Chapter One: Two Weary Hearts

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Many thoughts swirled through the mind of Draco Malfoy as he watched his father's hand extend toward him, offering him his cane through a white knuckled grip. None of Draco's thoughts were coherent enough for him to comprehend, much less express. The window's curtains were drawn and the air in the room was musty enough to make anyone feel claustrophobic. All signs of awareness were shoved away for the rampage targeting the immediate situation Draco was faced with.

"Draco," Lucius Malfoy started, eyes languid and faint. "You know why you're here." A small cough rattled his features. "It's time for you to take over the legacy I have upheld." Draco took the cane out of his father's hand- not for his own personal gain, for the gesture hurt him far more than he let on- but because his father's hand was trembling dangerously, and he had to relieve him of the distress that he tried to hide. The hand was thin, but not in the legendary Malfoy way. 'Deathly thin...' Draco thought dully, coming to terms with what he knew what would inevitably become the topic of the conversation. It wasn't a surprise. This sickness had manifested over many nights. Draco didn't know how many times he heard the ominous hacking reverberate throughout the halls of the manor.

"Father, that's preposterous." Draco said, although his words fell flat. Lucius smiled slightly, shifting his body in his bed to face Draco properly.

"You know that's not true," he said, and holding up a trembling hand to silence Draco as he opened his mouth to argue. "It isn't. You know I've led a fulfilling life, Draco, although there are things I regret doing, as there are in all lives. However, it is time for you to take over the family name, the family legacy." His voice rasped, and he sputtered for a moment, not willing to choke in front of his son. Daco silently handed him the goblet of water, and he drank gratefully.

"Father..." Draco trailed, not sure exactly what to say.

"Just continue for me," Lucius managed to say without affliction. He struggled to sit up. "Goodbye, Draco. Send your mother in for me. She deserves a farewell too." Draco stood, torn between obeying his father and staying with the dying man to spend every last minute he could.

"Now, Draco." Lucius hissed. Even in death, his words still carried a certain authority, one impossible to disobey. Draco left the room with his father's cane in his hand. Narcissa looked up from her clasped hands, processing everything, and fought back the tears swimming in her eyes as she smoothed Draco's hair from his forehead.

"You've done well," she murmured, and swept past him into the chamber of the dying man. Draco stood where he was, unmoving, until his mother shut the door softly behind her, sinking into one of the hard backed chairs adorning the room. He brought both his hands up to grip his hair tightly, his knuckles turning white with the same fervor that his father's had, the cane clattering to the ground. The wait seemed endless, but a glance at the clock told him the wait lasted less than half an hour. The room darkened; shadows passed, but he barely noticed. He only looked up when his mother walked slowly out of the dark and now silent room.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she whispered, a final tear slipping over her cheek. He knew he had to appear strong for his mother, so he stood and wrapped his arm around her.

"It's okay," he said awkwardly, not exactly sure how to convey his sentiment, to her, especially one he had a difficult time believing himself. "We'll get through this." Narcissa nodded, looking up at Draco through watery eyes. She glanced back down and stepped out of his grasp.

"I think... I think we should settle down for the night," she said, gathering her fine flaxen hair in one hand, twisting it. This was a nervous habit Narcissa picked up when she was a child. "After all, you have a big day tomorrow."

Draco arched an elegant eyebrow. "How so?" he queried, crossing his now empty arms. Narcissa wiped one last lingering tear out of the corner of her eye.

"You're Master Malfoy," she stated, still walking toward the door, "Which means that you need to learn all the regulations, requirements and resources that come with the Malfoy name." Draco blinked. He hadn't expected that. At least not so soon.

"I know the ways of the Malfoys'," he said, drawing himself up haughtily. Narcissa glared up at him. Evidently, she decided this 'argument' was for another day; a day not so filled with loss.

"We'll see," she said, shaking her head. Her thoughts could not process much more, and she swept through the rooms, turning back to grant her son a few words. "Good night, Draco. Everything will appear brighter in the morning." Her comforting bed was calling to her, imploring, and she so desired to fall into its embrace.

