Draco curled his shoulders inward, trying to relieve the pressure building in his chest. "Did you mean anything you said last year?"

"About what?" Ginny asked, looking confused.

He remembered all the times he'd been grateful for her support, thankful for her presence. She'd dispelled some of his fears and he'd taken comfort from her body. His teacup trembled as he took a swig to drown out the metallic taste taking up residence in his mouth. "Did you and Potter at least have a good laugh at my expense?" he spat. "Sorry I couldn't help the two of you play hero. Though I suppose the two of you had other games to play down by the lake."

She at least had the decency to blush, Draco noted. "Harry didn't know anything - doesn't know anything - that happened between us."

"Here I thought he threw you over when he discovered what a slag you are," he sneered.

Her face continued to redden, and Draco couldn't be sure whether it was embarrassment or rage driving it. "Would you just listen?"

"You know, I think I'm done listening to you," he said with affected lightness, hopping up from his seat and striding to the fireplace. The mantel was cold under his hands, the stone flecked with minute crystals. "You can go now." He heard her stand and a crushing weight pressed down on his chest.

"You have to know," she said.

"I can fill in the blanks myself, thanks. You tried to steal something that didn't exist and Potter rewarded you when you failed." The stone was covered in tiny brown-glazed figurines no larger than his thumb, and he focused relentlessly on them so he wouldn't turn back to her.

"No. I'm sorry this is hurting you, but-"

There was a boy with a bucket, and a rooster, and a girl wearing a bonnet. "You think you could hurt me? That's a laugh, Weasley. Don't forget who's in charge here."

"I didn't want Harry to know. I wanted Tom for myself, and if the others knew they'd want him destroyed."

He peered at a sheep, a fox, a boot with a window in the upper and a door by the heel.

"I told myself I wasn't eleven years old anymore. I was stronger, I could handle him, things would turn out differently, all that rot. I know you don't want to hear about him anymore." She was silent for a moment. "Point is, I wanted him back so badly that I went to the Restricted Section and found a book that dealt with the management of souls."

The figurines didn't seem to do anything, but that boot was something too odd for Muggles to think up, surely.

"The diary...bonds with your soul, in a way, creates a connection. I was going to call on that connection and transfer Tom's bond from you to me. I needed your participation, but you couldn't be compelled, so I went after you the old fashioned way."

"Should've gone with a well-placed Imperius if you were going to do Dark magic anyway," Draco muttered, taking up a girl with a bowl upturned on her foot and inspecting her. There was a spider etched on her full skirt.

"At least then I wouldn't have had to spend hours on end listening to you complain," she shot back. "Though it was easier than I expected to win your trust, Draco."

His hand curled into a fist around the girl. "You played the worshipful tart so well," he simpered. "Wherever did you get the practice for that?"

"Well, I guess I'm just lucky you'd been with Parkinson for so long that you knew exactly what to do with worshipful tarts. Even if you're not very good at it."

The figurine dug into Draco's palm. "I wouldn't know it from the way you knocked me down and rode me like a Firebolt."

That shut her up, but not for long. "I'd prepared myself as a conduit long before," she said quietly. "I waited until I got some sign from you that you'd accept me." Draco cringed at her dispassionate language, but his back was still turned to her. "You took forever, and you kept trying to pull away. It was so humiliating," she sighed, more to herself, judging from her tone of voice, "throwing myself at you like that, and then when you finally gave in, the pain was so...I just wanted it to be over."

Draco felt his cheeks burn with shame. Way to make a bloke feel special, Weasley. He didn't dare voice that particular remark, but he laid the figurine on the mantel and sneaked a glance at her over his shoulder, wanting to know if she was still taking the piss or if she really thought shagging him had been that terrible. Remorse sunk in immediately; her arms were wrapped around her ribcage and she looked distinctly haunted, her eyes large and dark in her pale face. She had a lot of gall to look that way, considering she was the cause of the whole situation and he was the victim, but his annoyance was slithering away no matter how desperately he grasped at it.

"I invoked the spell when you started...well... I felt it take hold and I just - I was so relieved, even though I knew it was pretty much a sure thing since I hadn't...but you know that, I guess."

"Know what?"

She jumped at his voice, then flushed. "That I was a...that I'd never done that before."

Draco blinked in surprise and crept over to the chesterfield. "It was your first time too?"

Her blush deepened. "Despite what you think of me."

"How did you know your spell failed? I saw the sparks, I felt the magic."

She averted your eyes. "You weren't dead."

The strength went out of his legs and he sank onto the chesterfield, feeling lightheaded. "You tried to kill me twice in one day for no good reason? And you still had the nerve to lecture me about Dumbledore?"

"Draco, I am so sorry about the Fiendfyre. I didn't even know I knew how to conjure it. I was so devastated, so furious when the spell didn't work, so terrified that you were going to snitch on me..."

"Snitch on you?" he echoed in disbelief.

