She tensed at the knock to the door, dropping her book. It was soft, yes, not violent, but that didn’t matter; no one but Harry came here, and Harry never knocked. She wasn’t supposed to let anyone in. Ginny knew this; Harry had told her countless times, after all, drilled it into her head: he knew this place wasn’t great, but it was hidden and he wasn’t strong enough and just didn’t have the time or a Secret-Keeper in order to perform a better spell, and anyway the wards he had up would work as long as no one knew she was here, so she mustn’t open the door to anyone.

But the thing was, she’d been living in this place for four months now. It had three rooms and the ‘TeeVee’ was the only really interesting thing in any of them, and it didn’t really work properly, anyway. She hadn’t seen anyone but Harry in those four months, and she hadn’t eaten anything that couldn’t be cooked in Harry’s Muggle ‘mikerow-wave’, because they didn’t have a stove. And she hadn’t used magic, because they’d gone underground, and she had accepted all this, but despite the depression that still curled in the edges of her vision sometimes, she was starting to recover, and a large part of that was her hatred of taking orders and it had been four months, so she opened the door.

Draco Malfoy stood on the other side, fist poised to knock again. Ginny’s eyes widened in speechless shock.

“Wea – Ginny,” he said, surprise evident in his voice, and it was deep and familiar enough to have tears pricking her eyes as she shot forward.

He caught her easily, not even stepping back, instead just lifting a hand up to support her and stepping through the threshold, swinging the door closed behind him. Ginny laced her legs more tightly around his waist as he moved, and pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing deeply; his familiar scent filled her nostrils and she sighed contentedly.

For a moment, Draco just stood there, holding her in his arms, looking around the tiny room. Finally, he spoke. “Well, this is pathetic.”

Ginny felt tears slip past her eyelids as she giggled softly, pulling her face up from his shoulder. “How so?”

Draco lifted expressive eyebrows, gesturing around the room. “I thought Potter was supposed to be loaded. This room… it’s disgusting.”

“No, that’s just your aristocratic upbringing,” Ginny said, only to amend when he gazed disbelievingly at her: “Okay, so it’s rather awful. But he’s trying.”

“Right,” Draco drawled, and let go of her. Ginny slipped to the ground, only to take his hand and lead him to the couch. She sat down and patted the seat next to her. Draco eyed it suspiciously, then hesitantly sat down on the very edge, trying to keep as much weight off the dingy brown surface as he could.

Ginny laughed out loud, for the first time in a long time.

Draco watched her laugh, looking both confused and bemused, and possibly pleased to see her, but that she couldn’t be entirely sure of. Well, not without asking.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” She said. “Not that I’m not… happy, but we’re underground. No one is supposed to know where we are.”

Draco eyed her almost sadly. “No one does, Ginny. Just me. I found you on my own. I… I didn’t know you were here, though. I never thought that Potter was that… I’m glad to see you too.”

Ginny smiled at him. “I missed you, Draco.”

Draco closed his eyes for a second, and his hand twitched, as though he was going to remove it from hers, but she held on. It had been so long since she’d felt any friendly touch other than Harry’s. And Harry… Harry was different.

“I had wondered where you disappeared to, without any warning,” Draco said calmly, eyes open again. “At least until the owl. That cleared things up rather nicely.”

Ginny winced. She had been so alone in here, so lonely, and had had so much time to think – she had all but forgotten how things had ended. “I – ”

“Oh, no hard feelings,” Draco drawled. “I always expected it to come along, sooner or later. I admit I did expect the whole thing to happen face-to-face, but on second thought,” he grinned wryly, tilting his head to better display the small scar near his hairline, “this was better for my health; knowing our tempers. It’s true, we didn’t have a chance after the ceremony.”

Ginny blinked. This – this was too good to be true. Draco – just Draco, she would have taken that any day now, after being in here four months, after what preceded those months – but Draco was being kind, and understanding, and he had smiled at her and even though the cobwebs were still in her head, that was a constant these days and the lingering depression was gone, almost entirely.

Something was wrong; something had to be. Draco hadn’t known she was here; he’d come to visit Harry, who still shouldn’t be findable, because… Because they were in hiding, and why was Draco being nice to her now? It was entirely uncharacteristic. Something terrible must have happened, but what? Ginny didn’t know, she hadn’t had any contact with the outside world in so long; she wondered suddenly, with a jolt, how the war was going, and how her family was. She wondered if Fred and George were still running the joke shop, or if times had gotten too dangerous. Why didn’t she know this? Why had she kept out of contact with even them, her family…? It had been so long since she’d thought of them…

Ginny frowned, and brought a hand up to rub her forehead. Her headache was back, striking her down before she could wonder too long. Draco noticed, and raised an eyebrow at her. “Something wrong, Ginevra?”

As always, a slight shiver ran down Ginny’s back at the sound of her full name on his lips. She hated it when anyone else called her that (probably because so many pronounced it wrong) but Draco had always had a strange way of saying it. His lips formed the syllables slowly, as if tasting them on his tongue, and it purred out of his mouth, somehow always managing to sound seductive to her, even if she knew it wasn’t meant that way, like now. “No,” Ginny said, and shook her head in annoyance. “No, it’s just – this headache, it keeps bothering me lately. I can’t seem to get any thinking done.”

