If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we would find in each man's life a sorrow and a suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.
- Oscar Wilde

~*~

Draco and Neville both jumped, and Harry froze, staring at Draco. Neville cleared his throat nervously. "Hullo, Harry." He heard Draco mutter something that sounded a lot like rhetorical question, but decided to ignore him.

Harry didn’t even glance at Neville. He was staring at Draco with a twisted expression, his body rigid. Unlike the rest of the wizarding world, it seemed, Harry had no trouble recognizing Draco straight off. "You."

"Hello, Potter," Draco sneered. "What a pleasant surprise."

Harry glared at Draco, but spoke to Neville. "What’s he doing here?"

"He’s my partner for a case I’m working on," Neville said, licking his lips nervously. He had the sinking feeling that this was going to be bad. "Did you need something, Harry?"

"I stopped by to ask if I could borrow a portkey to Hogwarts," Harry replied, still glaring at Draco, who was sneering right back.

"Can’t make one yourself, Potty?" Draco jeered. Neville sighed and closed his eyes briefly. This was going to be bad. Whatever latent nice-ness Draco had picked up seemed to have vanished the minute Harry walked in the door. Neville rose to his feet and moved around the edge of his desk, so that he was more or less between Harry and Draco. He wondered if it would be too obvious if he tried to move some of the more breakable objects.

"I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Malfoy," Harry growled. "What’s he doing here?" he demanded of Neville again.

"I told you, he’s working with me on a case. Um...look, I actually don’t have a portkey handy, but you could go ask Katie, she’s usually - "

"Yes, Potter, why don’t you run along and get someone else to do for you what you can’t do yourself?" Draco said, his voice dripping with malice. Harry took a menacing step forward, which was all the invitation Draco needed; he shoved his chair back and stood, pulling himself to his full six feet and glaring haughtily down his nose at Harry. Harry hadn’t really grown since his brief growth spurt in seventh year, and he realized - belatedly - that Draco had a good four inches on him. He stopped advancing suddenly, and didn’t protest as Neville stepped in front of him and backed him toward the door a bit.

Neville took a deep breath and turned back to Draco, who was still looking daggers at Harry. "Look, Malfoy, I know there’s bad blood between you two - what with the whole um, incident and all - but can you please try to be polite?" Neville tried not to sound too exasperated. Why did he always end up in the middle of these sorts of things?

Draco raised an eyebrow at Neville, distracted. "Incident? What incident?"

Neville looked a little wild-eyed. "Um...I think you know, Malfoy."

Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked from Neville to Harry and back. "Actually," he said, in the soft, precise voice that meant he was very angry indeed, "no. I don’t believe I do."

Neville gaped at Draco. "I think you were there, Draco. When Harry killed Lucius."

Draco gave him an utterly blank look. After a long moment, understanding dawned, and his face twisted with disgust. He wheeled on Harry, who looked somewhat embarrassed. "You bastard." Harry took a small step back. Draco sucked in a long breath and held it, clenching and unclenching his hands, fighting for a semblance of self-control. "You. Utter. Bastard. What happened, your spotlight started dimming? Decided to make yourself look a little better?"

Harry snarled. "No one in their right minds would have believed the truth and you know it. "

"No, of course not. So you took it upon yourself to craft a lie that you thought people would believe, and it just coincidentally made you out to be some sort of champion?" Draco hissed.

"That wasn’t what happened!" Harry shouted, stepping forward and bumping into Neville, his green eyes burning.

"What am I missing here?" Neville asked, bewildered.

Draco laughed shortly, sliding a glance toward his partner. "Oh, nothing much. Just that Potter here has been lying to his adoring public for the last decade or so."

Neville looked from Draco to Harry, who was red-faced with anger and...shame? "How about providing me with a real explanation?"

Harry set his jaw and averted his eyes, quite clearly refusing to say anything. Draco glared at him, angrier than Neville had ever seen him. "Fine," Draco said tightly. "How’s this? He didn’t kill Lucius Malfoy, I did."

Neville’s mouth dropped open. "You what?"

"I know you’re not as stupid as you look, Longbottom. Do try to keep up."

Neville ignored that, looking over at Harry. "But...I thought - "

"That Mr. Potter over there, hero of the wizarding world, managed to rid us of You-Know-Who and his best Death Eater all on his own? Oh, no," Draco said harshly. "He had help."

"Harry?"

He shuffled his feet. "I - "

"Putting the best face on the situation, Potter? That why?" Draco’s face was flushed, two spots of crimson high on his cheekbones, his whole body stiff as he tried to keep a leash on what looked like utter, killing rage.

"I was trying to protect you, you stupid git!" Harry shouted. "So that you wouldn’t have to go through the rest of your life with people pointing at you and saying ‘he killed his own father’! I sure as hell didn’t expect you to turn tail and run. Though I wasn’t all that surprised that you did. Coward."

"Trying to protect me? Now that’s rich," Draco snarled. "Protect me how? By pretending to be a bigger hero than you actually are? By preventing anyone from knowing that it wasn’t you who did it? I don’t even know why I’m surprised. You certainly haven’t changed. Attention-seeking, fame-grubbing, spotlight-hogging - "

Harry lunged at Draco, only to be stopped by Neville grabbing him about the waist and dragging him back. "That is ENOUGH!" Neville unceremoniously shoved Harry behind him, standing between him and Draco, who turned his back on the both of them and was staring at the far wall, clenching
and unclenching his fists.

Neville rounded on Harry. "How about you just explain to me exactly what this is about?"

Harry looked mutinous. "Ask him."

Neville closed his eyes briefly and prayed to whoever might be listening for patience. "I am not asking Malfoy, I am asking you."

Harry stuck out his chin and leaned back against the door. "Ask him what happened, if you want to know. Not for me to tell you."

"Harry - " Neville stopped suddenly and turned away from Harry before he could give in to the urge to smack the other man silly. "Fine. Malfoy?"

Draco didn’t turn around, staring silently at the uninspiring plaster wall with his arms crossed. When he finally spoke, his voice was totally uninflected, like he was commentating on something happening very far away. "When Voldemort attacked Hogwarts, he transported Harry away from the main fighting, onto the Quidditch field. Lucius decided that he wasn’t going to miss the real battle, and followed them. Harry and Voldemort were in some kind of protective sphere. Nothing could get in or out, but when Harry defeated Voldemort, the sphere came down. Lucius tried to cast a spell that would reverse Voldemort’s death, and I killed him before he could. That is what happened."

Neville gaped at his partner’s back, then looked over his shoulder at Harry. "Is that true?"

"More or less," Harry muttered, like it killed him to admit it.

Neville shut his eyes, took several deep breaths, then opened them, spun around and grabbed Harry by the arm. He opened the door with his other hand and dragged Harry outside with him, shutting the door firmly behind him. "Why would you lie about something like that?" he asked in a low, intense voice, giving Harry’s arm a slight shake.

Harry slumped slightly in Neville’s grip, some of the anger draining out of him. "It - I don’t know. I was exhausted, and it was such a mess, everyone was so confused, and by the time things were mostly sorted out and I was recovering, the story was already going round that I’d killed him. And Malfoy was nowhere to be found, and I didn’t want to talk about it. So I just...didn’t." He lowered his eyes from Neville’s searching gaze.

"So you just let people think it. Even though..." Neville stopped and closed his eyes again. Lucius Malfoy had been one of the most powerful of Voldemort’s supporters, and with his death, the fight went out of the entire organization, which all but collapsed without leadership. It was that, as much as the death of Voldemort, that had caused the downfall of the Death Eaters. "And that’s why you had him taken off the Ministry’s Death Eater list. Because after...that, you knew that he really wasn’t one."

Harry nodded, staring at the floor. Neville pressed his lips together and huffed. "He saved your life. Lucius would have killed you if Draco hadn’t stopped him."

