With the millions of the lost and lonely ones
I called out to be released
Caught in my struggle for higher achievements
And my search for love that don't seem to cease
-Joni Mitchell, "Same Situation"

CHAPTER 1

The Burrow was a lopsided, ramshackle old house that was home to torrents of activity and warmth, much of which subsided when all the Weasley children were either away at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or had graduated school and started life on their own, but some of which still lingered in the summer when Ron and Ginny, the two youngest Weasleys, returned for the holidays. The house was especially bustling with energy towards the end of summer, when it was time to prepare for Ron's last year of Hogwarts and Ginny's second-to-last year by journeying to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies.
The morning sun was just peeking over the horizon, casting everything within reach of its beams in molten orange-gold. The rays of sunlight poured in through the windows of the rickety little house, flooding the room on the third landing and illuminating sixteen-year-old Ginny Weasley's face, making her porcelain skin glow and her blazing tresses of ruby-red hair even more strongly akin to fire. It would have been an inspiring sight to see, like the promise of a new beginning, if Ginny hadn't been so downcast that morning.
The reason for her despondency was none other than a certain visitor who was currently staying at the Burrow, a place he had once described as the best house he'd ever been in. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Her brother's best friend and her Quidditch teammate. The Head Boy of Hogwarts. The Master of Obliviousness when it came to Ginny. Wait, scratch that last one. He wasn't oblivious; he only did a good impersonation of it. He knew how she felt about him; how she still clung to her childhood crush on him, how she still held persistently onto a hopeless hope. How could he not know? There's no way he could have missed all her countless tongue-tied stammers and flustered stutters and stolen glances, not to mention the brilliant crimson color her face glowed with every time he was in the same room as her. He had always known, though he had always pretended not to notice. Yes, Ginny was well aware that he tries to be sensitive and careful with other people – you could even put the words awkward and fumbling to him – but surely there's no excuse for being perfectly conscious of someone's love for you and ignoring it, brushing it aside as if it didn't even exist. If she knew someone loved her, she'd treat them right! She had tried to make him love her, or at least notice her, but time after time she failed to prevail. She had given her all and it still wasn't enough, and for that she resented him, as much as you can resent someone you're smitten by. But still she wanted to forgive him. He was too charming and good-hearted to stay angry at, especially for something Ginny knew he hadn't even done on purpose. Yes, he did know that she was head over heels for him, but he couldn't possibly be aware of the depth of her emotions. He didn't know about the ache in her heart and the way her mind cried out for him. Still she waited patiently for him to take notice, and although she kept telling herself that she was waiting for nothing, she just couldn't bring herself to believe it. And this internal struggle was definitely not assuaged by the fact that he was a temporary inhabitant of the very household she lived in. How could she possibly get over him if he was sleeping in the same house as her, eating at the same table as her, de-gnoming in the same garden as her, practicing Quidditch in the same backyard as her? It was almost maddening, how she could be sitting right next to him and know that she could never have him. It had been nearly five years since she first laid eyes on him, and a part of her still refused to accept he didn't love her and never would. She was nothing more than a surrogate sister to him.
And she couldn't even turn to her best friend for comfort. Colin Creevey worshipped the ground his hero walked on and was deaf to any possibility that Harry could have done something insensitive, much less something hurtful. In his eyes, Harry was perfect.
Ginny saw Harry as perfect, too. But the problem was, he wasn't perfect for her. If he were, she wouldn't be staring out of her bedroom window brooding over her broken heart right now.
"What I need," Ginny murmured aloud, "is someone to confide in, someone who notices me for who I really am. They don't have to be perfect. They just have to be perfect for me."
"Pardon?"
Ginny whirled around at the sound of the voice, her face now the same color as the rising sun.
A head with a mop of wildly curly brown hair had poked its way through the door that Ginny had left ajar. "I thought I heard you say something," said Hermione.
"Oh – never mind. I was just thinking out loud."
Hermione grinned a little. "Well, it's almost time to Floo to Diagon Alley. Ready?"
Ginny nodded and followed Hermione out of the room.

