“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, frozen in place. Jennifer eyed him nervously, hand still waiting to pour coffee into his cup. The man who had just sat down across from Harry motioned her to continue, smiling charmingly.

“What, can’t a man visit an old friend?” he asked, pleasant, and Harry shook his head once, sharply.

“First of all, we were never friends, and secondly – how did you know I was here? Why are you even looking for me; are you insane?”

“Oh – no, it’s not me, who’s looking for you.” The dark-haired man looked amused, reaching up and plucking a stray thread from his expensive sweater, flicking it to the ground, looking entirely out of place in the dingy little diner; though Jennifer pouring him coffee did fit with his superior attitude, and once she finished, Harry half-expected her to bow like a house-elf. “No, I was just going to get a bite of lunch while Draco did all the hard work.”

Air rushed into Harry’s lungs in a sharp gasp, and his hand moved reflexively to his pocket, in which his wand always sat. “Malfoy’s here?”

Blaise Zabini shrugged carelessly, giving off the aura, as he always did, of a lazy jungle cat; seemingly sleepy, but always alert and deadly. “Around town.”

Harry gaped silently at Zabini for a long moment, then moved to stand. Zabini reached over, and pushed him back down into his chair. “Hey, there, don’t make me use… force,” he said, with a quick glance at Jennifer, who was clearly trying to eavesdrop from across the room. “We can just wait here for him. After all,” Blaise sneered suddenly, looking unnervingly like his best friend, “wouldn’t want you to leave in the middle of your shift.”

Harry felt heat spreading over his cheeks, but refused to get defensive about his employee apron he wore over his regular Muggle clothing. “It’s my lunch break,” he said in a low tone, angry. Zabini clearly had him trapped, and knew it; he and Malfoy must be aware that Harry was hiding among the Muggles, because he was wearing Muggle clothing himself, something Harry doubted was a personal choice rather than necessity. Any magic in this area was bound to attract some sort of attention, most likely bad.

Harry grit his teeth. “What do you want?”

Zabini shrugged. “Well… this was Draco’s big news, but as you’d probably just get into a fight and give everything away anyway… I’ll go ahead and tell you.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice, “There’s a battle, at Hogwarts, in two days – the battle, I should say. You-Know-Who is planning a raid, and we’ve prepared.” Blaise smiled nastily. “He’ll never know what hit him.”

Harry raised skeptical eyebrows. “You can’t be –”

“Oh, I’m very serious, Potter,” Zabini said, “and you had better have finished whatever it is you’ve been doing down here that will make it possible, because this is the only chance anyone’s ever going to get.” He paused, then added quietly, “the Ministry finally fell a month ago, and if He takes Hogwarts, then all of wizarding Britain will be under His command.”

Harry’s face paled. “I – I didn’t know it had gone that far,” he stuttered, before rallying. “And why are you – ”

“Everything is hanging on this battle, Potter,” Zabini said, “We’ve got most of the International Council there, waiting to help us, as well as all of the Order and basically every single wizard that opposes the Dark Lord in Britain, not that there are many left alive. All of our forces are centered there, and he’s sending all His forces to take us down; it’s all or nothing.”

“W-why are you telling me this?” Harry asked, suddenly suspicious. “I’ve never trusted you; you could be lying.”

“I could be,” Blaise agreed pleasantly, before his face turned hard. “Or it could be that Draco and I are the only ones who can safely leave castle grounds right now. Ever consider that?”

Harry, felled by logic, put a hand to his head, trying to absorb this new knowledge. It – really, it didn’t change anything, but – “Everyone is there? The Weasleys – Hermione? A-and you say that…”

“All of their lives hang in the balance, yes, so again, Potter, I bloody well hope you’ve done what you came to do.” Zabini eyed him carefully, but didn’t actually ask if Harry had succeeded. Instead, he stood up.

“Apparate in two days. The wards will be lifted.” Zabini took a wallet out of his pocket, and, after some hesitation, put twenty quid on the table. Harry neglected to mention that this was far too much to pay for a single cup of coffee, instead trying to comprehend what he had been told. Everyone – the entire Order – all of Britain – the students – all of their lives, dependent on him arriving to fulfill the prophecy. But if he did, he would have to – to murder her. He couldn’t do that, that was why he was here – but all of them…

Zabini, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s anguish, turned to go out the door, pausing before he left entirely. “By the way, Potter, when you get home, tell Draco I’m waiting at the train station.”

Harry shot to his feet so fast that his chair fell over. Jennifer, behind the counter, looked at him in alarm, but he didn’t spare her a glance, eyes trained tightly on Blaise’s face. “He’s at the apartment?” Harry’s voice squeezed out of his throat, curiously hoarse, and Zabini raised an eyebrow at the strong reaction.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, a mildly mischievous grin flitting over his face. “He was waiting for you to get home; he’s probably getting a bit frustrated, waiting for you. Wouldn’t hold hope for any knick-knacks.” With a final wink, Zabini was gone, strolling down the street in the direction of the tiny train station.