Harry nodded again, still not meeting Neville’s eyes. Neville just shook his head, and tugged on Harry’s arm. Harry allowed himself to be dragged across the Owlpen and into Katie Bell’s small office, where a startled Katie dug through her filing cabinet for one of her Hogwarts portkeys. Neville ushered Harry back outside and across the Pen again, to the empty space near the back that was used as the Apparition point and shoved the key at him.

"Go," he said abruptly.

"Look, Neville, I - "

"Harry," Neville said. "Just go."

He didn’t wait to see if Harry obeyed him, just turned around and walked slowly back to his office. Neville shut the door and leaned against it, looking at Draco, who had moved from the corner of the room back to the chair. Draco was staring blankly at the wall behind Neville’s desk, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well," Neville said finally, "that could have gone better."

"Could have been worse," Draco said laconically.

"Do tell me how."

"Could have told him I was sleeping with his wife," Draco replied with a twisted smile. Neville shot him a horrified look. Draco sighed again and lowered his head onto his hands. "Now I have a headache."

"Join the club." Neville pushed himself off the door and walked heavily over to his desk, where he sank into his chair. He regarded the top of Draco’s head for several moments, but Draco didn’t move. "You killed your father?"

Draco made a muffled noise. "Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?"

"Actually...I would," Neville said quietly.

"It was," Draco said after a long moment. Neville remained silent, hands folded in front of him, watching the top of Draco’s head. Draco’s voice was quiet and steady, and it still had the same faraway note as earlier. "He’d carry a special belt knife with him all the time. It was silver, carved with the family crest, really old. I was never allowed to touch it, and he usually never took it off. He forgot to put it on that morning, and I stole it. He would normally never let me touch anything sharper than a butter knife, said he couldn’t trust my ‘destructive tendencies’. I’d meant to - " He stopped, and sighed again. "It doesn’t matter what I’d meant to do. During the battle, Voldemort had gone off to the Quidditch pitch after Harry. He followed, I assume to help if he could, or to kill Harry, or something...I don’t know, but he made me go with him. I was trying to stay out of it, I didn’t want to fight anyone, but he caught me, and dragged me off with him to Voldemort."

Neville could see Draco’s fingers tighten against his scalp, his shoulders hunching slightly, but his voice never wavered. "So he and I were there when Harry killed Voldemort. After Harry did, he went to cast a reversing-spell, some sort of thing they’d planned on, I think. That was why he wanted to be where Voldemort was in the first place, on the off chance that Harry might actually win. And he was standing over Voldemort’s body, and Harry was kneeling there staring at him, and at me, like he wanted to blast us to pieces but was too tired to do anything, and I wasn’t...I just wanted it all to be over. I didn’t want Voldemort back. And I thought, if I could just stop him from casting the spell, it would buy everyone a little time to regroup, and I could get out of there and it would all be finished. So I pulled out the knife, and cut his arm - his wand arm. Not deep, really, just enough so that he would be distracted and not be able to use it and hopefully Harry would do something and the moment would pass."

Draco stopped, and drew a long, shuddering breath before he continued, his voice still steady, but barely above a whisper. "And he turned around, and looked at me, and I was standing there with his knife in my hand, with his blood dripping off the blade, and he started laughing. He’d charmed the knife, a long time ago, with a putrifacus charm." He seemed to sense Neville’s confused look without looking up. "It’s an old Dark spell. If you cast it on an object, like a knife, then the knife will create a wound that festers and goes bad within minutes, and becomes fatal. Anyone or anything he cut with that knife would die, slowly and in pain, rotting from the inside out."

Neville inhaled sharply, then swallowed, suddenly unsure if he really wanted to hear the rest of this.

"Typical of him, to put that kind of thing on what was basically a decorative toy. It took - it seemed like a long time. And he said a great many things before he died. My father was not the most pleasant of men. And Harry sat there the whole time, and just watched, and I didn’t know what to do, so...so I ran. And kept running. I was trying to put as much distance between myself and the wizarding world as I could...I half expected, the first year, for someone to come and drag me off to Azkaban for murder." Draco made a muffled noise, halfway between a sigh and a weary laugh. "I am a coward. Should have known that Potter wouldn’t do that."

"You couldn’t have known," Neville said softly.

"I should have. All this time here, and no one even mentioned it. I had assumed that people were merely being polite. Of course he wouldn’t have said anything. The old Gryffindor nobility at work," Draco spat venomously, and raised his head. He was white, lips drawn in a thin line. Draco shoved his chair back and stood up abruptly, straightening his shoulders and not looking at Neville. "I have to go."

Neville watched him walk out of the office helplessly, then leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, and sighed.

~*~

"What do you mean, he’s gone?"

"I’m sorry, Gin, I thought you knew. I was hoping you did, actually, because I need to talk to him" Neville sighed and rubbed at his forehead, shifting the telephone from his right ear to his left. He leaned back against the wall wearily. "I haven’t seen him in days, and I’d hoped he’d be talking to you."

"I haven’t heard from him at all...I was actually starting to get worried. I called and left a message, but he hasn’t called me back. Why isn’t he talking to you?" Ginny’s voice was a bit tinny on the other end of the line, a side effect of the fact that the only phone in the Ministry offices was a 30-year-old relic of someone’s misguided attempt to Muggle-ize the Owlpen, but her concern came through clearly.

"It’s not technically me...oh, hell, you’re going to find out anyway. Harry came to my office the day before yesterday, and he and Draco had a fight, and Draco took off somewhere, and now I don’t know where he is." There was a long silence at the other end of the line, then a soft click. "Gin?" Neville stared at the dead receiver. "Oh, hell."

He heaved a long-suffering sigh and retreated to his office. Sure enough, roughly 15 minutes later, a disheveled Ginny appeared in his doorway, three children in tow. She marched in, shut the door and arranged the children in a corner with a selection of toys. "Now be quiet while me and Uncle Neville have a talk," she instructed them, then sat down in Neville’s visitor’s chair and glared at him. "Alright, explain."

"Ginny..."

"Tell me what happened."

Neville knew when he was beaten. "Harry came by looking for a portkey to Hogwarts - "

"What for? Why didn’t he just apparate like any normal person?"

"I don’t know," Neville said irritably. "You can’t apparate directly onto the grounds, so maybe he was in too much of a hurry to walk up from Hogsmeade. I didn’t ask."

"Why would he come to you?" Ginny demanded. "It’s not like you talk to him on a regular basis."

"Ginny, I don’t know. Maybe he couldn’t get hold of anyone else."

"Hermione could have made him one...or Ron might have had one, or Lavender, or something. He wouldn’t have come to you first."

"Do you want to hear this or not?" Neville asked sharply. Ginny snapped her mouth shut and scowled. "He came by for a portkey, and Draco was in my office, and they had a fight, and then I shipped Harry off, and Draco left, and I haven’t seen him since."

The colour slowly drained from Ginny’s face "They had a fight? About what?"

Neville bit his lip and hesitated. Ginny raised her eyebrows at him, and he sighed in resignation. "Not about you, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was about...about something that happened, during the War. Harry lost his temper, and Draco was sniping at him - he always used to do that in school - and then I got Harry to leave, and Draco took off and I don’t know where he went."

Ginny leaned back and sighed."He’s not at the Manor?"

"I’ve already said, I don’t know where he is. I highly doubt he’d be at the manor, and I don’t think he’s even in England, to be honest. Canada, would be my guess."

"Why would he go back to Canada?"

"Because he was upset? I don’t know." Neville ran a hand through his hair in frustration, making it stand on end. "I don’t suppose he ever gave you a phone number to reach him there? Like when he was gone over Christmas?"

Ginny let out a long breath. "No, he didn’t." She slumped slightly in her chair, closing her eyes. "I know a little about the people he knows, but I’d have no idea how to find him if he didn’t want to be found. Oh, God, I hope this wasn’t because of me somehow."

"No, it’s a lot more likely to be my fault than yours," Neville said quietly. "I was...worried, about you, and I was rather tactless about it to him, and he was already upset. I think seeing Harry just made it worse. But it didn’t have anything to do with you."

"What did you say to him?" Ginny demanded, sitting up in alarm.