* * *

"Wake up, sir! It is time for Master Malfoy to wake up! Master Malfoy must go to Diagon Alley today!"
Draco Malfoy gave a drowsy groan and blinked the sleep from his eyes, letting his weary gaze wander around his bedroom. Someone had pulled back the large, grand emerald-colored curtains, and the sun was radiating through the window in blinding amounts. He lowered his eyes to the scrawny house-elf, named Squinky, who was tugging on his pajama sleeve and urging him to get up.
"For Merlin's sake, I'm up, all right?" he snapped at the house-elf, thrusting his arm out of her grip. "Now get back to the kitchens where you belong, and start making my breakfast."
"Yes, sir," squeaked the house-elf, bowing deeply and scurrying out of the room.
Stretching his tired limbs, Draco sat upright and surveyed himself in the large oval mirror that hung on the wall opposite his bed. He looked an awful mess from sleeping; his usually sleek flaxen hair was tousled and sticking up in various directions, and his wintry grey eyes had yet to adjust to the brightness of the new day, thus reducing them to slits. "Not looking too hot today, are we, dear?" The mirror commented.
"Shut up," Draco mumbled, kicking the bed sheets off of himself and swinging his legs over the side of the bed to get up, knocking over the silver, green, and black pillows that adorned his bed.
In fact, his whole bedroom was lavishly decorated in those three colors. These were Draco's favorite colors. Silver stood for delicate and refined things, and it exemplified Draco, as he wouldn't settle for anything less than the most eye-catching and superior items possible. As a Malfoy, he was drawn to this color; it was the same color that was reflected in his eyes, and even his hair if the light shone on it just right. Green, the color of Slytherin house, epitomized all he was and all he had ever known. Green is the color of snakes and nature, and Draco was a snake by nature. So green represented what he was raised to be and what his destiny was to become. It is also said that green is the color of jealousy, but Draco dismissed this notion. Black was Draco's personal favorite color above all; the way it seemed to soak in all light until there was nothing left but shadows. It signified something deep, secretive, mysterious, and almost frightening that even he couldn't figure out.
Rubbing his eyes, Draco stumbled into his bathroom. A nice warm shower was exactly what he needed to fully wake up. He tugged off his pajamas, twisted the silver shower taps, and stepped under the cascade of water, proceeding to wash every part of his body except for a sore area on his left arm.
This was the place on his arm that the Dark Mark had been branded onto.
He had received the Mark three nights ago, and his arm still ached from it. A cringing sort of shiver ran through him as he remembered that night.

It was the moment Lucius Malfoy had been anticipating for years. His only son was about to be initiated into the select circle of the Dark Lord's strongest supporters.
Draco and Voldemort stood facing eachother, surrounded by a group of Death Eaters who were watching this initiation process intently. Draco was shrouded in a hooded black cloak and a mask, making his smaller stature the only feature that could distinguish him from the rest of the Death Eaters. The expression on his face was concealed by the black hood he wore and also by the obscurity that the moonless night provided, but from the way he remained absolutely motionless, he appeared to be listening with rapt attention to Voldemort's detailed instructions on how to cast the Dark Mark.
"...There can be no turning back now, Draco." Voldemort hissed quietly in conclusion. "Are you prepared for this?"
Draco nodded bracingly and tilted his head up towards the star-peppered sky. He lifted his wand, performing the complicated movements Voldemort had just taught him, and cried out into the stillness:
"Morsmordre!"
The tip of Draco's wand exploded like a firecracker, and neon green stars blasted out from the hazy smoke it had ejected. As the stars ascended into the air, they clustered together to form the shape of an immense, distorted, demonic-looking skull with a great snake protruding from its mouth. The horrible emblem rose higher and higher into the tranquil sky, shining down on the Death Eaters and bathing them in emerald light.
Draco hesitantly turned his head to look at Voldemort's reaction. The skeletal figure nodded approvingly, his crimson eyes glistening with eagerness.
Draco rolled up his left sleeve and turned back to the area in the sky where he had cast the Dark Mark. He drew a deep, shaky breath and raised his wand once more. "Insignio!"
He watched in amazement as one by one, the stars that had composed the Dark Mark descended from the sky. Each one landed on his exposed arm, piercing through his skin like the acute stab of a knife and instantly turning the fierce red color of Voldemort's eyes. Once all the stars had penetrated his arm, they melted together and produced the gruesome shape of the deformed skull with the snake jutting out of its mouth. The freshly applied Mark began to burn so excruciatingly that Draco dropped his wand and sank to the ground, panting heavily and shaking uncontrollably. He fought back the hot tears gathering in his eyes; he refused to let himself cry in front of his father and Voldemort, not to mention all the other Death Eaters.
Voldemort leaned down and lifted Draco's hood with a bony, white hand. "Take a look at those you have now joined, young Death Eater."
Draco raised his head and stared meekly around at the circle of masked Death Eaters that encompassed him. He was one of them now. He could feel all of their eyes upon him, even though he couldn't see their faces. He couldn't even discern which one was his father.
"You now share a common bond with them, Draco." Voldemort continued. "You have promised unswerving allegiance to me this evening. You will forevermore be a faithful servant to me, aiding me in whatever means I use to achieve even greater powers and demonstrating the unquestioning devotion and steadfast obedience that is required of a Death Eater. I expect that you are aware of the dire consequences that would befall you if you were to betray all that you have pledged to tonight. But we don't have to worry about that, do we?"
Voldemort now addressed the group of Death Eaters surrounding him. "With a new Death Eater in our midst, I must emphasize the importance of loyalty to the Dark Mark and everything it stands for. It is my hope that each and every one of you will serve as an example for young Draco to follow." The Death Eaters nodded dutifully, though they remained silent.
Voldemort turned once more to the boy on the ground beside him, and his thin lips curled into a sinister smile. "May your loyalty never falter."
"Never, my Lord." Draco vowed swiftly, his voice hushed and quavering from beneath his hood, as he knelt before the ghostly figure of Voldemort. "Never will I betray you."