Harry stood still for a long moment, frozen in shock. He couldn’t seem to process the words he’d just heard; the whole world had slowed down around him, Jennifer’s interested face as she approached him a blur, her voice falling on deaf ears. Harry just stood there, blankly gazing forward, waiting for the significance to slowly filter into his brain.

And then it did, and his eyes widened, and Harry, still ignoring Jennifer’s now worried questions, shot out the door, sprinting as fast as he could away from the train station, towards home.

Draco Malfoy, in his apartment – meeting her, seeing Ginny again… It had been so long since he’d cast the spell; it might not last against such a powerful mnemonic as Malfoy. And if it broke, then she would – or he, Draco Malfoy would help her, would probably do it himself as soon as he realized, he’d never loved her; not at all, let alone like Harry had and did, and he was alone with her, right now, Harry had to run faster – if only he hadn’t warded Apparating within fifty feet, he had to run.

Down the street, slipping once in a puddle and nearly falling flat on his face, Harry ran, panting at the effort, expelling short little words of prayer, “No, no, please, no, god, no, please…”

He had to get back before it happened, stop it, stop Malfoy. He had to, before the bastard killed Ginny.

---

Curled in his embrace, warm in the sheets, she had her eyes closed and was pressing closer to his form when it came to her; the gasp at the sudden flash of clarity muffled against his chest, her whole world crashing to pieces.

“I’m here,” he murmured into her hair, “to tell Potter that they’ve set it up. It’s the only chance we’re going to get before He grows too strong. At Hogwarts, in two days; tell him he can Apparate. It’s going to work this time, Ginevra.” He sounded strong, a deep confidence radiating out from within, and Ginny knew that even though he had tried to resist earlier, even though he was cautioning himself and trying not to hope, he believed it.

She knew he was wrong, now, the knowledge radiating out in a memory of red snake-eyes, and her heart clenched, because Draco never had known, and now he most likely never would.

She slid upward, kissing his chin, up to his mouth, and then a quick smooch on his nose, before grinning and pressing her forehead on his. “I’ll pass on the message. You don’t even have to see him, if you don’t want.”

Draco smirked and agreed with a content “Hmmn.”

Normally, this was when he would get up, and start getting dressed. This was when his rationality would take over, and he would remember, and life would go on. But somehow something – perhaps the final impending battle, perhaps something in her face – stopped him, and instead, he just brushed his lips over hers once more, eyes closed.

Ginny let herself melt into him. Dark thoughts were rushing through her head, and darker solutions presenting themselves, but her fingers laced with Draco’s, and she snuggled up against his lean form in silence, soaking up last moments.

She didn’t know how long it was, but eventually, they both drew back. He looked at her, solemn, something in him knowing her deepest soul, seeing right through the emotions as he always had, even if he knew none of the particulars, and, after he dressed (in dark-colored Muggle clothing; he really had been cautious), he stared at her for a long moment.

“Here,” Draco said, and slid a ring off his right hand, the dark snake’s eyes gleaming green up at her in the dim light. He reached out and took Ginny’s hand, and slid it onto the ring finger on her corresponding hand. It was too large, so he took it off and slid it onto her middle finger instead, silently.

Ginny looked down at it, the solid, heavy, tangible evidence – something that would stay, would remain longer than words or dirty sheets, dark jade and heavy silver. Draco, in essence, she understood, remaining with her, an emblem of her love and his heart.

In that moment, she knew what must be done.

And in that moment, she knew that he did too. He couldn’t, of course, because he didn’t know of the events leading up to this moment; didn’t know why his last battle was going to fail unless she did this; even had confidence that the battle would be won this time – but somehow knew nonetheless, and left her with this token.

Ginny nodded, and dressed too, walking him to the door. He turned back momentarily, before he walked out, and she watched him hungrily, eyes devouring him whole. He smirked, confident again, the brief doubt and deep-knowledge he had shown when he gave her the ring dying out. “Goodbye, then,” he said, looking rather smug.

Ginny willed down the tears brimming in her eyes; but she couldn’t resist the temptation to lean close one last time, and whisper again, “I love you.”

He nodded, smug all over now, the same self-satisfied, spoiled Slytherin brat that she had fallen in love with in the beginning; “I know.”

Then he turned around, and walked away. He did not look back.

Ginny watched him go, and once she could no longer see him, she gently shut and locked the door. She pulled out a pen (they felt odd in her hand, after a lifetime of using quills, but she could write tolerably well with them now) and a piece of paper, and inscribed Draco’s note to Harry on it, short and to the point. She couldn’t bear to think of Harry himself at the moment, the mere idea of the Boy Who Lived souring her thoughts and filling her with a deep wronged hatred, whether or not he deserved it.

She walked into the bathroom, closed that door behind her, and locked it, too. After undressing, Ginny neatly folded her clothes and put them in a tidy pile in the middle of the floor. She stepped over them, and into the bathtub, putting in the plug.

She knelt down carefully, closing her eyes, remembering necessities and red snake-eyes, building up all her Gryffindor courage to save the world.

Then she rubbed the ring on her finger one last time for luck, and turned on the water.

“See you on the other side.”