Neville raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Nothing serious...I just - " He paused, and sighed. "When I met him the first time, I went to his office in Scotland Yard, and he’s got a picture of himself and this girl. And I thought - " he stopped and held one hand out toward Ginny. "Don’t look like that, just let me explain. I asked him about it, and he told me she’d died. A long time ago, from what I can gather. And he got upset that I’d asked him, and I think seeing Harry just made his bad mood worse than it already was. And he took off, and I haven’t seen him since." Neville slumped forward and leaned on his elbows on the edge of the desk.

Ginny leaned back in the chair again and looked at him. "So who was she." She said it flatly, but Neville knew that she was hiding some intense emotion behind the mask of calmness she was wearing. He couldn’t tell if it were anger or something else.

"All I know is that her name was Laura, and that she died in a car accident. And that he cared about her. He wouldn’t tell me more."

Ginny looked at him thoughtfully. "He’s never mentioned her to me."

"Yes, but he doesn’t often mention things that he feels strongly about, does he?" Neville said. "If it makes you feel better, he won’t talk about you at all."

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "Not if he doesn’t come back, he won’t."

"He will," Neville said, more firmly than he felt. "I don’t think he’d leave for good."

"He’s done it before," Ginny pointed out, and Neville nodded ruefully. "I just..." she sighed, her shoulders slumping, and the calm mask slipped a bit. "I hope he comes back."

~*~

Draco walked slowly up the front steps of the house he shared with John and propped the screen door open with one shoulder while he dug around in the pocket of his coat for his house-keys. His keys, however, weren’t in his pockets. Because, Draco thought wearily, they are sitting on the top of the cabinet in my hotel room. In England. He groaned softly, leaning forward heavily, his forehead connecting with the door with an audible thunk. "God dammit," he said with feeling.

"Having trouble?" said a faintly amused voice from behind him.

"I left my keys in England," Draco replied with a sigh, and shoved himself away from the door to cast a sidelong glance down the stairs. "Which puts a fine cap on what has been an altogether wonderful day."

John chuckled and walked up the stairs, digging in the pocket of his parka for his house keys. "Is that sarcasm I detect?"

Draco just scowled at him. John laughed again and unlocked the front door, leading the way into the narrow entryway. John hung up his parka quickly, while Draco peered over his shoulder, waiting for him to move out of the way. "This place is a mess," Draco sniffed, eyeing the living room. An unfolded blanket was bunched on the end of the worn leather couch, and an empty bowl and cup sat on the coffee table with a pile of law books beside them. It was actually rather tidy, all things considered. John was an indifferent housekeeper at best - he and Draco had vastly different opinions on what constituted "clean".

"Mmmm-hmmm," John shrugged, quite clearly ignoring him, and went into the kitchen. Draco huffed unhappily and hung his coat up in the closet, then strode the other way down the narrow hall to his room. Like everything else in the house, it was small, with room enough for a bed and dresser and not much more. It was unbearably neat, almost sterile - there was a navy blue throw rug on the hardwood floor beside the bed, and the bed itself was covered with a blue duvet in the same shade. A small amethyst crystal on the windowsill, a print of Matisse’s Blue Nude on one wall, and a couple of framed photos on the edge of the dresser were the only signs that someone actually lived there.

Draco barely glanced around as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it in the closet. He changed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and a worn sweatshirt, grey with age, with "World Police and Firefighter Games - Quebec City 2005" emblazoned across the front. He folded his slacks and shirt and left them neatly on the foot of the bed, and went back out to the kitchen.

The kitchen was as small as the rest of the house, with barely enough room to maneuver from stove to fridge to sink without bumping into something. There was a small table and three chairs under the window, and a sad looking fern on the windowsill. John and Del had spent one weekend several years ago blithely painting the walls lemon yellow - over Draco’s protests - which made the room blindingly bright first thing in the morning, and simply cheerful the rest of the time. Some of the tension left his shoulders as he flopped down at the table with a sigh. John was standing in front of the fridge, rummaging around, and he raised an eyebrow at Draco, handing him a beer over the fridge door. Draco accepted it with a slight nod.

John leaned back against the fridge and crossed his arms over his chest. "So?"

Draco rubbed at his forehead with one hand. "So."

"So...what are you doing here?"

"What, aren’t you happy to see me?"

"Oh, I’m delighted. I’m just wondering what I owe the honour of your presence to. Everything ok?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?"

John sighed and tilted his head back. "Are you trying to make this as difficult as possible, or what?" He tossed one long braid over his shoulder. "I assume that something out of the ordinary happened to make you show up here when you are supposed to be in England."

"Not really out of the ordinary. I just...needed to get out of there," Draco said, picking at the label on his beer bottle without looking up.

John waited. Draco didn’t say anything. "So what’s the problem?"

Draco shrugged.

John heaved a sigh. "Dray, do I look like Anne?"

Draco finally looked at him, startled. "What?"

John let out an exasperated breath. "You can just tell me what’s wrong. You don’t have to make me fish for every single piece of information. You’ll lose, anyway...I am a lawyer, remember?"

Draco gave him a half-hearted smile. "I just needed to take off. Ran into someone I didn’t want to talk to." He paused again, but continued before John could yell at him. "D’you remember me telling you about Harry Potter?"

"The guy you used to fight with when you were in school, who always used to try and get you in trouble?"

Draco nodded. "Ran into him."

"Ah," John said. "I see. And?"

"I’m just...bothered, I guess. More than I should be - it was a bit of a shock."

"Why was it a shock?" John asked. "I mean, I thought you were expecting to run into him at some point."

"I was, and I thought I was more or less prepared. I just forgot how much he gets under my skin." Draco’s voice trailed off, and he went back to peeling the label off his beer.

John pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and sat down, hooking an ankle around the third chair and dragging it away from the table so he could prop his feet up on it. "And he got under your skin so badly you decided to run away?"

Draco’s head snapped up. "I did not run away!"

"'Course not. That’s not why you’re here."

"It isn’t," Draco protested.

"Didn’t I just say so? So what happened?" John asked, before Draco could respond.

Draco glowered at him, but allowed himself to be distracted. "He showed up at Neville’s office when I happened to be there. And we had a fight, and I found out..." he stopped for a moment, staring hard at the table. "D’you remember what I told you about my father?" Draco finally said hesitantly.

John nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said quietly, "I remember."

"I found out that he’d been letting people think, all this time, that it was him that...that did it. And he’s been going about being lauded as this wonderful hero for offing Lucius Malfoy, and it wasn’t even him. "

"I see," John said slowly. "And you’ve decided to come back here because...?"

"Because I didn’t feel like watching him nance about acting as if he’s some great huge hero, and lying to everyone about how wonderful he is, when it isn’t true." Draco scowled at the tabletop. "Or at least, part of it isn’t."

"Ah." John leaned back and cocked his head, examining Draco with knowing black eyes. "And it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you just generally don’t like him." Draco transferred his scowl from the table to his friend. "You’re not mad because of that whole thing about your dad, you’re mad because you don’t like him, and he got you off the hook for something you might have got in serious trouble for, so you feel obligated to be grateful and you don’t want to. And you’re rattled, finding something like that out so suddenly, and finding out that even though you hate him, and he hates you, he helped you out anyway."

"That’s not - " Draco stopped, then nodded grudgingly. "Well, maybe."

John laughed at him. Draco glared back and threw his bottle-cap at him. "Stop that.He still could get me into serious trouble," Draco said sullenly. "And God knows he’s got reason enough."

"Doesn’t mean he will."

Draco snorted and shook his head. "When he finds out that I’m sleeping with his wife, he very well might. It would be the proper thing to do, after all. Finally tell the truth."

John choked on his beer. "You’re sleeping with his wife?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Well, ex-wife, really. I thought I mentioned that."

John coughed and pounded on his chest with one hand. "No, actually, you didn’t," he said after he’d got his breath back. "Jesus. What the hell kind of drugs are you on?"

Draco frowned at him. "I think this is the part where you’re supposed to say ‘Well, you can work past that’ in a supportive manner."