And then he, Draco Malfoy, the son of one of the most prominent and trusted members of the Inner Circle, received his first task as a Death Eater, which was to be carried out throughout his seventh year at Hogwarts. Draco had prepared himself to be given some big, important task that would guarantee becoming one of Voldemort's most honored Death Eaters. But no, he had been instructed to, of all things imaginable, keep an eye on Ginny Weasley throughout the school year. Draco couldn't believe his ears when he'd heard that. What's that supposed to mean, "keep an eye on Ginny Weasley"?! Draco thought indignantly, fuming inwardly at this as he recalled the night of his initiation. He ran his fingers through his white-blonde hair, rinsing out the residue of shampoo in it. What's the fun of being a Death Eater if my only assignment is to spend my time watching some Muggle-loving bint? I should be performing tortures on the little brat, not babysitting her! And to add insult to injury, he wasn't even informed of the reasons behind this so-called mission.
Turning off the water, Draco stepped out of the shower and into a green bathrobe, with fresh waves of irritation still breaking out over him at the thought of his unpleasant assignment. As he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, combing his hair until not a single strand was out of place, he surmised that perhaps if he fulfilled his duty to the best of his abilities, it wouldn't be long before he was trusted with a more suitable task. But how could he admirably execute this task if he wasn't even sure of what exactly he was supposed to do? Was he supposed to actually make conversation with the little weasel, or just watch her from afar? Was he supposed to befriend her (he shuddered violently at this thought), or would that arouse too much suspicion? Nothing had been specified.
Draco completed his morning routine by brushing his teeth and getting dressed, and then he headed down to the dining room for breakfast.
Narcissa was already there when he arrived, sitting in one of the ornately carved high-backed chairs staring into a cup of black coffee. She looked up and smiled lovingly at him when he entered.
"Mum, remember that assignment I got the night I became a Death Eater?" Draco asked, slumping into his seat and spearing a sausage with his fork. "What exactly did Voldemort mean by that? Do you think if I do it right, I won't get any more stupid assignments like that?" Catching himself, he hastily looked over his shoulder to make sure that Lucius hadn't overheard him calling any of Voldemort's plots stupid. He sighed in relief when he was assured that his father was nowhere in sight.
"I don't know, Draco. Your father never talks to me about these things, so I know only as much as you do." Narcissa answered.
That took care of the only subject Draco was interested in discussing, so he consumed the remainder of his breakfast in silence. Narcissa watched her son, thinking of how he looks so much like his father that it's almost eerie.
When Draco stood up to leave, Narcissa asked, "You're going to Floo to Diagon Alley, right?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Mum, I told you before, it's much easier to just Apparate."
Narcissa frowned – that is to say, the ever-present frown on her face deepened. "And I told you before that I don't think it's safe for you to go around Apparating without a license. It's too much of a giveaway; Aurors are patrolling places like Diagon Alley more than ever now, searching for Death Eaters to arrest."
"Nobody would be able to figure out that the Dark Lord taught me how to Apparate." Draco insisted. "Honestly, Mum, do you do anything but worry about me?" With a popping sound, Draco Disapparated out of the dining room, exiting coldly on that line.

