid of heights," he said again. She almost caught a shadow of a smile at the corner of his mouth, and if her head hadn't been spinning before, it certainly was now.

It wasn't long before the frown returned. "How can you be afraid of heights? You play Quidditch."

"Me, play Quidditch?" Ginevra scoffed, slightly relieved at the change of topic. "Please. There isn't an Imperius Curse strong enough to get me on a broom."

For one agonisingly long moment he regarded her silently, and Ginevra realised she'd said too much. But somehow, with nothing but open air before her, she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Weasley," he said, but she hardly heard him through the rushing in her ears. She closed her eyes, and she half-persuaded herself that it was almost as though they weren't standing on the roof of a very tall building. His hand slipped under her chin, and he gently tilted her face toward his, but her eyes remained tightly shut.

"Ginevra," he said her name softly, contemplatively. "Look at me, Ginevra."

Something about his tone made her open her eyes once more. His eyes were boring into hers, and in that fleeting moment she thought he might have been less distant... perhaps as though he understood her, at least a little.

She shook her head, refusing to give the idea any further consideration. She was acting like a naive, fanciful twit. He's not the same. He's not my Draco, Ginevra reminded herself as thunder pounded in the distance, echoing her racing heart.

But it was so hard to convince herself of that as Draco looked down at her, radiating his quintessential confidence and composure. Even as his scarred and calloused fingers were so unfamiliar, the cool grey eyes she knew even better than her own struck an innate sense of deep longing for home. They were mesmerising, and she found herself utterly spelled by him, mimicking his movements as he backed away from her.

"Nothing will harm you so long as you're with me, Ginevra," he said softly, and she believed him.

Right until he shoved her off the roof.

Harry bolted up the emergency stairs of St Mungo's with Neville hot on his heels. They'd been stuck in that damn corridor for far too long, and even then they'd only just managed to escape the blinding powder once Proudfoot and Dawlish had shown up. Then, once Ginny had been tracked as far as the stairwell, they'd had to make the decision to split up. To Harry's irritation the more senior Aurors had pulled rank, opting to take the more likely route of escape downward. Harry just had to get to the roof as quickly as possible so he could hurry down to the lobby of the building and sort this mess out when she was caught by the other team.

He gritted his teeth at the thought that he was heading the wrong direction, so instead chose to mull over the events that had taken place minutes before.

Harry was smart enough to put two and two together, and if he was a betting man he'd bet his entire Gringotts vault that Draco bloody Malfoy was responsible... And, as much as he hated to admit it, if there was one thing a slimy git was good at, it was slipping by unnoticed - it was why Malfoy always got assigned the solo, covert operations - at least, that was the official story Dave Gudgeon, the head of the Auror office, fed the team during weekly meetings. Harry was entirely sure that the real reason was that no one wanted to work with him.

None of this was making sense. Ginny was perfectly fine yesterday - her usual, lovely (if not a little snarky) self. Then this morning she woke up and she was... well, a racist bint, if he was going to be perfectly honest.

And now she'd apparently gone totally mental, if the current situation was any indication. How long had he been coming home with stories of everything he'd had to deal with as an Auror? All the attacks, the maniacs, the brutal arrests... and then his girlfriend went and pulled a stunt like this, running at Draco Malfoy's beck and call to boot.

He hadn't missed the way Gudgeon had purposefully avoided his gaze when he'd been called in for damage control, or the pitying sidelong glances his co-workers had given him as he was leaving the office. But then, Harry supposed it was better that he be called in to handle the situation than hear about it tomorrow after Merlin-knew-what had gone wrong.

All he had to do was help catch Ginny and her mystery kidnapper before they fled the building. He'd find her, return her safely to her ward to continue her treatment, and it wouldn't be long before she was back to normal. He might have to take some time off from work, just to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn't try anything again. He'd been working almost non-stop since he joined the Aurors, so he doubted his supervisor would mind too much.

He just had to take care of this minor problem, and everything would be back on track.

That's when he heard it; their footsteps echoing from above, a steady staccato beating in time to his racing heart, until the noise was cut off by the heavy slam of a door.

I have to save her before it's too late, he thought, he made short work of the few flights of stairs separating him from Ginny.

When he got to the top, he'd been anticipating another obstacle in the door, so he and Neville quickly disarmed the charms that Malfoy had put in place. The door itself merely needed to be beaten down, it seemed.

She was there, just on the other side of that door. Harry could feel it as surely as the laboured pull of his lungs or the straining of his well-used muscles as he heaved against the door, and the thought seemed to give him the extra burst of adrenaline he needed to break through.

The door flung open, and Harry rushed forward just as Malfoy pushed Ginny over the edge, their bodies tumbling through the open air, and Ginny vanished before his eyes, just out of his reach.

Ginevra let out a blood curdling scream as she fell, but it was suddenly cut short when her body hit soft grass and the wind was knocked out of her in a loud oomph.

It was a few moments before she managed to orient herself as she slowly pushed her body off the dew-covered ground, and she inhaled the rich, familiar scent of roses wafting on the breeze accompanied by the steady bubbling of fountains in the distance. Ginevra didn't know whether to cry, or to throw up.

She was home.

Draco was suddenly on her, hauling her to her feet and dragging her along behind him. Ginevra was shaking so hard she didn't bother to protest his man-handing, the adrenaline thundering loudly in her ears.

"You pushed me." She heard herself say dumbly, though she wasn't sure Draco heard her.

"Ginevra!" someone called her name from across the lawn, and she had to blink back tears at the familiar voice. Before she knew what she was doing she'd pushed Draco's arm away, and was racing ahead of him, faster than she'd ever run in her life.

Narcissa stood at the Manor's entrance, her arms spread open as though she'd been waiting for her adopted daughter, and Ginevra couldn't care less that this woman probably didn't know who she was. She flung herself into Narcissa's arms, letting the older witch embrace her and smooth her hair.

"You're home now, darling." Narcissa whispered in her ear, as she gently brushed away the tears that had begun to spill freely down Ginevra's cheeks.

The action was so typically Narcissa that Ginevra couldn't help the strangled sob that slipped from her throat. "C-Cissa?" Ginevra stuttered the name she'd christened her guardian before she'd learnt to talk, and it was met with a watery smile.

"It's really me," Narcissa told her with a meaningful look, before Draco ushered the pair inside. "Lucius, they're here!" She called, and the man in question appeared at the top of the grand staircase.

Ginevra felt a second burst of joy at seeing the man she'd idolised as a father-figure, but Narcissa squeezed her hand before she could move toward him. Cissa must be the only one who knows, Ginevra thought with a shudder, suddenly less comforted by the presence of Lucius Malfoy. She'd never before found him to be an intimidating man, but now she was unsure of how to act around him; If Draco had hated her on sight, she could hardly bear to think what the patriarch of the Malfoy family's opinion of her might be.