"Look, in Plan A you were dead," Ginny snapped. "Or possibly Tom's soul displaced yours. The text wasn't completely clear."

"Sweet weeping Merlin!"

"I was a mess for months afterwards, which is more than I can say for you after your attempted murder!"

"Yeah, I could tell," he agreed, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "what with all the Quidditch playing and Potter snogging."

"I was trying to be normal! I thought that if I could finally be with Harry, I could put this all behind me. It's not like I don't know it's barking to put my family and friends in danger and literally kill for someone who betrayed me and nearly killed me, but I did it anyway! What does that say about me? I helped Death Eaters and killed Dumbledore and tried to kill you because I'm in love with the Dark Lord?" She choked on a laugh, and it was the laugh of Aunt Bella. Draco's eyes widened in alarm. "I hate being this way," she whispered. "I'm a monster."

She'd lied to him for months, tried to kill him (twice, really), and scorned him ever since. According to her, he was a murderer, a fool, and a terrible shag. And her distress was still more than he could bear. Everything he'd heard was so far removed from what he currently saw - a girl shamed and tormented by what she had done. We do what we must. But he wasn't the villain in her story. She'd painted him as an accoutrement, a neutral object to be wielded, but even that wasn't true. Perhaps it had been at first, but there were too many small indications that things had changed along the way. At least, he was relatively sure it wasn't wishful thinking on his part. He slid across the chesterfield to her as if she'd Summoned him. "Ginny," he sighed, brushing an errant wisp of hair from her brow. She turned her eyes on him, her lips parted, and Draco's blood sang in his ears as his finger trailed down to her jaw. Take, take. "If you're a monster, so am I. But I don't think you are."

"How can you say that after what you know?"

"Honestly, I'm not trying to beat a dead horse here," he explained preemptively, "but just so we're perfectly clear: you planned to kill me to recover the soul of the young Dark Lord and live happily ever after with him, and when it didn't work you tried to kill me anyway and drowned your sorrows in Potter." She jerked her head in a nod. "You also gave me hope when I had none, kept my secrets, and helped me save my mother's life. I'll be forever grateful to you for that, even though you didn't mean it. You were the best false friend I've ever had," he quipped, grasping her hand. "So I suppose everything cancels out."

"You can't possibly..." Her voice shook too badly for her to continue, but she clasped his fingers like a lifeline. "So sorry," she managed to choke out.

"Shh. I know." Something hot and wet fell on their mingled fingers, and Draco took a perverse pleasure in her sorrow, because it was for him. He let his arm slip from the back of the chesterfield to her shoulders and he felt her take a shuddering breath. "It's okay," he whispered against her temple, but this only made her cry harder so Draco contented himself with holding her. It was amazing how he could derive so much satisfaction from having her in his arms. The room was dim and quiet, and he lazily ran his gaze over the bookcase and the figurines before he let his eyelids droop, relishing her warmth and her sweet tears. Mine. Not Potter's, not the Dark Lord's. Mine. The young Dark Lord was long gone, and after this Draco doubted she'd ever seek him out again. She'd kept Draco's secrets to this day, and he'd keep hers, if for no other reason than that the information was useless. Even if anyone believed the tale (and he doubted anyone would; it was too outlandish and he had no evidence), Draco had nothing to gain from sharing it.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before she was quiet in his embrace, but at length she finally drew away from him a bit to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed; her lower lip trembled invitingly. "Help me," she whispered, the very picture of brokenness, and Draco's heart leapt.

"Yes," he purred, dipping his face down to hers. "I'll make you forget him." Her lips were salty and he drank deeply from her, quenching a thirst that had been building for months. She reached up to cup his cheek as she returned the kiss without the desperation from his memories and his dreams, and the tenderness of the gesture brought a lump to his throat. He crushed her to him with renewed abandon. Oh yes, there it was, the curve of her hip that he missed so dearly! When he ran his hand slowly along it she gasped a bit, stealing his air. He broke away and let his hands skate up to her breasts. "Let me make it up to you," he murmured thickly against the hollow between her jaw and her throat, and she whined at the contact. "I'll make you feel so good, it won't be like last time-"

She gently caught his hands and guided them down to his lap. "That's not what I meant," she said, eyes dark and lips glistening. It was only the faint sting of rejection that kept Draco from closing in on her again. "You're a Death Eater. If we had your help..."

Disappointment cut a keen swath through him. Was this all he was to her? An ally to be used? It wouldn't be the first time she used her wiles on him for her own purposes. "I don't help people who don't help themselves," he growled. Ginny looked taken aback. Good. "You broke into Snape's office. What, exactly, were you hoping to accomplish?" He raked a hand through his hair. "I'll bet you're behind that shite all over the walls too. You want my help to what, incite the staff's wrath? Make all your punishments disappear? I've told you what it's like. I've got no power. I'm being watched, just like you are. The only difference is I don't step out of line."

"You really want him to win, then," she said dully. "You don't care what happens to the rest of us."