* * *

Ginny shuffled behind Ron, Harry, and Hermione as they made their way through the crowded, bustling streets of Diagon Alley. She pulled miserably at the collar of her robes. The August weather was so hot it felt oppressive. Ron and Harry were sniggering over some joke she must have missed, and Hermione was marching alongside the pair of boys, already immersed in her brand-new copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7. Ginny had to grin a little at this; no wonder Hermione had been named Head Girl! She was sure that Hermione and Harry would make an unbeatable duo together as Head Girl and Head Boy, and this thought made a slight pang of jealousy twist within her core.
Ginny had been trailing in the shadow of these three inseparable friends all morning and afternoon, feeling more like a stalker than someone who belonged with them, and cursing herself for allowing herself to put up with this humiliating exclusion. Finally, she wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand and made up her mind.
"Guys, I'm going to do some shopping of my own," she announced. Three vague "okay"s answered her.
Huffily, she turned on her heel and stomped off towards Quality Quidditch Supplies. Mrs. Weasley had given Ginny a handful of money for her to spend however she wished, and Ginny knew exactly what she wanted to do with it. She was fed up with using a school broom in Quidditch games and practice meets just because she couldn't afford one of her own. It was near impossible to fly to the best of her skills if she was stuck on an old, shabby broom that was intended for the First Years to practice flying on, not to mention how embarrassing it felt and how ridiculous she looked. Even Ron, who was the Keeper on the Quidditch team, had managed to have his own broom; he had joined the team a year before Ginny, and Fred and George had given him some of the prize money that Harry had given them the previous year to buy him a broomstick. But Ginny had joined the team after Fred and George had graduated Hogwarts; she had taken their place as one of the Beaters. Even the ancient broomstick she was forced to use couldn't entirely hinder the talent she possessed on the Quidditch field. Just hand her a broomstick and a Beater's club and she'd be unstoppable. In her element.
Ginny had adored flying ever since that day in her fourth year that Ron had let her ride his Nimbus 2000 for fun. She realized that flying offered an escape mechanism for her; when her feet left the Earth, so did her mind and spirit. She was separate from the rest of the world, free to glide among the clouds and skim over the tops of trees; she could go wherever she wanted, and even be whomever she wanted. She knew right then and there that joining the Quidditch team was a way she could prove her worth to everyone who had so politely advised her not to attempt something that would result in her making a fool of herself. So in her fifth year, she tried out for the position of Beater. Before her audition in front of the Gryffindor team, she was nervous and tense with anxiety, but as soon as she'd mounted her broomstick, there was no denying her natural flair for soaring in the air and whacking Bludgers like there's no tomorrow.
Ah, flying, thought Ginny contentedly as she swung open the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies, the one love in my life that's never let me down!
She stopped short when she entered the store, staggered by the sight that met her eyes. An enormous pedestal had been set up in the middle of the store, and positioned on it was the most fabulous broomstick that Ginny had ever set eyes on. She had heard about this broom, though she had never seen one up close.
It was a Skysplitter, a state-of-the-art broomstick whose speed, precision, and balance was said to top even the Firebolt. Those who could afford a Skysplitter knew that it was the most superb racing broom available in all of the wizarding world.
In total awe, Ginny approached the pedestal and strolled around it, taking the time to admire the Skysplitter from every angle. Every inch of the broom was so elaborately polished that it looked as if it would slip from her hands if she were to pick it up, and the fine twigs that made up the tail were honed so flawlessly that they seemed beyond smooth. It would, without a doubt, be an absolute dream to ride. She didn't even bother to check the price; it was obvious that she'd never be able to afford such a top-quality broomstick in a million years.
She was just marveling at the perfect curve of the handle when an ice-cold voice shook her out of her reverie. "Goodness, Weasley, don't you know that it's useless to pine after something you know you can't have? I thought you would've learned that by now, after all those years of chasing after Potter..."
Caught off-guard, Ginny's head snapped up, and she watched wordlessly as Draco Malfoy snatched the Skysplitter off of the pedestal and started to examine it carefully, admiring it the way she had just done. She noticed that he didn't bother checking its price, either, but for the opposite reason that she hadn't done so. The Malfoys practically had gold coming out of their ears, and the idea that money could be an issue for them was preposterous.