He looked down his nose at her, his gaze shuttered, and she could tell from his barely concealed contempt that he was not happy with the current situation. When his eyes raked over the now filthy hospital gown she wore and her lack of footwear, she almost had the grace to blush.

But Ginevra Weasley had been raised with as much poise and dignity as any Malfoy, so instead of crumpling to the floor and weeping from the humiliation of it all she let go of Narcissa's hand, raised her chin, and moved across the foyer looking the very portrait of composure... Ginevra just hoped to Merlin that no one could see her still-shaking legs beneath the stiff fabric of her gown.

Lucius' expression didn't falter, but she still breathed a sigh of relief when he turned on his heel and marched down the upper landing. "This way."

Narcissa, Draco and Ginevra hastened to follow him, and when she glanced at Draco his tightly pressed lips said volumes about their predicament.

Instead of dwelling on his tight expression, Ginevra took in her surroundings, drawing strength from the ancient manor she had called home for most of her life, and knew that here she was untouchable.

Draco hadn't missed the inexplicable familiarity between Ginevra and his mother, nor had he missed the blatant affection the two seemed to share for each other.

Draco also hadn't missed the lack of Ginevra's ever present disdain for his father. The flame of utter reprehension she had carried for him since the incident during her first year at Hogwarts had been burning furiously for as long as he'd known her.

Perhaps the most interesting - or the most baffling - thing that Draco hadn't missed, was how she knew her way about Malfoy Manor. The place was like a maze, even to Draco on occasion, yet she'd gone forward without the barest hint of hesitation or uncertainty of her surroundings.

He filed away the observations, certain he would have plenty of time to piece this puzzle later.

"We don't have much time," His father was saying as he led their little group to the end of the corridor. Lucius paused, as though hesitant to reveal any of the Malfoy's secrets to an outsider, but Ginevra kept walking as though she had known all along that the solid wall at the end of the hallway was just an illusion before she disappeared through it. Draco exchanged a perplexed look with his father, but his mother had followed the Weasley girl as though this kind of thing was common occurrence. "What in Merlin's name...?"

Narcissa leant back through the tapestry. "We don't have much time," She told the men, and Draco knew his expression had turned as dark as his father's.

But now wasn't the time, and he followed his father through the tapestry where his mother and Ginevra had made some decent headway up the gloomy spiral staircase. Their shadows flickered eerily along the stone walls of the passage as the four of them walked single file toward the highest point of Malfoy Manor.

After a while their party stopped, Narcissa and Ginevra moving slightly further up the staircase to make way for Lucius to unlock the well concealed door. This part of the stairwell was exactly the same as the rest, with absolutely nothing to implicate it as a place of significance. This final passage was the best-kept secret of Malfoy Manor, more than ever now that the Aurors had made sure to pull the mansion apart after the last war. They had of course discovered this hidden stairwell, but so far as they were aware it only lead to a hidden vault, where some of the most treasured Malfoy possessions were kept. Other than that, there was no other nefarious purpose for the hidden passageway on the first floor of the East wing... that the Aurors had found.

Lucius plucked a long strand of hair from his head and wrapped it around the wand he had sleekly pulled from where it was hidden in his cane. He then crouched and pressed the tip of his wand to a stone that was as perfectly uniform as it's brethren. "The master of Malfoy manor seeks sanctuary."

He said, and a section of the wall slid away in a rush. He marched through the new archway, and Draco waited patiently for his mother then Ginevra to slip through the opening before taking the rear.

"Everything has been arranged." Lucius called back to him as they continued down the new passageway. "Narcissa and I have been to a banquet at the Nott's this evening. You made a brief appearance to attend to some business with Theodore and Blaise, after which the three of you left the estate to visit The Leaky Cauldron where you were seen by multiple eyewitnesses - Theodore will unfortunately be difficult to track down for the foreseeable future, while Blaise will cover for both your whereabouts and tell the Aurors that you are with Theodore until this... situation has been resolved.

"Undoubtedly the Aurors will be upon us soon, if they haven't arrived already. The House-Elves have been instructed to escort them through the manor in my absence, as we have nothing to hide, and to fetch me from my engagement as they ordinarily would during an impromptu visit from Ministry Officials."

"Ordinarily?" Ginevra cut in. "As in, they do this often?"

Draco didn't need to see his father's face to know his expression was nothing short of contemptuous. "Of course, Miss Weasley. Where did you think your beloved Potter disappeared to at all hours of the evening?"

"Lucius," Narcissa said, her tone reprimanding. "Do not speak of things you know nothing of."

Draco couldn't help but notice that Ginevra didn't jump to Potter's defence, as he'd been expecting her to. "What Potter may or may not be doing at any time of day is not something I'd ever care to know about, except when it threatens me or mine." She said, somewhat ambiguously, and he wished he could see her expression.

He raised his eyebrows when Narcissa let out a gentle laugh, as though she understood Ginevra perfectly. Merlin, this is weird.

Before the conversation could continue, their party reached another door. The sleek mahogany was barely visible beneath the collection of mismatched keyholes covering the surface, all leading to a different kind of refuge - or mortal peril, if you were careless in your choice.

Draco's eyes widened at finally seeing the Malfoys' most fiercely protected Dark object. It was something only to be used in dire need, and so he'd never even had the opportunity to be in this part of the Manor, let alone to stand in front of the magnificent door that had featured in some of his favourite bedtime stories when he was a boy. His mother had weaved a different tale every evening; every trip through the door held a new adventure.

Like any magical object, if you hadn't been taught how to use it you might be more likely to destroy it - or yourself. Draco knew that he, being one of the people to enter whatever room was summoned, would have to unlock the door.

Lucius moved aside and Draco stepped forward. "Invenio," he murmured, and a keyhole to the top left, plated in ebony and gilded in gold, glimmered.

"Patefio," he said, and there was a slow grinding noise as the lock began to twist.

Draco waited with bated breath until the door finally unlocked with a 'click', taking a moment to steel his resolve before reaching forward and twisting the doorknob. With an ancient groan, the heavy wood swung back on it's hinges, and Draco stepped into the darkness beyond.

Ginevra couldn't help but gasp as Draco was swallowed in the thick black that seemed to leak from within the room he had revealed.

She had been to this door once before, when she was a very young girl. It had been so long ago that she'd almost forgotten the day that Narcissa had led Draco and her through the then-frightening corridors. They had seemed almost cavernous to her and impossibly long, almost as though they might never end. Her little legs had ached as Narcissa ushered them down the deserted halls, and it felt as though they had walked for days though she now knew it couldn't possibly have been for longer than a few minutes.