Draco nodded. “Ah.” Then, before Ginny could tell him not to bother, he had reached in his cloak and pulled out a small bottle, which he held out to her. “Here.”

Ginny eyed it distastefully. “What is that?”

“What, don’t you trust me?” Draco pouted almost convincingly, had it not been for the smirk escaping at the edges. “I’m not Snape’s assistant for nothing, you know. I promise it won’t turn you into a toad.”

“Yes, but what is it?” Ginny asked pointedly. Years with the twins had taught her never to – the headache stabbed again, and she scowled.

Draco waved the bottle in her face pointedly. “Nothing much. Just a basic head-clearing potion. Snape usually uses it to clear out any traces of aftereffects from the students after self-testing potions, but I’ve found that it works well for headaches too. It would probably take a while to start working properly since this is an old batch; but since you aren’t under the influence of any spells or potions, that won’t matter. Your headache will go away as soon as you swallow. Go ahead.”

Ginny sighed as if put-upon, but took the little flask and drained it nonetheless, smiling at the cherry taste. Her headache disappeared as promised, leaving her back where she was. Alone, with Draco Malfoy, and no blinding pain in her skull.

It had been so long since she had seen him. Why was she worrying about other things now? Draco was here, most likely for a limited time. And he was being nice, and Harry wasn’t due to get back for several hours at least, and just looking at him made her nostalgic and longing.

Ginny bit her lip, and looked at Draco.

He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable once out of the role of Potions professor, and turned away.

Ginny took a deep breath, and began to lean forward, but Draco stood up suddenly, pacing away to the kitchen, then whirling back to face her. His features were hard and unreadable. “I’m looking for Potter. What are you doing here, Ginevra?”

Ginny opened her mouth, but no words came out. She just gave him a pleading look instead. Draco shook his head, suddenly bitter. “So it’s still like that, then? Can’t trust me with the slightest information, no matter what you say.”

Ginny was stung, and it showed on her face. “Draco – that’s not true. I would tell you if I could, you know I would – but I can’t, alright? I can’t. Trust me? Please.”

The past hung in the air between them, heavy and painful, in the long moments before Draco spoke. When he did, his voice was quiet and cold. “Do you want to know why I’m visiting Potter, Ginevra? Why I tracked him down out here in the middle of nowhere, using Muggle transportation so no one could trace me by magic?”

Ginny felt a familiar lump building in her throat, hot dampness welling up by her eyes. “No.”

Draco stared at her for a long time. He was tense and angry, but still quiet when he asked, “Oh?”

“No,” Ginny repeated, shaking her head. “I don’t want to know. I trust you, Draco, I don’t care about – that.” She pointed at his left arm, and he almost instinctively brought a hand up to clasp around it. “You know I don’t, okay? So just – just trust me this time, okay, please? I can’t tell you, and I don’t want you to explain yourself to me. You don’t have to, and besides,” Ginny felt her expression softening, “I’m just glad to see you again.”

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, breathing through his nose; when he opened his eyes seconds later, all anxiety was gone from his face, and he switched topics abruptly, suddenly leaning comfortably on the wall. “So… living with Potter, eh?” he drawled. “I can’t help but notice this… abode, only has three doors, and one goes to the hallway. One the bathroom, one the bedroom, then?” He arched a suggestive eyebrow, winking at Ginny.

Ginny knew it was just a joke (most likely) but it still frustrated her. She stood up stiffly. “Harry sleeps on the couch. Stop implying.”

Draco smirked; familiarly wicked, and Ginny bit her lip again. “I’m not implying anything, Weasley. We both know Potty’s got it bad for a certain little she-weasel. Tell me, have you ever gone a couple buttons lower, then asked for something?”

Ginny tried to look offended and outraged, but a smile snuck onto her face anyway. “No, of course not. Not all of us are gigantic sluts, you know.”

Draco just grinned, flashing white teeth at her in an equally familiar leer, one eyebrow shrugging up and down, and again, the darkness lifted for a moment, and Ginny breathed deep. The air in the room was fresh, suddenly, after four months of staleness; and with each breath of it, Ginny found herself standing, drawing closer to the cause, like metal to a magnet.

“Draco,” she said, almost under her breath, but he clearly heard, because he straightened off the wall, his face going serious again. He stood still, as she walked closer, didn’t move when she tentatively put a hand on his arm; but when she went up on tiptoes, Draco’s hand caught her shoulder, and gently pushed her back down to the ground again.

“No, Ginevra,” he said seriously. No more was needed; they had gone over this countless times, after all, searching for a way out, her more than him always, and for a moment Ginny wished desperately that Draco had done the noble thing long ago.

But he hadn’t, and they had gone over it often enough to know that this wasn’t going to work; it couldn’t last, and they wouldn’t be able to let it not last. Ginny knew all this. She was hopelessly attached, so much so that she knew she would never be able to let go, and Draco didn’t want to become mired down in her need so much that he needed her too – because that would mean needing one too many people, and in the circles he traveled, needing too many people meant pain. Needing certain people meant death, and Ginny was one.