"No, this is the part where I’m supposed to choke on my beer and say ‘what the hell kind of drugs are you on?’" John sighed and rested his elbows on the table. "You’re just a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?"

"It’s not like I planned it, you know," Draco huffed. "It wasn’t as if I moved to England expressly to look up Harry Potter’s ex and try to get her into bed, in order to cause him maximum discomfort. I’d have been quite happy to have avoided him and anything to do with him entirely."

"The discomfort was just a bonus, is that it?" John smirked as Draco made unconvincing noises of denial. "God. And I thought Del was the master of the screwed-up relationship. Does he know that you’re dating Ginny?"

"Well, he didn’t try to kill me straight away, so I’m assuming not. I think Ginny is afraid to tell him."

"Is this guy really such an ogre?" John asked. "If you want to avoid him like the plague, and Ginny is afraid of him..." He trailed off as Draco burst out laughing.

"No, he’s not an ogre. In fact, he’s a hero and an all-around wonderful individual. He’s very nice." Draco managed to make it sound like an insult.

John raised his eyebrows. "So why are you here? If he’s not a total jerk, and he actually helped you out, albeit with a possible ulterior motive, what have you got against him?"

"Do twenty years of history count for nothing? I made a childhood career out of hating Harry Potter, and he hated me right back. Why should it stop now? It’s practically a tradition."

"Maybe because you’re adults?" John said in disgust. "And too old for this sort of thing, in theory at least."

"If you’re going to tell me that I should be the bigger person and try to get along with him, I will smack you," Draco grumbled.

"Why don’t you?" John asked reasonably. "You’d come off looking better, and he’d have no idea what was going on. It’d probably confuse the heck out of him, especially if he’s expecting you to be a jerk."

Draco smiled slightly at that. "You are a devious bastard, you know that?"

John grinned. "I learned from the best. C’mon, ksik-kihk-ini . You want my advice, the best thing to do would be to get your shit together, get on a plane and go back to England."

"I’ll take that under advisement."

John sighed and shook his head. "C’mon, Dray, don’t do this to yourself," he said firmly.
"The people whose opinions matter won’t care, and the people who would care, don’t count. You can’t make people change, bro, and you can’t force them to change their opinions of you. Only thing you can do is be the person you know you are. And if people can’t accept that, then they don’t really matter, right?" When he didn’t get a response, he poked Draco in the elbow. "Right?"

"Right," Draco said grudgingly.

"So, go back, finish what you went out there to do, hang out with the people you like, and screw the rest of ‘em. They don’t matter."

Draco leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on top of his folded hands. "Want to come with me?" he asked with a half-smile.

"What, to England?" John looked surprised. "What for?"

"Moral support?" Draco shook his head and gave a half-hearted chuckle. "You could meet Ginny," he said entreatingly.

"Wish I had time, bro. I’d love to," John said, smiling back. "Just don’t let ‘em get to you, is all." He pushed his chair back and stood up. "I gotta go, I promised Del I’d meet her. You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, I’ll be fine." Draco said. John gave his shoulder a pat on his way to the door. "Hey."

John stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him. "What’s up?"

Draco gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded once. "Thanks."

"Any time, ksik-kihk-ini."

Draco sat in the kitchen for a long time after John left, as the weak winter sunlight faded outside the window. He hadn’t come back because he was running away, although privately he had to admit that was part of it. But the larger part was because this was his sanctuary; it was home, in a way that England never had been. Except...except.

Except he kept half-expecting to see Ginny around the corner, to hear her voice, kept thinking of things he could tell her, of things he wanted to share with her. And she wasn’t here, of course. "Dammit," Draco said softly, running his hands through his hair. He would go back, he knew he would, and it was a bit pointless to pretend that he wasn’t going to, no matter how badly he might want to stay. Not just because running away a second time because he was afraid of Potter would be letting him win - again - but because he was reluctant to give up his relationship with Ginny. Draco shoved his chair back and stood up. "But not right now," he told the kitchen at large. He grabbed another beer and headed to the living room to watch TV.

~*~

Neville was up to his eyebrows in paperwork when Draco came into his office the following morning and sat down quietly in the visitor’s chair. Neville didn’t look up, not even when Draco, a faintly amused smile on his face, leaned the chair back and propped his feet up on the edge of Neville’s desk. He waited patiently while Neville worked his way through one scroll, set it aside and reached for the next one on his pile. Draco coughed discretely.

Neville yelped and jumped almost a foot, clutching at the armrests of his chair. He stared at Draco in horror, breathing heavily. "What the hell?"

"Hello, Longbottom."

"Don’t do that!" Neville pressed his eyes closed, then opened them to glare at his partner. "I nearly had a heart attack. God."

"Sorry," Draco said, although he didn’t sound the least bit contrite. "Didn’t mean to startle you."

"Bullshit." Neville grumbled. "Welcome back."

Draco had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed, but he didn’t explain. "So what’s happened?"

"Oh, nothing much. Paperwork, a major lead, that sort of thing," Neville said airily.

"Major lead?" Draco repeated, raising one eyebrow. "What sort of major lead?"

"The one that I’ve been hunting all over for you to tell you about." Neville reached into a drawer and pulled out a small digital cassette - the kind that Muggle security cameras used, wrapped up in what looked like plastic film - and held it up. "This is a security tape from the bank that was robbed earlier this week. One of the Aurors from London South found a camera our little friends neglected to wipe."

Draco sat up straight. "Have you looked at it?"

"Not yet. We don’t have the equipment here, and I didn’t want to risk the damn thing getting wiped by fiddling with it around so much magic, so I’ve been waiting for you to get back," Neville said. "If you’re feeling up to a trip to Scotland Yard..."

Draco glared at him. "Whenever you’re ready, Longbottom."

Neville grinned and stood up, pulling his cloak off the coat rack behind his chair and waving Draco toward the door. "After you, Malfoy."

They arrived at New Scotland Yard quickly, and after a few inquiries managed to find someone who could play back the tape for them. They were taken to a small screening room, where the eager young man who was in charge of the police force’s electronic equipment set up the digital cassette for playback.

The recording began with a normal picture of the bank, customers coming and going. After a minute or so, there was a jump in the playback, and the screen went fuzzy briefly before coming back online. "That must be where they disabled the other cameras," Neville said, and Draco nodded. The recording continued to play, showing a small man with bright red hair, who looked barely out of his teens, standing near the doors with a wand in one hand and a gun in the other. He seemed to be pointing to the bank customers and casting spells on them, for one after the other, the customers dropped to the floor.

Another man came to stand beside the first, also carrying a gun. He was taller and stockier, with long dirty-blond hair. They seemed to confer briefly, then the blond man headed over to the counter. Draco paused the tape. "That’s the Muggle one," he said, tapping the screen. "His name’s Brad Straker, and he’s quite the little delinquent. He had a juvenile record as long as my arm, but he didn’t serve any time in custody - his parents, as I understand, are quite well off, and managed to hire one of the better defense lawyers in the province for him. He kept getting off the hook, the little bastard." He sounded personally offended, and Neville hid a smile. Not quite well enough, because Draco caught it and glared at him. "What?"

"Just you, of all people, complaining about someone having rich parents who’ll buy them out of trouble." Neville smirked at his partner. "Bit ironic, don’t you think?"

"My parents never had to buy me out of trouble," Draco retorted. Neville just shrugged, amused. "Anyway," Draco continued quellingly, "he’s the Muggle, and if his previous track record is any indication, likely the brains of the outfit. This other one," - he tapped the slight, redheaded man - "must be Chris Nesbitt, the wizard."

"He’s got hair like a Weasley," Neville commented. "I wonder if any of their family ever moved to Canada."

"There are red-headed people in the world who are not related to the Weasleys, you know."

"I know, I was just saying. It’s not that common." Neville shrugged irritably. "At least we know what he looks like. Is there a way to print out a picture off that thing? I can send it over to the MoM in Canada and see if I can get a bit more information. Long shot, but it’s worth a try. If the stuck-up bastards will even talk to me," he grumbled.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Trouble?"