"Hurry up, my darlings," Cissa had encouraged them intermittently, sounding so steadfast that Ginevra hadn't noticed the tiny quiver in her voice at the time. "We only have a little ways to go until we reach the safe place."

The walls of the mansion had seemed to shake with every crash that echoed from behind them, and Ginevra's tiny body had quaked with fear at every shattering crash that chased them through the dark.

Then they'd reached the door, the three of them stopping in front of it. Narcissa had carefully taken Ginevra and Draco to the side of the corridor, sitting them a safe distance away from the object. Ginevra had wrapped her little hand around Draco's as Narcissa paced before them like a lioness protecting her cubs, and he had allowed her the small concession, even though at seven he was too grown up for those sorts of things - as he'd told her time and time again since his last birthday.

Ginevra had stared at the door then, the glossy wood barely visible beneath the door's decoration. Her bottom lip had curled in distaste at the motley mish-mash of keyholes, some ornately decorated with gold and jewels, while others seemed nothing more than holes gouged into the wood.

Still, she had been unable to stay the hand that slowly raised to brush against a particularly plain one with a child's curiosity; nothing more than stainless steel with a clunky, old-fashioned keyhole carved in the centre of it.

Narcissa had quickly spotted her reaching hand and immediately darted over to stop her. "I know it doesn't look it darling, but it's very dangerous," she'd told Ginevra in a patient voice. "Do you remember the stories I used to tell you at bedtime? What happened to little Eponine Malfoy?"

Ginevra had pouted when Draco stole her chance to answer. "Eponine Malfoy was a naughty little girl who wouldn't do as she was told, and one day she got lost exploring. She found The Door and when she tried to push it open, she got sucked through a keyhole," he'd told his mother matter-of-factly.

"But her father found her," Ginevra had said, now recalling the tale. She had always thought Eponine was a silly little girl, but envied the fact she got to go on such a great adventure.

Narcissa had nodded solemnly, leaning down to give Ginevra a gentle hug. "That he did, my love. But that was many years later, and he missed his little witch very much. What would Lucius and I do without you?"

Ginevra had stuck her tongue out at Draco over Narcissa's shoulder and he returned a nasty face in kind just as the door swung open, and Ginevra had been unable to help the tiny yelp that escaped as she imagined all kinds of beasts lurking in the dark beyond.

"It's ungentlemanly to behave in such a manner, Draco," someone had said from the shadows, and she'd recognised Grandfather Abraxas' voice.

Narcissa had straightened, shooting a pointed look at Draco that made Ginevra smirk, but she hadn't commented on either of their behaviours. Instead, she'd taken each of their hands just as another thunderous crash shook the house and ushered Draco and Ginevra through the dark doorway. "Grandfather will take care of you until your father and I get rid of the bad wizards."

Ginevra had faltered, reluctant to let go of Narcissa. "But Cissa, I don't want to be like Eponine," she'd said tearfully.

Draco had taken her hand once more then, and Ginevra had blinked up at him in surprise. "I'll keep you safe," he'd told her solemnly, and Narcissa had kissed each of them on the cheek before the door had swung closed.

Now, she looked on with bated breath as Draco plunged into the thick dark the door had revealed, feeling a tremor of what might have been concern for a man she hardly knew. Narcissa gently twined her fingers through Ginevra's own, as though she could sense the inner turmoil roiling through her.

There was a deafening silence as the three looked on tensely, waiting for something.

"Lumos," came a whisper. The darkness fled and Draco appeared, standing within a richly furnished sitting room – exactly like the room she had just remembered. He turned to look at them, having thoroughly searched the room. "It's clear."

Narcissa embraced Ginevra, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek, just as she had done so many years ago. She lingered a moment, whispering, "He'll keep you safe once more," before leading Ginevra to the door.

Lucius gave them a solemn look as he stood just outside, Narcissa moving to take his arm. "We'll return once it's safe," he said, then the door swung shut with an audible click as the lock sealed them within.

Ginevra stared at the door somewhat blankly as Draco took a better look around the room, his heavy footsteps a steady beat in time to her own pounding heart. After all that, she and Draco were just supposed to sit here... and wait.

"There's food," Draco remarked casually, then there was the rustling sound of a curtain being drawn, "and a bathroom, which you might want to –"

"Don't you dare," she snapped fiercely as she turned to face him with her hands on hips, but was startled to find the corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk. Her temper flared once more as she remembered the moment they'd had on the rooftop in a rush, and she could feel her cheeks begin to grow hot. "You threw me off a building!"

He crossed to a small table in the centre of the room where, just as he'd said, some food had been laid out. Draco picked up a crisp green apple and took a bite, only offering her a shrug.

"You threw me off a building, and you don't seem to be the least bit remorseful," Ginevra snarled at him, her fists clenching and unclenching.

Draco eyed her as he crossed to a plush lounge suite situated before a fire, taking his time to finish chewing another bite of his apple before answering. "'Throw' is an awfully strong word, isn't it? I thought it was more of a push."

"Feet off the furniture," she told him as he sat down, clearly intending to rest them on a low coffee table, and she had to stifle a rise of emotion at the familiar exchange. "You threw me, and I am not going to debate with you over semantics."

"Then take a deep breath and make yourself comfortable. I did what was necessary to get us out of there. Have I had a single thank you for it? No, so if anyone should be complaining then it should be me for having to risk my neck, my reputation and my position for you," he told her somewhat snarkily, taking another bite of that damned apple.

Ginevra scowled at him. "Of course, how utterly impolite of me. Thank you, Draco, for being an ignoble git who wouldn't know chivalry if it struck him in the face."

"You seem to be confused about which of us was raised with manners," Draco said with a sneer and Ginevra felt a thrill of satisfaction that she'd got a rise out of him.

"Ah, yes, who am I supposed to be? A peasant Muggle-lover, or some such rot," she snapped. "In case you didn't notice, Draco, I'm not."

With that he was off the lounge, advancing on her, and she had to prevent herself from backing away. He stopped, his expression blank though she could clearly feel the tension in those taut muscles. Her breath stopped altogether as he made to grab at her, but he only took her hand, lifting it so he could take a good look at the diamond perched delicately on her finger. "I was wondering about that, actually," His voice was low as he ran a thumb slowly across her knuckles, barely grazing the ring. "Who exactly are you, Ginevra?"

She snatched her hand away at his searing touch. Ginevra was tired – so spent that she couldn't bring herself to feign her usual cold indifference. Instead, she merely offered him a sad look, unable to hide the raw emotion raging in her heart. "You're asking the wrong person..." I hardly know myself.

Ginevra was almost starting to feel like a witch again, now that she'd had a shower and found a serviceable set of robes to wear. She sat before the fire place in the hope that the heat might dry her damp hair while she glared vehemently at Draco, who was currently napping on the lounge... and she wasn't admiring his leanly muscled body at all.