"Speaking of Potter, where is he? Surely he accompanied your family to Diagon Alley, since he doesn't have a proper family of his own?" Draco continued spitefully, still lazily scrutinizing the Skysplitter. "Oh, that's right, he doesn't want you around. Probably can't stand the sight of you. Not that I blame him."
Ginny's blood boiled at his nasty remarks, but she refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing that he had struck a nerve. As she watched him rotate the broomstick slowly in his hands, shamelessly flaunting it right under her nose, she shot back, "If you think that having a better broomstick is going to make you a better Seeker, Malfoy, you're sadly mistaken. Money doesn't buy everything, you know."
"That may be true," Draco drawled with a condescending chuckle, "but money could buy you a decent set of robes, which is something you're in desperate need of." He glanced up from the Skysplitter to let his chilly eyes flick over her second-hand robes, and immediately wished he hadn't. My, did that little Weasel grow up over the summer! Those may be second-hand robes, but she sure fills them out quite nicely! He tried to think of another scathing insult to throw at Ginny, but he was too distracted by the new light he was seeing her in to get his mind back on its usual track.
Ginny thought he was staring at the shiny badge pinned to her chest. "Yes, Malfoy, I'm a Prefect this year. Surprised?"
The sound of her voice snapped Draco back to his Malfoy instincts. "Actually, yes, I am," he sneered, raising his stormy silver eyes to meet her intense bronze ones. "I highly doubt you can handle that responsibility. You have about as much backbone as you have money."
Ginny's face flared with fury and shame. "Well, I don't see you being trusted with any important responsibilities! And I do too have a backbone, I just don't get mine from tearing other people down and acting like I'm above everyone else!"
Trembling with rage, she turned her back to Draco and strode off to another part of the store, as far away from him as possible. That was all I needed! A stand-off with that bit of slime, what a wonderful way to finish off this wonderful day!
After silently counting to ten to calm herself down, she shook her head free of all Malfoy-related thoughts and stared forlornly into the tiny sack of money that her mother had given her. Sighing, she determined that she wouldn't be able to buy a broomstick that was much better than the school broomstick she used. Trying to look as discreet as possible, she picked up a Firefly from a stand at the back of the room and made her way to the counter.
"A Firefly?" Draco called loudly from across the shop, his eyes glittering cruelly with malice. "Those were popular around the time I got my Hogwarts acceptance letter, I believe."
Ignoring his taunts, Ginny handed over her minuscule bit of money in exchange for the outmoded broom. Before she exited Quality Quidditch Supplies, she glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Draco at the counter, purchasing the coveted Skysplitter. He was so pale and unfeeling that Ginny briefly wondered if ice flowed through his veins rather than blood.
She shoved open the door and stormed out, still gritting her teeth over their run-in. How did he know just what it took to infuriate her? How did he notice her weaknesses in time to manipulate them against her by firing a rotten insult at her? He knew exactly how to gnash at her nerves more than anyone she'd ever met, and the fact that she possessed the infamous Weasley temper only assisted his campaign to aggravate her. The words that Hagrid had once spoken about the Malfoys came back to her: "No Malfoy's worth listenin' to." Never was a truer word spoken! Ginny vowed to herself that this year, she wouldn't let Draco get under her skin. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of letting him put her down. She wasn't going to waste her time even thinking about him, ever again.
But little did she know that fate had a different plan for her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed Chapter One! This is my very first multi-chaptered D/G fic, and the overall plot of it is kind of a combination of some theories I've been considering. I had so much fun writing this, especially the Draco scenes. In the next chapter, we'll get insight on how Tom Riddle's diary affected Ginny, and also Ginny will learn that there's more to the Malfoys than she thought, as well as some other stuff, so I hope you'll stay tuned. Reviews are always welcome and would be greatly appreciated, so please let me know what you think. A major "thank you" goes out to Kathy for encouraging me to not give up on writing this, to Kimmy for sharing my love of fanfictions and having wonderful discussions about Draco with me, and to everyone in the D/G Club at Cinescape for your kindness and support and inspiration and, of course, your insanity. ;) Pineapples forever!

Disclaimer: The characters in this story were created by J.K. Rowling. I don't own them (though I occasionally borrow Draco when she's not looking), nor is any money being made from this fic. And the lyrics at the top of the page are from a brilliant Joni Mitchell song.