"The people over at the Department of Magical Inquiry in Canada are astoundingly unhelpful, is all. Took me an age just to find a contact over there, and they’re bloody tight with information." Neville brushed absently at his rumpled trousers. "Surprising, really. You’d think they’d be a bit more open-minded, but they’re the most insular wizards I’ve ever seen. Worse than those American blokes."

"Well, doesn’t hurt to ask, I suppose," said Draco. "Though I can’t say I’m holding out much hope either way. I’ve already tried seeing if they’re registered as being in the country - which they’re not - looked for any activity for either name, we’ve tipped off most of the police forces in the London area, hell, most of Southern England...I don’t know what more we can
really do." He sat back and ran both hands over his hair in frustration. "Dammit."

"Even if they’re not using their real names, they have to be staying somewhere. They’ve got to sleep, right?" Neville sighed heavily. "There’s got to be places that they go to regularly. If we had more information..."

"If we had more information, the damned case would be over by now." Draco crossed his arms and scowled. "If there weren’t a thousand places in London for them to hide, if they were slightly less careful, if there were a way to track them..."

"Well, there’s not much we can do on that score. I’ll talk to the Canadian Ministry and see what I can find out." Neville stood up, brushing at his trousers.

Draco nodded. "I’m going to see if we can get clear pictures of these two off that tape. At the very least, we can circulate their pictures to the force and see if anyone spots them."

"Better than nothing."

Draco snorted. "I guess."

~*~

Ginny spent the day following her conversation with Neville fretting and trying to pretend she wasn't. She was more worried than she really wanted to admit, and it made her snappish and grouchy, a mood not really improved by Jamie and Sarah deciding to play "who can make the bigger mess" with their toys. She was ready to scream with frustration when the phone rang, which she had to hunt for, since one of the children had decided to bury it. She finally found it under a pile of clothes in Jamie’s room and snapped into the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello."

Ginny slumped slightly, pressing one hand to her forehead. "Draco."


"You sound busy."


Ginny looked around at the mess in Jamie’s room and sighed. "Sort of. Not exactly."


"Bad day?"


"Oh, God." She picked her way across the room and into the hall. "You have no id - William, no! How many times have I told you not to do that? Hold on," she said into the phone, then went to pull Will off the back of the couch. "Stay off there." She sighed and raised the receiver to her ear again. "Sorry."

"It’s no trouble. If you’re busy, I can call back," Draco said. He sounded like he was trying to be accommodating, which for some reason served to irritate Ginny even more.

"No, that’s fine." She took a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it out in a whoosh. "I’m just irritated. I’m this close to declaring it to be naptime for the rest of the afternoon, only that’d just make them impossible to put to bed."

Draco laughed. "Want a hand?"

"I want a break," Ginny grumbled. "Care to buy some children? I’ll sell them to you cheap"

Draco laughed again. "Sure...how much for the lot?"

Ginny chuckled weakly. "Fifteen galleons? Or fifty quid, whatever’s more convenient."

"Fifty? I can buy ‘em on the black market for ten apiece," Draco said. "Tell you what, how ‘bout thirty-five for the lot? I’ll throw in dinner for you."

Ginny sighed with pleasure. "Oh, that sounds grand."

"Just give me an hour."

True to his word, the doorbell rang an hour later. Ginny pushed the hair off her forehead with the back of one hand and went to answer the door. "Hello," she said to Draco, who smiled.

"Hello." He shifted one of the bags he was carrying to his other hand and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He was wearing blue jeans and a deep blue knitted sweater, his hair pulled back in an elastic, and Ginny caught her breath as he smiled down at her. He was so handsome, it was hard to believe sometimes.

She collected herself and gestured at the plastic bags he was carrying. "What’s all that?"

"Dinner," he said. "Or rather, dinner supplies. Just remember, you owe me thirty-five for the kids."

Ginny giggled. "So long as you’re sure you won’t renege on the deal and bring them back in two days complaining about the merchandise."

"Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure they’re in perfect condition." Draco grinned and kissed her lightly. "Just like their mother."

Ginny snorted and pushed at his chest. "Shove off. I’m a mess."

"Nonsense. You look beautiful." Draco kissed her again, and then again when she swayed against him, then nudged her toward the kitchen. He set the bags down on the counter, and gave her a gentle push toward the living room. "Go sit down...I’ll handle supper."

"A man who cooks...I’m in heaven."

"I wouldn’t call it cooking. I can make pizza, and pasta if the sauce comes in a jar, and that’s about the extent of my culinary skills," Draco laughed. "Pizza is what we’re having, in fact. You can send me your children and I’ll put them to work. Make them earn their keep."

Ginny did, ushering Sarah and Jamie into the kitchen, where Draco set them to grating cheese and spreading pizza sauce on the uncooked crusts while he chopped vegetables. Will was engrossed in his building blocks, which were charmed to change shape and colour at random. This usually happened when the block was at the bottom of a pile, causing all the blocks to fall over, much to his delight. Ginny lay down on the couch with her eyes closed, listening to Willie chortle and Draco direct the children in the kitchen. She marveled again at how well he dealt with them - she would never have expected Draco to get along well with children as well as he did. He treated them like small adults, listening to their questions with seemingly endless patience. She could tell he was enjoying himself, his voice slipping in and out of a faint American accent as he laughed.

It was quite nice, Ginny decided, to be able to lie on her couch and let someone else do all the work for once. She smiled slightly and relaxed into the cushions. Sarah was bossing Jamie around, imperiously directing him how to put the pepperoni slices on his pizza crust. She’d gotten over her reserve around Draco, having decided he wasn’t a threat, and treated him like she did the rest of the family, which meant that he needed to be told what to do all the time. Draco was giving them tips as well; for all his insistence on not being able to cook, he did seem to know a fair bit about making pizza.

It took very little time to get the pizzas ready to cook, and Draco made a little show of not knowing how to work the stove so that Sarah could give him instructions. Ginny grinned and propped herself up on her elbows to watch. "You shouldn’t encourage her," she said. "If you let her boss you around, she’ll think it’s her right."

Draco looked up at her and smiled, while Sarah frowned. "But he doesn’t know how, Mummy."

"I’m sure he could figure it out," Ginny said firmly, getting up from the couch and coming to lean against the wall between the kitchen and living room. "It’s only an oven, after all, and not even a magical one."

Sarah gave an exaggerated sigh and tossed her hands in the air, a gesture she’d picked up from Molly. "Well, then it’s not my fault if supper is ruined," she said. Ginny could see Draco’s shoulders shaking, and his eyes danced as he tried not to laugh. Sarah frowned at the both of them and sniffed. "I’m going to play," she said haughtily, and swept into the living room.

Draco watched her go with amusement. "I pity the man who marries her," he said quietly.

"It’s just a phase," Ginny replied. "Mum says I was like that when I was four too."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "So you’ll grow out of it?" he asked innocently. Ginny sputtered, then thwacked him on the arm. He laughed and caught her in his arms, kissing her on the forehead. "Go sit down, the pizza will take a while to cook."

Draco followed her out to the living room, and they chatted until the pizza was ready, then herded the kids back into the kitchen to set the table. Jamie and Sarah made a bid for eating in the living room, which was shot down by Ginny ("Absolutely not! We have a kitchen table for a reason."). Supper was not ruined, despite Sarah’s dire pronouncements, and Draco herded Ginny back into the living once they were finished eating, ignoring her protests. He corralled Jamie and Sarah into helping him do the dishes, while Ginny sat down on the couch and watched with amusement. William was on the floor with his blocks, banging them together half-heartedly and yawning periodically. "Bed for you, young man," she said to him, bending down to scoop him up.

"Bed," Will mumbled quietly and rested his head sleepily against her neck. "Bedbed. Bedbedbed."