"You know, it is difficult get some sleep when I know you're sitting over there staring at me," he said lackadaisically, his eyes still shut.

"Good," she replied curtly, crossing her arms.

Draco sat up abruptly, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. "Look, we'll probably be stuck here for a while, but we might not. Get some rest while you can." He motioned to the bed in the far corner, and she flushed, to her chagrin. "And stop bothering me."

"You're welcome to the bed. I'm not tired," she said, shuffling a little further away from the fire behind her as her face grew hot. Merlin, it's just a bed.

He leant forward, his arms resting on his knees as he gazed directly at her. "I would love nothing more than to take it, but unfortunately my mother raised me to be polite and ensure the comfort of the witches in my company over my own." Draco paused, his expression thoughtful. "Speaking of mother, would you care to explain exactly how you know her so well?"

Ginevra looked away. This wasn't the first question he'd asked her tonight - or today, rather - and she knew it wouldn't be much longer before he broke her. She glanced at her engagement ring, her right hand absently twisting the band around her finger. Maybe if she told a small tale he might ease off his other interrogations until Narcissa came back...

"Um. Work," she told him, climbing to her feet so she could feign some kind of fascination in the room's furnishings; anything to avoid his gaze.

"Ah, I see." Out of the corner of her eye she saw him lean back on the sofa, putting his arms behind his head. "And what exactly do you do for work, Ginevra?"

She almost tripped over the squat coffee table she'd just skirted around at the unexpected question. Well, not so unexpected. Oh dear Merlin...

"I, uh..." Take a breath. Think. Ginevra glanced frantically about the room for inspiration. What on earth do poor people do for work?

She spotted her carelessly discarded hospital gown. No, not a Healer, far too obvious... Draco and Potter are Aurors... What had Draco called that place? "I work at the Ministry," she said quickly, breathing a sigh of relief.

Draco smirked at her. "But Ginevra, I can't see what use the Ministry might have for a retired Quidditch player."

Of course he knew what she did for work. Smug bastard. "The emphasis would be on 'retired.'"

Ginevra glanced at him furtively from the corner of her eye as she moved to examine the scabbards that had been hung on the far wall and saw him narrow his eyes at her. "And what business would my mother have at the Ministry?"

"If I told you, I'd have to Obliviate you," Ginevra told him sweetly, then feigned a yawn. "You know, all this talk has really tired me out..."

She walked toward the bed and turned down the covers then slipped beneath them. "Best get some sleep while you can, Draco."

He didn't respond, and she sank into the mattress, burrowing under the covers. Peace and quiet, finally.

It was silent for a long time before the lounge creaked loudly. "You know, I think you're right," Draco said and she shot up in bed as his footsteps grew louder.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she drew the covers up around her, as though to shield herself from him.

He continued walking toward her, undeterred. "Taking you up on your offer," he told her, and she had to scuttle out of the way as he sank onto the mattress next to her.

Ginevra was about to slide off the bed when Draco pulled his shirt off, and she was ashamed to say that the sight of his naked torso left her frozen in place. Seeing him like this drew so many memories to the fore, of the intimacy she had once shared with him, the easiness of their relationship.

It's only been one day, she told herself sternly, though she knew it wouldn't make a difference; she would do anything for just a taste of all they'd once had together.

Unrequited love was a bitch.

Draco had Ginevra right where he wanted her. Her eyes had gone dark with lust, her lips parting and back slightly arching as though she was begging for him to touch her.

But somehow this victory wasn't so sweet when, against all reason, his body itched to give Ginevra exactly what she wanted.

"Don't do this to me, Draco," she said, her voice low as she slid further away from him.

He said nothing, inching closer to her as he waited for her to elaborate.

She sighed, as though she knew he was waiting for her, then spoke again. "I know when to pick my battles, Draco Malfoy, and I will not compromise my feelings for a petty victory."

He studied her for a moment, and the look in her eyes stopped him from pushing her to explain. Instead, he said, "I just want answers, Ginevra."

"Don't we all?" she asked him with a dark laugh, and from her troubled look he knew he was missing something important. They sat in silence for a few moments, and she let out a shaky breath. "I'll make you a deal. If you do one thing for me tonight, I'll answer one of your questions."

Draco's Auror instincts knew this opportunity was too good to pass up. If he had to take information where he could find it... "Any one of my questions?"

She hesitated before answering. "Not any one. I'll only answer it if I think it's... safe."

Good enough. Draco had long ago decided which answer was the most important - perhaps not to their current situation, but certainly to him. "I want to know why you have my mother's ring."

"That's what you want to know?" Ginevra asked him, taken aback.

Draco merely nodded stoically.

She looked down at the ring in question as she took a deep breath. After a long moment she looked at him once more, her gaze unwavering. "The ring was given to me by someone I love very dearly," she answered.

Draco had to stop himself from scowling at that one, reminding himself that Ginevra certainly didn't seem to be involved with Potter. "And how did he get his hands on a priceless Malfoy family heirloom?"

Ginevra scowled at him. "I said one question, Draco."

"You gave me a terrible answer; I think I deserve two," he shot back, crossing his arms.

She shook her head at him. "No. I gave you what you asked for, and that's all you'll get from me tonight."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. He didn't doubt that was the case, but that was fine. There would always be tomorrow, and Draco was an expert interrogator - if a little unorthodox at times.

"Alright," he conceded, mildly amused by her shocked expression that he gave up so easily. Little does she know what she's in for tomorrow... "What is it you want, then?"

Ginevra immediately looked unsure, but it was fleeting before she steadily met his gaze once more. "Will you sleep with me tonight?"

Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that, Draco thought as he smirked at her.

"Not like that," she hastily corrected herself at his expression. "I just want you to lie next to me."

Draco raised a brow at her, amused. "You think you can lie next to me for a whole night and not try to have it off with me?"

"You are such a git," she said huffily as her cheeks pinkened. "While you were off playing Dumbledore today, some of us were busy being detained, interrogated and, oh yeah, electrocuted. Sex isn't exactly foremost on my mind at the moment."

Draco suddenly had a bad feeling in his chest. He wasn't sure, but he thought he almost felt... regret over what had happened to Ginevra. He could almost hear his father's voice berating him for his sudden burst of empathy; and for a Weasley, no less. Focus.

Without a word, Draco stood up and began removing his belt and jeans.

Ginevra was off the bed faster than if she'd Apparated. "Hello, didn't you hear me? I said no sex."

"Relax, Weasley." The purposeful use of her last name almost felt uncomfortable on his tongue, but it helped him remember who she was; or, rather, who she wasn't. "I'm leaving my pants on," he said as he pulled off his jeans, then climbed into bed.