Draco watched his mother leave, her pale golden hair swinging rhythmically behind her. He finally allowed the sadness he had been holding out of his stormy gray eyes to return. He turned back to the door which would change his life. He heard the house elves moving inside, preparing the body for burial. He pressed a tight fist to his lips. "Goodbye, Father." He held out his hand. Draco stooped to pick up the cane, and followed his mother, a warm bed and a dreamless sleep being all he was craving at this time of sorrow.

Ginny Weasley crept out of her dearly loved Burrow, into the large garden that was graced by the touch of dusk. She looked around, smelling the clean air and hearing the sweet harmony the wind made, whistling through the leaves. The pink that soared through the sky tinged everything it could lay its blush rays on. It gave everything an unnatural, almost angelic look. Her feet were bare, her hair loose. The loose flow drifted around her like a copper waterfall, silky and awe inspiring. In her thin nightgown, her shoulders and the extent of her legs were bared to the tinge of rose.

"Ginny?" A sleepy voice murmured, bringing Ginny out of her dreamy trance and into the present day. Her head spun around, honey eyes looking but not seeing. They did not see because she didn't want to be caught up in this world. She wanted to return to the dreamland she had spent the last precious few minutes in.

"Hi, Harry," she said dully. Wearily she pushed her thick red hair back from her face. Harry awkwardly tousled his own untidy locks, pushing his glasses back up against the bridge of his nose. She crossed her bare arms and turned to face him completely with an expressionless gaze that left him grasping for words.

"Look, Ginny, I'm sorry-" Ginny cut him off.

"Save it, Harry. We both know the reason you broke it off, so don't pretend it was anything else." She saw the hardening of Harry's eyes, and he marveled at her honesty. The brute strength of it would hurt far more than if she let him continue, and believing his false story.

"Ginny, you know that's not true." He faltered, hearing how his voice rang sounding fake and unbelieving. She shook her head as he stuttered to silence.

"Don't, Harry. Just... don't." She strode past him, her long hair fluttering behind her. What astounded her most was that she wasn't even as distraught as she believed she should be. Not that she wasn't upset- she was. If it wasn't for that stupid blonde bimbo... she thought, but as the thought had time to crash around the inner workings of her mind, she realized that she should be thanking this 'stupid blonde bimbo'. Now, she was free. Absolutely free; no more worries about dating 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. No stress over rumors in the Quibbler, no fear of someone portraying her in the wrong light. She thought of Fleur's sister, and how she pined after Harry almost as bad as Ginny had for the first four years.1

Free. What did that mean, exactly? Distance from the man she loved, or thought she might have, perhaps. Not that I'm going to find out. Was that really so bad? Love was a relative term, she reflected. What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name...2 She thought dolefully. The irony hit her full on. This was the floozy's favorite story- a doomed love, but everlasting even through death. Quite unlike hers, she tagged along as a cutting after thought.

Well, she can have him. They deserve each other, she though bitterly, opening the door to the Burrow. Her cozy abode was calling, and she was answering it's call. She couldn't help but glance back, however, and absorb the look Harry graced her with. His green eyes were strong, and his jaw line even stronger. Her heart still fluttered the tiniest bit.

"Can't have it all," she murmured, and slipped upstairs to rest her weary heart and to prepare to start over.

CHAPTER NOTES

Okay, so first story, don't immediately judge, let the plot come, hmmm? Well, jjust know that criticism, praise, whatever... they're all welcome. COMPLETELY welcome.

I will usually use this section for footnotes, blurbs and interesting facts about the story. AND my own personal thoughts and rants.

So, hopefully you know that the quote "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name..." is a quote from the infamous "Romeo and Juliet" by our beloved William Shakespeare, famous author and poet extraordinaire.

Also, I just wanted to reiterate that Fleur sister is known as Gabrielle, as known in the "The Goblet of Fire" and "The Deathly Hollows." Harry first came to know this girl when he rescued her from the depths of the Great Lake during the Triwizard Tournament. Obviously she has been smitten with him ever since.

As you all know, none of these awe inspiring characters belong to me. Unfortunately. :/ They all belong to the great and all mighty J.K Rowling.