Betrayal shone in her eyes, and he sighed in exasperation. "That's not it at all. We're living in a nightmare, Ginny, don't think I don't know that. I stopped dreaming about the Dark Lord's glorious kingdom years ago." Last year, anyway. "It's for people like the Carrows, and Snape, and my aunt Bella."

"Your father," Ginny added, still looking doubtful.

"Not my father!" Draco snarled. "Don't you dare presume!" Ginny stared at him mutely and he took a calming breath. "Not that it matters what he wants, or what I want. It's too late to change anything."

"What do you mean?" Ginny looked nervous. He regretted snapping at her. There was no way for her to know his father's true inclinations, and given her recent revelations, it wasn't surprising that she thought the worst of him.

"I mean it's over. The Dark Lord is in control and Potter's run off."

"Harry's fighting!" Ginny cried. "If it was really over, the Dark Lord wouldn't be hiding in your house!"

"Is that what you think? You really think Potter's out there fighting instead of running? And I suppose you think your petty shenanigans are somehow helping in his fight?"

"Petty shenanigans?" she echoed, eyes flashing.

"Vandalism and whatever you were doing to Snape?"

"We weren't doing anything to him."

"Then what were you doing in his office?"

She pursed her lips. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in telling you now. We were trying to steal something for Harry. We won't be trying again."

"You put yourself in needless danger for him? He left you! All of you! He's not coming back! Don't you see how useless all of your rebellion is?"

"It's not useless," she muttered stubbornly.

"What purpose can it possibly serve?"

"It gives people hope," she snapped.

"Hope?" Draco snorted. "Hope is nothing."

"Hope was everything to you last year," she challenged. "You said so yourself."

He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, and rested his chin on his hands. "I was a fool. We've established that."

He hadn't been able to keep the bitterness out of his voice, and she dared to look at him with pity. He couldn't stand it, not when she was the one in the wrong, but before he could come up with an ugly remark to wipe the pity off her face, she launched herself at his back and wrapped her arms around him. "Hope with us," she whispered against his cheek. "You can hope with us." He knew he should throw her off but the way she'd seized him around his ribs reignited whatever had been burning between them only a few minutes ago. He allowed her to slip one hand into his hair, allowed her to graze her lips against his temple. "Hope with me. It's the least I can give you after everything I've done."

Did she know how tempting she was, with her breasts pressed up against his back and the arm across him slowly dropping down to his hip? He couldn't stop himself from twisting around in her embrace and kissing her again. She even tasted like hope, warm and soft. It would be so easy to take what she offered, to believe he could make a difference, to work towards absolution for everything he'd done to create this living hell. His heart soared at the possibility and he became frenzied, digging his fingers into her fire-red plait, grasping her plump arse, arching into her when her hand pressed into his lower back. Her tongue swept against his and he palmed that delightful curve of her hip, trying to memorise its feel. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He pulled away abruptly. "I can't," he said raggedly, tracing the line of her throat one last time with a shaking hand. "There's no hope for me," he told Ginny Weasley, the only source of hope in his universe, even though it meant losing her all over again.

She was so beautiful. Tendrils of hair had escaped her plait - his doing - to curl softly around her face, and he'd never seen her eyes so large and dark. Pleading. "If it's because of me-"

"No! No, that's not it at all. It's my parents. I need to keep them safe."

She bit her lip and looked away. "I see."

This was worse than losing her last year. This time he knew exactly what he'd done, and he'd done it deliberately. There were no adequate words to say goodbye. "Try to stay safe," he said at last. "Don't do anything too reckless. I don't want you in front of my wand again."

She blinked in surprise and then nodded. "Okay." When he didn't say anything else, she stood.

"Wait!" he blurted and she froze, raising an eyebrow.

He jumped to his feet. "Your hair. It's, uh...let me fix it for you." He started to reach out and then hesitated. He hadn't plaited hair since he was a little boy, and his mother had likely been humouring him when she'd told him what a good job he'd done.

Ginny gave her hair an exploratory pat, frowned, drew her plait over her shoulder, and tugged off the ribbon at the end. "Fixed," she announced, shaking her fingers through her hair until it cascaded around her in waves of wildfire the colour of hope.

Great Merlin, she was breaking him. He could feel last year's familiar weight pressing down on his chest, urging him to her altar. Once again, he'd been judged and found wanting. "Don't leave me," he croaked. "Not again."

"You're shaking!" she exclaimed. "Sit! What's wrong?"

"It's not fair, making me choose," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Between you and my parents."

"I - what? I'm leaving because you just dismissed me, not because of your choice."

"I can't, I just can't-"

"Are you even listening to me?" She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. "I understand why you can't stand with us right now, I really do. I don't think you're evil for wanting to protect your family. You said there's no hope for you, but there is. There's good in you, Draco Malfoy. I've seen it for myself, and one day you'll find that hope inside you and do what's right because you can't do anything else and your actions will matter."

"Don't give up on me," he whispered.

"I won't. But you can't give up on yourself, either."