He made himself comfortable under the covers, careful to look as though he couldn't care less about about their arrangement, even though he was entirely sure that his heart had started beating loud enough that the Aurors could hear it from Malfoy Manor's main foyer. If he didn't know better, Draco might have said that Ginevra was making him nervous, of all things.

Ginevra seemed to take his word for it and made herself comfortable too, though he could still feel the waves of tension rolling off her. He didn't like it, not one bit.

Thankfully it wasn't long before her breathing began to even out, and he sensed she had finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. He wasn't sure how deeply she slept, so he was particularly careful not to jostle the mattress as he sat up in bed.

Draco wouldn't go back on his promise - a trade was a trade, after all - but this wasn't his first Quidditch match, and someone needed to stay on guard tonight. His training had kicked in, and the unofficial Auror motto sprang to mind, unbidden: constant vigilance.

His gaze wandered over to Ginevra, and he knew she was in no shape to keep watch. She had curled up on her stomach, the sheets twisting around her body as she'd made herself comfortable, and she'd thrown her arm across the bed, as though reaching for something. Her face was tilted toward him giving him an easy view of her as she slept and he couldn't help but notice how vulnerable she looked.

Staying up all night was a small price to pay if Ginevra might be more forthcoming with information after a full night's sleep. After going against the Ministry, Draco now had a vested interest in Ginevra; he would protect her by any means necessary.

Narcissa and Lucius had been confined to Malfoy Manor's Eastern Reception Room for several hours, since their "return" from the Nott estate. She and her husband had been kept under the watchful eye of two Aurors, as though they were criminals who might attempt to do all kinds of terrible things to hinder the investigation.

Maybe the Aurors weren't as incompetent as Draco and Lucius had often made them out to be.

The ache that had been pressing on her head for the past day suddenly flared up again and Narcissa pressed her hand against her forehead, as though she might be able to push her sudden migraine from her mind.

"Another one?" Lucius asked, and Narcissa offered him a weak smile. Her ever-attentive husband missed nothing, though at present she wished he weren't so observant. She might have spared him the anxiety her episodes gave him.

"You mustn't frown so much, my darling," Narcissa told him, her hand smoothing the lines that creased his forehead.

He caught her hand in his, lowering his voice so the Aurors at the door wouldn't hear. "You must see a Healer. Take a potion. Anything."

"They won't help," she told him with a slight shake of her head, not for the first time. "Trust me. It will go away in time." I hope.

Lucius gave her a measured look before turning to the Aurors. "Is this investigation going to take much longer?" he asked coldly.

The female barely spared them a glance as she stood at her post. "The investigation will take as long as it takes, Mr Malfoy."

Lucius released Narcissa's hand to stand, and the Aurors tensed as though the older man might attack them. "As you can see, my wife isn't well. I have humoured the Ministry's every whim, yet Gudgeon has not been so kind as to inform me as to why my home is being searched. I can assure you that the Aurors will not find anything out of the ordinary."

The Aurors looked uncomfortable as they undoubtedly attempted to come up with excuses, until a new voice joined the conversation."Yet," Harry Potter cut in as he entered the room, followed by Dave Gudgeon, the Head Auror himself. The older man gestured to the two Aurors, and they discreetly moved just outside the entrance to the room. "Hello, Mr Malfoy, Mrs Malfoy."

Narcissa acknowledged the greeting with a demure tilt of her head, despite the sudden increase of pain shooting through her skull. Lucius offered Gudgeon and Potter no such courtesy.

"I fail to see why the Ministry suspects my home to be of any use to them in whatever investigation you seem to be making, since this is clearly more than a standard search," Lucius sneered. "Perhaps it would be pertinent to share the reason for your presence in my home, so we might be able to offer some assistance."

"There was a security breach at St Mungo's Hospital tonight, and Draco Malfoy is a suspect," Harry Potter told them without a moment's hesitation, and Narcissa and Lucius looked appropriately aghast by the accusation.

"How dare you come to my home and accuse my son of such a thing," Lucius spat. "He has worked tirelessly to restore the Ministry to its former glory. Draco is an asset to the Aurors - the best, I daresay."

Narcissa ignored her pressing headache as she studied Potter carefully. There was something about him that wasn't adding up... If only she could think through the pain.

"I appreciate the lengths you go to for your son," Gudgeon said haughtily as he rested his hands over the slight belly he'd developed after taking over the Auror Department. "Your misguided dedication as his parents is... admirable. But we have evidence implicating him for the attack at St Mungo's."

Son... Parents... The words seemed to echo through her head, even as Lucius bristled at Gudgeon's patronising remark. Her eyes came to rest on the scar that marred Potter's forehead. Somehow a single thought - familiar yet completely alien - struck through the near-paralyzing agony, and Narcissa had a revelation. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ...

"Lucius," she interrupted whatever her husband had been about to say, and he turned toward her. "Please, just let the Aurors do what they need to do."

She gazed at Harry Potter, an eerie sense of understanding settling over her, and he seemed uncomfortable under her scrutinising gaze as she said to Gudgeon, "We'll recount our evening with you and assist you in any way we can, Mr Gudgeon, and then you will be entitled to draw whatever conclusions you like about our son."

"Mmm..." Ginevra moaned as she burrowed deeper amongst the blankets. Her body ached dully all over, as though she'd just run a marathon, which was ridiculous because she'd never run one in her life.

She felt movement under her cheek, so quickly flung her arm across the bare chest her head rested over. "It's not time to get up yet," she murmured to Draco, her eyes still tightly shut. She felt so content lying here with her fiancé. It was just one of those mornings she never wanted to end.

There was a long silence, and Ginevra's eyes sleepily blinked open. "Draco..." she began, but lost her voice as the past twenty four hours rushed back to her.

Of course. She wasn't at home, in bed with her fiancé in her lavish London apartment. She was hiding out after practically running a marathon, and was now in bed with a veritable stranger... who was looking down at her with a clouded expression.

She immediately pushed away from him, clutching the sheet to her chest like a shield, even though she was fully dressed. "Oh," she said, at a loss for words.

Draco stretched his arms above his head, his lithe muscles stretching taught as he watched her with that unreadable expression, and she looked away as heat rushed to her cheeks. "I trust you slept well?" he asked her.

If Ginevra's cheeks had been hot before, they were burning now. She cast him a haughty look. "As well as one can, under the circumstances," she told him, hoping her phrasing was ambiguous enough to hide her embarrassment. "How about you?" Ginevra asked a moment later, her manners getting the better of her.

"As well as one can, under the circumstances," Draco returned her words with a tired look, watching her from the bed as she stood then walked toward the small dining table.