That is, if they allowed it to continue. But here they were: no one had found Ginny in four months, and these days if no one found you in that time, they most likely never would; Draco was, of course, a different matter. Draco was looking for Harry, and Harry would return in a few hours. Then, once their business was concluded, he would be gone, and in all likelihood, she would never see him again. This was a war, and there were casualties, especially of the central-circle varieties.

He was still holding her down, the grounding force, keeping Ginny from flying off into a fantasy-land, as he always had; his hand on her shoulder.

Ginny looked down at it, then up into his eyes, and made up her mind, speaking the four words he had both never understood, and never been able to resist, the flame to his moth.

“Draco, I love you.”

---

Draco woke suddenly, gasping, hand automatically reaching under his pillow for his wand and whipping it out at imaginary enemies. It took several moments for him to calm down and remember where he was, and when he did, he still couldn’t relax. But that was no surprise. He hadn’t relaxed in at least five months, possibly more.

With a sigh, he levered himself to his feet and padded across the room, not bothering to light his wand. Months of nightmares which left him unable to sleep after, combined with a natural neatness, allowed him to easily traverse the room in the dark. Draco gathered his shower things and was out of the room as quickly as he would have been if the lights were on.

He left the lights off in the bathroom, too, walking quickly over the tile and slipping into the tub with as little noise as possible. It wasn’t that Draco was modest; but Moaning Myrtle did have a tendency to visit him during his baths and while he still didn’t dislike her, sometimes she brought back uncomfortable memories.

It seemed he’d avoided her this time, though, and for that Draco was glad. He was too tired to bother with memories today, any more than he could help it; he’d been up until two, and now woken with barely three hours of sleep. He’d have to finish up here quickly, as he had a foot-high stack of papers on his desk to be graded before breakfast, and as much as he’d like to, there was a limit to how much he could simply give Slytherins good marks and fail the rest. He’d actually have to pay attention to what he was looking at. Then, of course, he had to take over three morning classes for Snape, as the Potions master had supposedly become ill again.

Draco knew better, of course. He’d figured it out easily enough at the last meeting, but The Dark Lord still didn’t entirely trust him. Not, of course, that Draco could blame him. He was a double-crosser, after all.

Then, he wouldn’t be able to get any lunch, as he’d be leaving the grounds immediately following his last class. Blaise should be waiting for him at the closest Muggle town, and he had promised he had the travel route figured out; Draco just hoped he wasn’t late. He wasn’t sure that his friend quite understood the idea of train time-tables, despite having ridden the Hogwarts Express for seven years.

The task to follow would be tedious, of course, the perfect topping to the perfectly awful day. Draco wasn’t looking forward to it at all, for several reasons – of course, he would hate seeing Potter again, but he also quite simply despised the idea of being the errand boy. That was what House-elves had always been for, if not owls. Still, Draco understood the reasoning. How could he not, after it had been drilled into his head so often over the past week?

He had to admit that he felt rather smug over being the only one to manage to trace Potter, despite the idiot’s going ‘deep underground’. It hadn’t been that hard, actually. He simply searched Muggle records in various towns and cities for any new apartments or houses rented by anyone with a similar name, then cross-referenced that with the last known location and magical footprint of Potter. Records indicated he had been going east, which ruled out that direction entirely, and Draco had managed to find him on the third day of no sleep. Taxing, yes, but entirely worth it. Beneath wizards they may be, but that didn’t mean Muggles couldn’t be useful.

A door slammed down the hall, jolting Draco from his train of thought, and he blinked. He might have felt alert, but the fact remained that he had been slowly sliding into the bathtub, now submerged up to his nose. He shook his head, and began to wash briskly. Sleepless or not, he didn’t have time for this.

It was those damn nightmares. They wouldn’t go away, and of course Snape was carefully watching whatever potion supplies his assistant used: if Draco made a Dreamless Sleep Draught, his master would surely know and report the weakness to the Dark Lord. In such a complicated spy game as this, even such simple information could be crucial.

Draco was only glad that the final battle was soon. He didn’t think he could last much longer like this: the dreams were abstract but frightening, and they always seemed to feature hair. Long, silver-white beards, or flowing crimson locks; the memories each brought back was more than enough to keep him tossing and turning all night long. He didn’t want to feel guilty about Dumbledore any longer – and he didn’t want to feel anything about or for Ginny Weasley.

Draco rubbed a hand into his eye socket hard, wincing. Just thinking her name had brought back memories, along with that odd nostalgia that he neither understood nor could ever fully will away.

Enough of this. It would do no good to dwell on the past, especially not on two people who were long gone, probably both dead by now anyway. Draco stood, and began to towel-dry himself.

He snatched up his robes, tucking a little bottle of Snape’s effect-removing potion into his pocket. He’d need it to wipe away the headache from the first years’ essays.

In moments, Draco was gone, and moments after, he was lost in his work, all thoughts of nightmares forgotten.