"Poor tired baby. You had a long day, didn’t you?" Ginny kissed his temple and carried him through the kitchen, William mumbling under his breath all the way. When she returned from putting him to bed, the dishes were mostly cleared away, and Draco had sent Jamie and Sarah into the living room. Ginny leaned against the countertop and watched as he finished putting away the last of the cutlery.

"There." Draco closed the drawer and turned to face her.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I appreciate this."

"Ah," said Draco, and ran one hand over his hair. "It’s actually an apology, of sorts. For not talking to you earlier."

Ginny nodded. "Neville told me you’d run into Harry."

"I thought he might have."

"Where did you go?"

Draco shrugged. "Home." He prodded at the linoleum with one foot. "Talked to John, hung out for a bit, let him talk me into coming back."

Ginny bit her lip and looked at him sidelong. His head was bent and he was staring intently at the floor, a small worry line between his brows. "Would you have stayed there?"

He shifted his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "Probably not. John would have convinced me to come back whether I wanted to or not - he’s made talking sense into me his life’s work." He chuckled faintly.

Ginny stared at his profile, unable to resist the question. "Did you want to?" She hated herself for asking him things like that - she didn’t like seeming so needy, but at the same time, she didn’t want them to gnaw at her, unasked.

Draco raised his head swiftly, his eyes meeting hers. "Yes," he said intently. "I did." He reached out and traced her cheekbone lightly, and she suppressed a shiver at his touch. "The pros in regards to being here still outweigh the cons, and I do have work to finish before I make any sort of decision in the staying or going department."

Ginny half-smiled. "Harry being one of the cons."

Draco laughed. "Yes, well, we’ve never exactly been on the best of terms, and that really hasn’t changed."

"Why?" Ginny asked. "I mean, I know that you didn’t get along in school, but after...after the war ended, and you went away, Harry seemed a lot less...I don’t know, hostile, I suppose. I thought some things might have changed, whatever happened."

Draco blinked and looked away, an unreadable expression on his face. "He never told you?"

She shook her head. "I - no. Harry never talks about it. I know something happened, and I know - well. I know you were there, and that it wasn’t..." Ginny stopped. "I know he regretted it."And she did know - Harry was a restless sleeper and she’d woken more than once to him crying out in his sleep, from nightmares he never spoke of when he woke up.

That made Draco laugh again, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "I’m sure he did." He sighed and rolled his shoulders, as if trying to relieve tension.

"What...?" Ginny stopped, then started again. "What did happen, then? That you went back to Canada to talk to John about?"

"He’s been telling people that he killed my father, and he didn’t." He looked at her with guarded eyes. "I did."

Ginny nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "Ah."

"You don’t sound surprised," Draco remarked. He sounded surprised by that.

"I thought it might have been something like that," Ginny said. "I always knew there was something, he just never told me what."

"And now you know," Draco said softly. He looked drawn and tense, as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him, but unwilling to simply let it slide. "I killed my father. Unintentionally, but that doesn’t change anything." He looked down at the floor again, and closed his eyes.

Ginny stepped forward and slid her hands over his, drawing his attention. His eyes were clouded, his face drawn. She spoke hesitantly, choosing her words carefully. "I don’t think anyone would blame you for what happened, if they knew. Maybe 12 years ago, but not anymore. There was a lot of talk by some people, saying that the Ministry should find you and make you stand trial for what Lucius did during the war, and Harry worked very hard to make sure that didn’t happen. He spent a fair bit of time making sure that your name was cleared," she said softly. "I don’t know the details - whatever happened is between you and Harry. I know he felt badly then, though, and I think he still does."

"Noble of him," Draco said bitterly, searching her face. "I'm rather surprised you didn't know, to be honest. I would have thought he'd have told you the truth."

Ginny laughed faintly. "Should he have? I don't even think he told Ron or Hermione. He never talked about the war, not to anyone."

"Which doesn’t change the fact that he did lie about what happened."

"No," Ginny said slowly, "but...it was a hard time, after the battle. Harry was under enormous pressure, and when He Who - when Voldemort was killed, when they found Harry, he didn’t really get the chance to explain about anything - people simply assumed that since both Voldemort and your father were dead, then it must have been him. He’s never actually said it outright. And he refused to talk about it to reporters, or with anyone else...and I think by the time he got to a place where he could talk about it, he felt it was too late to really matter. And you were gone, and everyone assumed you must be dead because no one could find you." She paused, then took a deep breath and continued. "I’m not trying to apologize for him, I just...if he says he didn’t do it to hurt you, then that’s what he meant. He wouldn’t do that deliberately."

Draco sighed and disentangled one of his hands from hers to run it absently over his hair. "No, I’m sure he wouldn’t." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I don’t even know why I’m angry, really. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, and I’m just as happy that it isn’t common knowledge." He laughed faintly. "John says it’s just because I’m torn between feeling grateful toward Harry for hiding my secret, and wanting to pound him for taking credit for it."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "You told John?"

Draco gave an amused snort. "There is very little that I don’t tell John. I trust him," he said simply. "It is nice to be able to talk about the war without having to give a treatise on the history of the wizarding world every time I do, though."

Ginny smiled. "Poor John."

"Poor me. History was never my best subject, and he always wants the most obscure details." Draco smiled, some of the tension leaving his face, then reached out with one hand to cup her cheek. "Thank you."

Ginny smiled back, and squeezed his other hand. "You’re welcome." She glanced at the clock and sighed. "Oh dear...bedtime."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Anticipating difficulties?"

"Have you ever tried to put those two to bed?" Ginny demanded. "Watch and learn."

Draco just laughed.

~*~

Twenty minutes later, he was no longer laughing. He flopped back on the couch with an exaggerated groan. "Good Lord."

Ginny laughed, sitting down beside him and nestling against his shoulder when he put his arm around her. "I did warn you."

Draco smiled and rested his chin on the top of her head. "They don’t get that from you."

"No, actually, they get it from the twins. Fred and George, I mean, not Ron and Hermione’s," said Ginny. "They were always terrors at bedtime. And all the rest of the time, come to think of it. The first thing they did when they graduated from Hogwarts was stay up all night just to do it. And eat chocolate cake for breakfast, and not make their beds. Their first flat, after they started up the company and moved out, was a disaster. Poor Mum nearly had a heart attack...she stopped going over there after a while."

"Company?" Draco asked. He vaguely remembered the twins saying something about a joke shop, but they hadn’t established it before he’d left.

"Yes, they started up Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes as a mail order company in my fifth year, but they didn’t move out until after the war. They rented a tiny shop off Diagon Alley, and were living above it for about a year. It was horrible. I wonder that Angelina ever married Fred at all, knowing what a shoddy housekeeper he was." Ginny laughed to herself. "Although maybe that’s why...she couldn’t bear the thought of him living in squalor for the rest of his days."

"Isn’t that why all men get married? Either they decide they need housekeepers, or women take pity on them and decide to help them clean up their acts," Draco said, amused.

"That’s rather cynical of you. You don’t believe in true love?" Ginny asked, craning her neck to look up at him. "Undying passion and all that?"

Draco pretended to think about it, then shook his head. "Nah...it’s probably mostly pity."

"Nonsense!" Ginny insisted. "Look at...look at Ron and Hermione. They married for love."

Draco grinned. "Are you sure? Anyone willing to marry Weasel boy would have to be doing it out of pity."

Ginny glared and poked him. "That’s not nice."

"I’m not nice," he retorted, and made a face at her, which made Ginny giggle. "Did you marry for love?"

Ginny sobered. "Yes. Well, I did, but Harry didn’t." She frowned and fell silent, absently tracing a faint pattern on Draco’s leg. Draco didn’t say anything; finally Ginny sighed and shifted slightly. "That’s not...well. I don’t know. Maybe he did, but I don’t think so."

"How did you and he begin seeing each other?" Draco asked softly.

"It was just before Christmas, my seventh year," Ginny said. "He'd got time off from playing with the Wasps, in theory so that he could spend time with Ron before the wedding, doing whatever it is that best men are supposed to do for weddings, and in the middle of it, he came to Hogwarts to pick me up for the holiday. Made all the little girls go wild, of course, and surprised the hell out of Ron." She laughed. "I remember thinking that it was strange, because Harry'd never really paid any attention to me before then. After that, we started dating, and the next summer, we got married."