She stifled a yawn as she looked over the fresh fruit that had been laid out for them while they slept, her brow furrowing when she realised that she would have to cut the fruit by hand. If she didn't have a house elf on hand to do the job for her she would have just used magic, but without her wand... Her eyes flickered in Draco's direction.

"Could you cut this fruit for me?" she asked him sweetly, looking at him over her shoulder. If he were anyone else she would have just demanded he do it, but Draco - any version of him - was an equal and one of the few people worthy of her respect.

He raised a brow, tucking his hands behind his head. "Certainly not."

"Why not?" she asked, studiously ignoring his bunching biceps - her fiancé had definitely never been this fit.

"You have two hands, Ginevra."

She blinked at him, dumbfounded. "You expect me to cut my own fruit?"

"I'm sure you're more than capable of feeding yourself," he told her with a smirk, the one that made her chest ache. "It's good for your development."

Ginevra scowled at him before she turned back to the table, hoping she'd been able to hide her dismay. Unwittingly, her eyes dropped to her bare feet, where her horrible pedicure from the previous night sat as a glaring reminder that she was incapable of doing anything for herself.

Except that wasn't true at all... was it? Ginevra spent three days a week working at Lucius's private company coordinating business functions, networking with clients and fielding owls from Narcissa demanding she stop this "independent" nonsense and join her Society of Horticultural Appreciation instead, and by Merlin she was good at what she did. What was slicing a few mangoes compared to finding the exact shade of emerald to coordinate the table cloths with the drapes for the annual shareholder cocktail party? Merlin knew event planners never noticed the fine details, she thought as she picked up a mango, placing it on one of the china plates before picking up a knife to slice it with.

"You should probably aim away from the seed," Draco called helpfully from where he lounged on the bed as Ginevra pressed the knife against the skin.

"Obviously," she snapped at him irritatedly before returning her attention to the mango, only to realise she had no idea where the seed was.

Draco seemed to notice her dilemma, and despite his earlier words immediately moved from the bed to help her. "Here, let me -"

"No, I can do it," Ginevra said, moving around the table so he couldn't interfere with her task. She gave the fruit a gentle squeeze as she tried to determine how the seed was positioned. Frowning in concentration she pressed the knife against the skin and cut into it smoothly... until she ran straight into the seed.

"Urgh!" She dropped the knife and mango onto the plate with a clatter, covering her face with her hands. "Stupid, useless... urgh!"

There was a low rumbling noise that Ginevra was intimately familiar with, and she flung her hands in the air in frustration. "Don't you dare laugh."

"I'm not, I swear," he said with a shake of his head, though his expression said otherwise.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Draco Abraxas Malfoy, you of all people should know better."

His mouth twisted into small a smirk as he attempted to regain his composure. "And why should I, Ginevra Weasley?"

Ginevra picked up the mango again to examine it closely, careful not to get any juice on her hands. "Narcissa thought you'd learnt your lesson after that time she threatened you with the gardener's shears and you didn't step foot in Malfoy Manor for a week," she said with a laugh.

She looked up when Draco didn't respond, and his hooded gaze made the blood drain from her face. "Blast it, Draco -" Ginevra began, but stopped talking abruptly when a horrible grinding noise came from the door on the other side of the room.

Draco had his wand drawn and pushed her to the floor before she had time to turn, and the door swung open.

Chapter seven: Diverted

“Well, the two of you seem cosy,” a familiar voice remarked, and Ginevra peered around Draco’s protectively crouched form to see Lucius enter the room.

Narcissa followed her husband through the doorway. “Lucius,” she reprimanded, turning to her son when she saw him helping Ginevra to her feet. “Your attire is entirely inappropriate, dear,” Narcissa scolded, despite her faintly gleeful expression – no doubt she was incorrectly assuming that this Draco was being somehow affectionate toward Ginevra. I wish.

“Mother,” Draco said as he rushed to pick up his discarded garments and dress himself before turning back to his parents. “You took us by surprise, coming in without a word of warning.”

Lucius offered Draco a look that Ginevra knew was the equivalent of an unrepentant shrug. “The Ministry has finished its investigations here, but have posted some Aurors and several offensive spells on the grounds, in the event that you ‘return’ to the Manor. Gudgeon and Potter were rather chagrined that no clues were uncovered to your whereabouts apart from more than a half dozen eyewitnesses claiming you’d taken off to the Continent with Theodore.”

Ginevra moved to sit on the lounge as she worked to stifle her relief at the news, and one look at Draco’s expression told her he also knew their work wasn’t finished yet.

Lucius was two steps ahead of them. “Now, Miss Weasley. Would you care to explain yourself?”

She flushed at the tone he had taken with her – she hadn’t heard it since she was seven years old and played dress-up with the house elves.

“Wait,” Narcissa cut in, moving to Ginevra’s side to take her hand, just as she had that fateful day – though Ginevra didn’t miss the way Narcissa gently straightened her engagement ring on her finger. “Oh, that’s better,” Narcissa murmured absently as she tucked her hand firmly into Ginevra’s. She paused, then glanced back at the men with a more focused gaze. “I will explain. Draco, Lucius, please wait until I’ve finished before interrupting.”

The two men exchanged a dubious glance, though after a moment each took a seat on the opposite lounge and Lucius waved his hand for her to continue.

“As unbelievable as it may seem,” she began, her expression more serene than Ginevra had ever seen it in this new reality, “things are not the way they should be. The world, as you both know it, is... wrong. Drastically altered from what it would have been.”

Ginevra gasped, shocked at what Narcissa was saying, though it was precisely what Ginevra had begun to suspect. “But Cissy, if time really had been... rewritten, we can’t just tell –” She abruptly stopped speaking when she caught Draco and Lucius’ open-mouthed expressions.

Every wizard knew the rules when it came to the kinds of spells capable of altering reality on such a large scale: tell no one. Narcissa’s weighty sigh told Ginevra that she remembered it well. Their circumstances must be dire indeed.

“I believe time really has been rewritten,” Narcissa continued, raising her hand to silence Lucius, who was clearly about to interrupt. “In fact, I am absolutely sure of it.”

“How?” Draco asked as he crossed his arms, his hard expression telling that he had had fallen comfortably into his role as Auror.

“If I knew how, I wouldn’t have involved the two of you,” Narcissa answered, and Lucius scowled, clearly disgruntled by the admission.

“Ginevra,” Draco muttered with a frown, as though he was recalling an errant fact. “And your headaches. It’s not a coincidence. How is it –?”

“The ring,” Narcissa had anticipated his question. “There is old magic here. Ancient magic, that I suspect may leave a mark on any who wears it.”

“What kind of mark?” Lucius asked, his concern for Narcissa temporarily overriding his irritation at being left in the dark.

She offered him a tight smile. “I remembered too much. I awoke with two pasts, one too many lives for a person to live all at once. The ring helps me sort through the memories; it clears my thoughts.”