"Just like that," Draco said.

"Just like that." Ginny shook her head ruefully. "Like a neat little package; he became part of the family, I got what I'd always wanted, Ron was happy once he got over the initial shock, and Mum was thrilled, because it meant that Harry was truly a part of the family. Looking back now, I think he was lonely, being on his own after Hogwarts, and with Ron and Hermione a couple. He wanted a real family. And someone to be with, someone who would care about him. I loved him so much - I mean, I always had, and it was like a dream, to be with him."

She paused and shook her head. "I knew he didn't love me back, not the same way I loved him. I've always known that. When I was 17, it didn't matter - I was willing to settle for being second in his heart, next to Ron and Hermione and Sirius and my own mother. But after the children, and he was doing the same thing to them, it just got to be too much. Not that he doesn’t love them," Ginny said quickly, noticing Draco's raised eyebrows. "Because he does. It's just...we're none of us first for him. And when it was just me he was putting second, I didn't mind so much. But his children should come first - anyone's children should come first. And they don’t. He loves them but they're not his first priority. I actually think he was afraid of them when they were babies. Now that Jamie and Sarah are grown up enough to be talking, he's more comfortable with them, but I always get the feeling he dreads having to take them, rather than looks forward to spending time with them."

Draco frowned. "That's terrible."

"Well, yes and no. I mean, he's not going to win any prizes as world's best father, but I can't really be surprised. It's not like he ever really had a good example to follow off - his own family used to lock him in a cupboard." Ginny sighed. "I think he'll get better as the children get older, and it's easier to relate to them as something other than things that do nothing but eat."

"So why didn't you wait?" Draco asked quietly. "You'd been married for ten years, which is a long time, and you loved him, and you think he'll get better at being a father...why didn't you stick it out?"

Ginny shrugged, shaking her head "Part of it was because I knew he didn’t care as much for me as I did for him, part of it was that he’d never talk to me...I always had to guess what he was thinking, guess how he felt. I’d talk to Hermione, and she’d tell me things as if I knew about them, and they’d be things Harry never told me. Like when he was thinking of taking the coaching job, he talked it over with Ron and Hermione, before he talked to me about it. And then..." She stopped again, taking a deep breath. "He was supposed to watch over the children one night. I'd gone out with friends, and he was supposed to stay home and look after them - Will was about 11 months old. And I came home, about 9 or so, and the children were all in their beds, and the lights were out...and he was gone."

She shook her head, almost disbelievingly. "He'd gone out, I'm not sure where, and just left the children, I suppose because he was just stepping out for a few minutes and didn't want to be bothered having to take them with him. He arrived back shortly after I got there, and I don't think he'd been gone long. If I'd been 10 minutes later, I'd never have known he'd done it. As it was, I don't think I've ever been so angry. I couldn't believe he'd do something so irresponsible. We had a huge row, and he stormed out, and I lost my temper and packed up the children and went to Neville's. And once I'd left, I couldn't make myself go back. I just couldn't do it, not without hating myself for it, and hating him. Everyone kept asking ‘why didn’t you stay with him if you loved him?’ and the fact was, no matter how much I loved him, it didn’t change that he didn’t love me back. And I was tired of it, and tired of being taken for granted, not just by him, but by everyone. Tired of being the family joke - faithful little Ginny, who hung onto her crush until she finally got what she wanted. I’d been swallowing my pride for so long, and I just couldn’t do it anymore. And it wasn’t as though leaving was easy...it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. If I hadn’t been so angry I could spit, I don’t think I could have done it at all." She was silent for a long time, then she laughed. "Poor Neville. Harry was so furious when he found out I'd been staying with him - I thought Harry was going to kill him."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Whatever for?"

"Harry thought that Neville and I were having an affair." Ginny stopped and glared at Draco. "Don't laugh!"

"Harry thought you were having an affair with Neville?" Draco chortled. "Neville’s gay."

"Harry didn't know that," Ginny said. "Neville doesn't tell people because he's too shy, and you know what the world thinks of gay wizards, so no one actually knows he's gay except me. And Harry. And it's not that far-fetched an idea. I dated Neville when we were still at Hogwarts, and it wasn't until after he'd graduated and we split up that he started...well, he wasn't sure before that if it were boys or girls he was interested in. And we've always been quite good friends, and after the kids were born I was spending a fair bit of time with Neville, mostly bemoaning the state of my marriage, and Harry drew conclusions from our friendship that weren't right."

"You dated Neville?" Draco said in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes...during my sixth year, his seventh. Before he’d really come to terms with his sexuality and realized that he was more attracted to men than women and all that. Nev is actually...well." She cleared her throat. "He was my first."

Draco blinked. "First what?" Then he stared at Ginny’s reddening face and his jaw dropped. "Neville?"

"Don’t look like that," Ginny said, poking him on the arm.

"You slept with Neville?"

"Stop it!"

"Neville?"

"I mean it, cut that out!" Ginny scowled at Draco, who looked torn between laughter and horror. "He was very sweet."

"I’m sure he was." Draco took a deep breath and collected himself. "My God. I will never look at him the same way again. Any other past lovers you’ve had that I should know about? I’d like to get all the shocks over with at once, if you don’t mind."

"Well, there was that sordid night of passion with Cornelius Fudge several years back, but we don’t like to talk about it." Ginny snickered as Draco turned a bit green. "We like to think the video speaks for itself."

Draco choked. "Oh, God. God.You evil, evil woman!"

Ginny giggled, one hand clapped over her mouth to keep the noise down. "I’m joking...there’s only just been Harry and Neville."

"Thank God for that...Cornelius Fudge - I think I’m going to have nightmares." Draco grinned and tightened his arm around her shoulders. "You’re a cruel woman."

"I know. See what you’re getting yourself into?" Ginny laughed.

"I do," Draco smiled and bent down to kiss her gently. "And I won’t regret a moment."

~*~

Draco and Neville met up in Neville’s office two weeks later to compare notes. Draco settled himself in Neville’s visitor’s chair and rested his forearms on the edge of his desk. "So what have you found out?"

Neville sat back in his chair. "Not much, unfortunately. Told you the Canadian Ministry was impossible to get information out of." He picked up a thin parchment and handed it to Draco. "As you already know, his name is Chris Nesbitt, and he’s 19. He dropped out of the Canadian version of Hogwarts - the Laurentian Academy, they call it - in his 6th year and apparently they haven’t heard tale of him since. Said he never got into any trouble before he dropped out, but wasn’t much of a wizard, and didn’t have much of a work ethic. Lazy and not too bright, was the impression the Ministry gave me."

Draco nodded absently. "And I do know he hasn’t got a Muggle police record. It’s likely he’s not the brains of the outfit - it seems a bit like he’s just following along behind whatever Straker is doing. Anything else?"

Neville shook his head. "Not really. Since he wasn’t doing anything illegal until they hit England, the Ministry lost track of him, which apparently isn’t unusual with the younger witches and wizards out there. They’re a close bunch, but a lot of wizards will sort of vanish into Muggle society, or head down to the States. I don’t know much about the culture, but I gather there’s fewer wizards in Canada, and they’re much more spread out so they don’t have a unified community like we do here."

"Doesn’t surprise me," Draco said. "I met a wizard out there once - or at least, he could have been a wizard, but wasn’t. He got a letter to their wizarding school, but never went. It was too far away, he said, and he didn’t want to leave his family that long."

"Well, the upshot is that they couldn’t really tell me anything beyond the fact that he dropped out of school and then met this Straker person, whenever that happened."

"And then came here and embarked on a life of crime," Draco said. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Heard anything from the aurors about the pictures?" Draco had got the tech people at Scotland Yard to print images of the two thieves so he could hand them out, and Neville had got copies to give to the rest of the Aurors.