“Then take it –” Ginevra began, but Narcissa’s grip tightened on hers.

“No,” Narcissa told her firmly. “We don’t know what will happen to you – to your memories – if you remove it. And you will need them if you’re to go back; back to when everything changed.”

There was a long silence, and the blood rushed from Ginevra’s face at Narcissa’s choice of words. If you’re to go back...

“Nothing good can come of this,” Lucius said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Wait.” Draco’s eyes fixed on Ginevra and she suppressed the urge to flinch under his calculating gaze. “Are things better in this world? Worse? Who are we to say that this isn’t the way things were meant to be?”

Ginevra carefully hid the pain that threatened to mar her features as she steadily held his gaze; his earnest question struck her harder than any physical blow, but Ginevra had been raised better than to allow people to see her weaknesses. Draco wasn’t thick, not by a long shot. She could tell from the way he looked at her now that he had put two and two together - and that he wasn’t a bit happy about it. That’s how much this stranger named Draco Malfoy despised “Ginny” Weasley.

“I just want to go home,” Ginevra hissed quietly, afraid that breaking their gaze might snap the already taut thread that was keeping her together.

Narcissa’s gentle hand on hers gave her some kind of strength to maintain her composure, just as it had always done since she was little. “Whereas my two timelines seem to have converged, Ginevra’s first timeline has been replaced with a second. Logically, one would assume that the initial timeline would be the correct one.” She cast a sharp eye over Draco. “I am Narcissa Malfoy, and I will be damned if I allow my family to be ruined by a circumstance of fate.”

Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ginevra Weasley. This had to be a mistake; surely the evidence he had slowly gathered couldn’t point to this.

Why, darling, who else would have my ring?

Ah, yes, who am I supposed to be? A peasant Muggle-lover, or some such rot...

The ring was given to me by someone I love very dearly...

She had laid the pieces down for him, but he had been too obstinate to put them together. He’d allowed his austere reason to be swayed by prejudice. Unacceptable.

On the one hand, Ginevra Weasley looked just the same as she always had. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose was just the same, not to mention the stubborn set that had always seem to underlie her every expression. He took her in, looking for... well; he wasn’t sure what, if he were perfectly honest. A sign, he supposed grimly as he examined the vibrant, typically Weasley mess of hair cascading over her shoulders, a reason why her luminous brown eyes seemed to glint gold at him as she steadily held his gaze.

Though Draco had suspected there wasn’t something quite right about this Ginevra Weasley, he really hadn’t been able to figure out what it was. Perhaps he had been looking too closely, clouded by preconception.

Perspective and objectivity. That’s what he needed.

Draco leant back, not examining Ginevra in parts, but as a whole – like a riddle that needed to be seen from several angles before a solution could be found.

As he watched her, there were few words he could attribute to the perfect way Ginevra held herself: sophistication, poise and dignity. Definitely nothing synonymous with the word “Weasley”. Like a lens coming into focus, he saw his mother sitting beside her, the very same tilt of her chin as though the pair had memorised it from a textbook... Or as though Ginevra had learnt the very same behaviour from the older witch. A surprise, to say the least.

Then he recalled the circumstances in which he had first found her. When his team had been alerted to the use of an Unforgivable, Ginevra Weasley was certainly the last person he had expected to find on the other end of that wand. Yet, there she had been, cursing Potter like he was the filth beneath her shoe, and on a street full of Muggles, no less.

That alone had been enough to make him curious. It wasn’t until she’d awoken in her cell, going from elated to wary within seconds of seeing him – morphing into a look of pure terror as he’d spotted the ring. As if their brief conversation hadn’t been indication enough.

She was no longer an acquaintance – the sister of a childhood rival, the girlfriend of a co-worker. Ginevra Weasley was a stranger.

He scowled when he saw her raise her chin defiantly, supposing that she had correctly guessed the conclusion he had reached based on some change in his expression. He detested that she could read him so easily; that she had been doing so from the moment she’d woken up in that cell, as he realised belatedly.

Narcissa seemed to have caught the change too, though he wasn’t sure why she would look so surprised by his thoughts. “Now, Draco –”

“Mother, leave it.”

“– I understand how you might be feeling right now –” she continued, but stopped when he leapt to his feet.

“You don’t understand,” he said in a level tone. “What am I to do, Mother? Just accept that some version of me lo– fancies a girl from a family that the Malfoys have despised for centuries? A penniless witch who happily attempts to ruin my life at any opportunity because of my father?" Lucius had the grace to look uncomfortable at that remark, and Draco didn't care that he'd pointed a well-deserved finger at the man.

"I'm not asking you for anything," a detached voice said, and Draco's gaze flickered toward Ginevra as she slowly removed her hand from Narcissa's. "You know I'd do anything for you, Cissa, but this is too much. I refuse to be the cause of discord in this family." Ginevra stood, then walked over to the bathroom with her head held high.

“I won’t pretend to be pleased about this,” Lucius commented once the woman disappeared behind the curtain.

Narcissa nodded. “Of course. But you must understand that here, the Malfoys are considered less than worthless. In the other... reality, shall we say? We command all of the influence and respect that belongs to the Malfoy family by right of birth.”

“I see that you’re eager to return to your other family,” Draco’s father remarked coolly, and Draco was overcome by an overwhelming sense of sadness.

His mother shook her head, taking each of their hands. “You are the same, in this world and the next, and so is my love for you both – just as a wife and mother’s love should be.”

“And the husband and son that stand before you are to be erased,” Draco pulled his hand from Narcissa’s, “to become whatever we ‘were’ again, no questions asked?”

“What are our words, Draco?”

He scowled at her, but answered nonetheless. "Sanctimonia vincet semper. Purity will always conquer.” She remained silent, as though the conversation was finished. Draco looked to his father pleadingly. “They’re just words.”

Lucius gazed steadily at Draco, then glanced at Narcissa’s dainty hand where it rested in his, so delicately slender it seemed almost weightless. “They are more than words, Draco. They are our life, our blood and everything we stand for.” He took a deep breath, as though to steady himself, then turned to Narcissa. “We must understand the full impact of our actions if we are to travel to the past.”

“Father –”

“I am the head of this family, Draco, and you are not the only member of this family to consider.”

He knew he shouldn’t talk back to his father, but the words seemed to slip out before he could stop himself. “Just like you considered Mother and me when you chose to join the Dark Lord?”

Ginevra sat silently in the bathroom as the sins of this Malfoy family were laid out for her listening pleasure from the other side of the curtain. She knew that Narcissa needed the ring, but she couldn’t bring herself to witness the two men in her life fighting so aggressively.

She stalked over to the claw-footed tub, turning the taps so that the fall of scalding water would drown out their voices, then carefully arranged her robes as she sat primly on the edge.