Neville shook his head. "Not yet. Makes me wonder if they even know about Diagon Alley, or have tried to get in contact with anyone from wizarding London. I’m guessing not...not even the people we have on regular watch have been noticed having contact with either of them."

Draco nodded. "Which would imply that they don’t know about us. I imagine there are several people who’d be interested to know that these two are capable of what they’re doing."

"You’re right about that...your good friend Pansy, for one," Neville replied. "I wonder that no one’s done it before, actually."

"Because Pansy and her friends are too worried about the Muggle taint to dirty their hands themselves," Draco said sardonically. "It wouldn’t occur to them to do it themselves, though they wouldn’t mind taking advantage of those who would be."

"Good point. That reminds me...sold the house yet?" Neville asked idly.

Draco snorted. "No. Surprisingly enough, no one wants to buy it. Can’t imagine why...who wouldn’t want a huge, ugly old mansion in the middle of nowhere?"

"No idea," Neville said, then grinned. "Maybe you could turn it into a B&B or something. Renovate, fix up the grounds, that sort of thing."

Draco looked at him like he was mad. "Right." He shook his head briefly and turned his attention back to the sheet of information. "Anyway, once again, we seem to be at an
impasse."

Neville sighed. "It does look like it. Not much we can do but wait and see. God, I’m getting tired of waiting."

Draco leaned back and shook his head. "Join the club."

~*~

March, 2011

Dinner at Ginny’s became something of a regular occurrence for Draco over the next few weeks; after he’d made her supper, she invited him over to return the favour, and they fell into something of a routine. He didn’t always cook for her, but tried to bring something with him, knowing that it wasn’t fair to Ginny to make her feed him all the time. Draco was actually surprised how much he enjoyed being there, listening to Jamie and Sarah bicker and Will babble about nonsense and occasionally sharing his new favourite word (which was currently "broom") at top volume. It was chaotic at times, and loud, and exasperating as well, but Draco found he missed it, on the nights he didn’t come.

The evenings usually ended up the same - dinner, then playing with the children for an hour or so, then putting them to bed. Draco and Ginny would stay up a bit longer chatting, and then he’d head home, because Ginny didn’t like the idea of having him stay overnight if the children were there. Draco could understand her reasoning, but he didn’t exactly like it - he much preferred being able to spend the night, and not simply for the obvious reasons. He occasionally thought he’d stay forever if she’d let him, although he didn’t let himself dwell on that. As it was, he was beginning to hate his hotel room.

"I’ve been thinking of buying or renting a flat," he told Ginny as she put the last of the dishes into the sink, to be washed later. "If only to be able to sleep in a decent bed for a change."

Ginny shrugged. "It’s up to you. I’m surprised you haven’t before...I don’t think I could live in a hotel for so long. How long has it been? 10 months?"

Draco thought about it. "A year, actually. I came here in March of last year. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long." He shook his head and sighed. "It was only supposed
to be a few months, but at this rate, I might as well just buy a place."

"What about the mansion?" Ginny asked. "Have you sold it yet?"

"Not yet. The goblins think it might take a while, because there aren’t many who can actually afford a mansion." Draco shrugged and followed her into the living room, sitting down on the couch beside her and resting his arm around her shoulders. "And Bath is too far away to be commuting from London and back every day. I did that the first 6 months, and that’s part of why I want to sell the damn thing in the first place."

"You never did say why you were selling it," Ginny remarked. "It’s the sort of thing you’d want to keep, isn’t it? A great old house like that?"

Draco laughed. "Neville said basically the same thing, that it’s the middle-aged, middle-class dream to have a country house. But honestly, I really don’t want it." He shivered slightly, and Ginny rested a hand gently on his knee. He smiled down at her ruefully. "The place is creepy. Always was, but it’s worse now. There’s no furniture, and it’s empty and echoic and just...uncomfortable."

"Is it haunted?" Ginny asked. "Like Hogwarts was?"

Draco cleared his throat. "No more than usual," he said carefully. After all, he didn’t know that there was anything there beyond the usual ghosts.

He was about to say more, but a knock sounded from the door. They both turned to look. "Well, that’s strange," Ginny said, and got up to answer it. Draco stood too, walking around the coffee table to stand in the centre of the living room as Ginny walked to the door and opened it. He saw her start and back up a step, her hand tightening on the door handle, and almost on instinct he stepped toward the opposite wall, so that he was hidden from sight of the door. "Harry," Ginny said with surprise. "I wasn’t expecting you."

Draco groaned silently and shut his eyes. Wonderful, he thought to himself. Just wonderful.

"I was in the neighbourhood, and thought I’d drop by. Are the kids in bed already?" Draco heard the rustle of a jacket and footsteps, which stopped.

"They are, actually," Ginny said. She sounded strained. "It’s long past their bedtime, Harry, you know that."

"I guess I did," Harry said sheepishly, and Draco could picture his shoulders shifting in a careless, boyish shrug. "I just thought I might stop by to say hello." There was a pause,
then Harry said, "What is it?"

Ginny didn’t answer.

"Ginny?"

Draco took a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders, then casually tucked his hands in his pockets and walked slowly around the corner and leaned nonchalantly against the archway to the kitchen. Ginny was standing beside the table, and Harry was beside the half-wall that separated the front door from the kitchen nook, one hand resting casually on the ledge. He stiffened with shock as Draco appeared, his face going carefully blank.

Ginny froze and glanced quickly over her shoulder at Draco. "Ah...um, Harry, you remember Draco, don’t you?"

Harry didn’t look at her, still staring at Draco with implacable green eyes. "Yes," he said flatly. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Having dinner." Draco said softly. Harry’s eyes flickered over to the sink, where the dishes were piled, then back to Draco.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked again, his right hand tightening against the ledge and his other curling slowly into a fist.

Ginny took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, answering before Draco had a chance to reply. "He’s here because I asked him to be here."

"You asked him to be here," Harry repeated softly, still staring at Draco. "And why would you do that?"

"Because we’re dating."

Harry’s eyes widened at that, and he jerked his gaze back to Ginny. "What?"

"I’m sorry," Ginny said quickly. Draco could see her move one hand slightly toward Harry, as if to reach out to him, then stop. "I meant to tell you sooner, but I didn’t know how."

"How..."Harry stopped, and swallowed, staring at Ginny now like she was the only thing that existed. "For how long?"

"Since September," Ginny said softly, and Harry flinched. "Harry, I’m sorry - " Ginny took a step toward him, but he backed away sharply and she stopped. "I should have told you sooner, but I wasn’t sure...I’m sorry."

"September." Harry shifted his gaze back to Draco, and Draco clenched his jaw at the hopeless look in the other man’s eyes, concentrating on keeping his face expressionless,set against a grin of triumph. "You - " He stopped, blinked, and tried again, his voice rough. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Harry - "

Draco didn’t move except to raise one shoulder in an insolent shrug. "I don’t think that’s any of your business, Potter."

"No?" Harry said sharply. "You come hanging around my wife - "

"Ex," Draco interrupted softly, "wife."

Harry jerked back at that, his eyes going wide, then closing tightly. He spun around quickly, breathing in sharp bursts, and yanked the door open. He looked back at Ginny again finally, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I’ll be by Saturday for the children," he said, his voice strained. Ginny nodded, and Harry turned and walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. Ginny’s shoulders sagged slightly, and she reached out a hand to steady herself against the back of a chair. Draco stood up straight and walked over to her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her close. She let him gather her up, and rested her head wearily on his shoulder. "I’m sorry," she whispered.

"It’s all right," he whispered back, stroking her hair gently. and finally let himself smile, knowing it was mean, knowing that it was petty, but unable to help himself. Ginny might have convinced herself that Harry had never really loved her, but Draco knew better now. Harry had always been crap at burying his emotions, it was one of the things that had made him so wonderfully easy to pick on - and Draco could see that he still loved Ginny. Harry loved her, and was finally realizing he couldn’t have her...that it was too late. He had finally beaten Harry, where it really mattered.

Draco Malfoy had finally won.

~*~
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