And this is what Draco doesn’t want to lose? she thought to herself. Ginevra had meant what she’d said earlier; she had no desire to break up the family she loved so ardently... But it seemed as though her presence was merely the straw that broke the hippogriff’s back.

At a loss for what to do, she glanced down at her perfectly manicured hands. Well, formerly – now she had several raggedly torn and chipped nails, her fingers still sticky from the fruit she had attempted to cut this morning. Not so perfect now.

Was this what Draco saw when he looked at her? Not when he looked at whoever she had been before everything had changed, but when he had truly looked at her, just now? She’d seen that glimmer of acknowledgement in his eyes, as though he had finally recognised that she was different. But then she’d seen the resentment, a muscle steadily ticking away in his tightly clenched jaw, and that’s when she’d known that he didn’t want her. Surely whatever opinions he’d formed about the other Ginevra Weasley couldn’t be so permanently instilled in him?

So maybe her Draco had never truly loved her. Love was supposed to be the ultimate kind of magic, after all – strong enough to traverse time and space unscathed, resilient enough to conquer the darkest arts. She and Draco had been together for longer than she could remember – something akin to siblings, at first, until they had become friends, then lovers. At least, that was what she’d thought they were. Draco had never been one for meaningful words, and they had fought every now and then as two opposingly stubborn people were wont to do, but he had asked her to marry him, for Merlin’s sake.

She had always harboured a secret thought, deep in a place she had never shown another living soul, that Draco Malfoy was her one and only soul mate. Merlin, what a fool she was! To trust someone so implicitly like that? To think that being thrown together as children could grow into anything meaningful? And Narcissa and Lucius had been so happy at the engagement. It had been expected of them, of course, and perhaps that had been why Draco had done it.

Ginevra knew she was being unfair – after all, how could she think such a thing about her fiancé when there was a different incarnation of him similarly punishing her? – but at that moment she was hurting too deeply to care. She had never hurt so much before in her life, always sheltered by her foster parents, and the most pain she’d ever experienced was at the hands of the Wizarding society who had looked down on her as the daughter of a disgraced pureblood family – but there had been a small comfort that Ronald, Frederick and George had all shared that burden with her, even if she hadn’t known them well at all.

But this was so much worse than that, she thought as she let herself slide to the floor. To be rejected by the one person in this world she loved above all else? Worse than being paralysed, worse than the most gruesome death – worse than being a Mudblood or a Squib, even.

Ginevra plunged her hands into the bath water, hissing at the almost unbearable heat as she began to scrub her hands clean. She picked at her ragged nails, the polish gradually crumbling away and the ragged ends grinding against each other until she was left with raw-skinned hands with ugly, uneven nails.

“There.” Her hands were clean, and she had fixed them herself. They still weren’t perfect, but then again, nothing in the world was. Right?

Ginevra looked at the ring on her finger, the symbol of this Draco's resentment toward her. She felt the strangest impulse to pull the thing off and let it wash down the drain; but of course that would accomplish nothing.

But looking at the ring now, she could think of one way that it could solve their problems.

She took a deep breath. Ginevra had had her existential crisis, and that was enough nonsense for one day. She was sick to death of being told what to do, and clearly the Malfoys needed someone to straighten them out – it was time for her to make some tough decisions, whether they liked them or not.

Ginevra turned off the water and strode out of the bathroom.

The Malfoys were still arguing in the manner that only the Malfoys could; the two men with calculated statements and cold expressions as Narcissa attempted to placate them both.

"That's enough," Ginevra said, though only Narcissa bothered to acknowledge that she'd spoken with a pleading look.

Well, if Draco expects me to act like an animal... Without considering her actions much further she picked up a plate from the table and threw it at the ground with more strength than she'd thought herself capable of.

As shattered china flew in every direction, all heads in the room whipped toward her, and she scowled as she noted that Draco and Lucius' expressions didn't hold a bit of surprise at her actions.

"Now that I have your attention; Lucius, if Narcissa and I explain more of where we come from, will you be content to help us fix whatever went wrong?"

"If the alternative timeline is amenable, then yes," he said after a moment's consideration.

Draco glared at the two of them. "I will not –"

"Draco," she cut him off. "Is your objection that you want to remain as you are now?"

He studied her for a long time before answering. "It's my main objection, yes."

"Ginevra, you do not have to do this," Narcissa said, seeming to understand exactly where she was going, but Ginevra wasn't deterred – what was the saying? If you love someone, you'll let them go.

Ginevra considered her words carefully before speaking again. "If you assist us in fixing the past, I will give you the ring so that you won't be affected once time is corrected."

She might have laughed at Draco's stunned expression if she wasn't feeling so cold inside.

"Draco –" Narcissa began after an uncomfortable silence, but her voice seemed to shake him.

"You jump to her defence, over your own son's," Draco remarked with a wry twist of his mouth before turning to Ginevra. "Swear it. Swear an Unbreakable Vow that you'll give it to me."

Ginevra managed to stifle her irritation that he would need to resort to something so extreme, but decided to take advantage of the opportunity this presented. “Lucius?”

He stepped forward as Draco and Ginevra both knelt before him, the couple clasping forearms so that he could seal the oath.

Draco took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my family, Malfoy,” Ginevra replied with a tight smile, taking pleasure when he shifted uncomfortably.

Narcissa glanced between them with a disappointed expression. "I can't watch this," she said as she turned away, and Ginevra felt a pang of guilt that she and Draco were causing her such distress – but there was nothing to be done about it now.

The tip of Lucius’ wand hovered over their intertwined arms, and before Draco could speak, Ginevra began. “Will you, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, aid me in achieving my purpose to the best of your ability when we travel to the past?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not pleased that she had taken advantage of the situation. “I will,” he said, and a wisp of golden mist slithered from the tip of Lucius’ wand, snaking its way around them. “And will you, Ginevra Weasley, return the Malfoy family ring to me once your task has been completed?”

“I will,” she vowed, and a second wisp of silver joined the golden one, the two shining brightly as they merged together, flowing in a perfect circle around the place where their bodies touched.

“It is done,” Lucius said, and Ginevra felt the strangest sensation as the magic that sealed their oaths was absorbed into their bodies – not quite a shock, and not altogether unpleasant as her skin grew heated where they touched.

She made to stand, but noticed that Draco still held her arm as he stared at her curiously. “You can let go of my arm now, Malfoy,” Ginevra said, her disinterested tone entirely feigned.

His expression clouded, and he wisely said nothing as he let go of her, dusting off his hands as he stood.

Ginevra rose gracefully to her feet, feeling rather proud of herself that she’d managed to pull one over this Draco, shrewd and calculating as he appeared to be. “Let’s get down to business.”