This story takes place after the war at Hogwart's during the seventh book, except Voldemort is not killed. That is the biggest change that I can give out without ruining this fanfic, other pieces you'll pick up as you go. Now read on and enjoy, any review would be much appreciated so thanks in advance!

Disclaimer | I own nothing except these words and the ideas in my head. All characters and original story line belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 1 | Cold Brown Eyes

It wasn't right, the way he looked at her like that. She couldn't look away though. Couldn't bring herself to take her eyes off of his cold brown ones. Oh yes, they were cold. Cold and hard and dead. It wasn't right, the way he looked at her like that. It was all wrong in fact. There was no laughter. No last moment of happiness that got caught there in the in-between, there in that moment where he was taking in his last bit of air and letting out his final breath. But then again there was no pain or fear, just stoic understanding. He was strong. God, he was strong. So maybe, just maybe, there was a little right in all that wrong of his final gaze.

Slowly the girl reached forward with a shaky hand, a shaky hand that she despised for showing how much more weak she was than him, and gently, lovingly, shut the boy's eyes for the last time. That final look was for her and she was selfish, no one else would be allowed to see what she had just seen. No one.

The air was stiff, so stiff that people could hardly push through it. It was too crowded with the cold winter winds, the tension, and the unbelievable grief. Today was the day of the funeral. His funeral. The boy with the cold brown eyes. This was not a funeral where people celebrated life. This was a funeral that people dread to hear announced. The kind of funeral that find mothers heaving in front of a six foot deep hole, find fathers in closets with flasks of fire. This was the kind of funeral that buried not only a body but unfulfilled dreams as well. The girl dropped a small white stone into the grave and with a tip-tap it hit the top of the coffin. That was not all the girl dropped, but the tears made no noise. Today was the day of the funeral. His funeral. The boy with the cold brown eyes. And still the world spun on.

Days passed. The girl began to breathe normally again. Weeks passed. The girl managed to smile. Months passed. The girl would laugh. A year passed. She was scarred deep but she was alive again. She was growing from girl to woman. Two years passed and she was able to push him out of her mind until she went to bed at night and was left with his cold brown eyes haunting her dreams.

Sunday, her day off. She disregarded the clock on her wall as she lazily stretched her legs in bed. This was the day she craved for as soon as Monday started. There was nothing to do on Sundays. No obligations. No meetings. No calls. No nothing. And then knock-knock-knock. She didn't move. She had been expecting no one. Just as she made up her mind that she would not answer, there it was again, but louder, knock-knock-knock. Again the fancy of ignoring the caller struck her but she couldn't help but be curious.

"Coming!" she called as she slid out of bed and draped a soft cotton robe around her slim body. She didn't have time to do much else with her appearance and quickly made her way to her door – down the hall, sharp left, through the kitchen, into the entry and with a turn of the front door's handle…

"Malfoy."

"That's it? 'Malfoy?'" He was staring at her through silver eyes.

Silence. What could she say? "Malfoy."

"Draco, if you don't mind."

"I… What?" She was baffled. There really were no other words for it. She hadn't seen him since the funeral. Even then she never understood why he had shown up. He had stood at the edge, simply taking the scene in – watching, nothing more. He had shed no tears, of that she was sure, she had taken special care in observing him that day. It was an observation that she didn't understand why she was undertaking in and later explained it to herself as morbid curiosity.

This time he did not respond, simply looked right at her, one blonde eyebrow cocked up as he waited for her to continue. She did not and he coughed in expectation.

Still no words came out until, without meaning to, "Would you like some tea?"

"Ah, she speaks. Yes please, a Sunday tea sound marvelous." He carefully walked around her and into the kitchen, leaving her by the open door in shock. Shaking her head she closes the door and follows his lead through her house.

While the tea brewed, the young woman changed and as she combed out her long hair it gave her a moment to think. But she didn't even know where to begin to think. There was no reasonable clause as to what brought Draco Malfoy of all people back into her life, into her home. She hardly even used magic outside of her job anymore. It wasn't necessary to live off of and drew unwanted attention. Magic was part of the reason why her Sunday was ruined.

As she heard the kettle whistle loudly at her she snapped back into the real world and strolled into the kitchen where Draco was lounging back in his chair reading the Daily Prophet. It was a meaningless issue. Nothing but ads for dress robes with a front cover picture of Viktor Krum flying around a Quidditch pitch. It was all meaningless now though. Frilly articles day after day after week after week. She was yet to decide if it was because there truly was nothing to report or if the Daily Prophet had long been bought off by someone. That was her job at the moment. But she didn't want to think about work. Not now. Not with Draco in her kitchen with his feet on her table.

Speaking of Draco, he looked up at the woman expectantly, waiting wordlessly for her to finish scrutinizing what was happening in front of her. He cocked his eyebrow again. It must be a habit. The girl shook her head and turned to pour the tea. It was steaming. Steaming like the shower she would have gotten to take had he not barged in on her life today. One cup at a time she filled – one with a chipped handle for her and another with silver trim for him. She set out cream and sugar and took a seat and in that moment she realized two things. One, he had shown up with some sort of plan and she had already fallen into part of it by allowing him in. And two, this was her last chance to keep him from manipulating her.

Manipulation. She was familiar with this term. It was why he was gone. She was naïve back then. Young. A word that most would still call her. Young. A foreign word now. In fact everyone in her year at school would agree. Another realization, one that sickened her, it was that her generation was more aware of manipulation than what youth meant. What it was like to be carefree for more than just a moment. She shook away the cynical thoughts that often seemed to prod at the edges of her mind, trying to bury themselves deep into its crevices.

A smile. A forced smile of course, but a smile. He returned it. Or slightly. Draco doesn't smile. He was notorious for his cold demeanor. Polite perhaps, but cold. Even in school, even now. Always.

"So Draco," She paused, she not only was struggling with words but she struggled getting his first name out. It felt strange on her tongue, a different language almost. Only almost, she moved on. "What brings you to this side of London? Your manor is rumored to be quite on the opposite of town."

He took his time answering, turning the words over in his mind. He took a sip of tea, let it run down his throat before he let the words run up it. "Business. I have clients all over the world and certainly throughout all of London, your side included."

He was diplomatic. He would wait for the right moment to show his hand. That was fine with her, she was confident she could get it out quicker than he would like. "Yes I suppose that would make sense. But what doesn't make sense to me is that it is Sunday and I am neither a current client nor a prospective client. I doubt it is only my company that brings you to my house today. That time has long come and gone." That was a time she tried very hard to forget about, the awkward years of dating at Hogwart's. Any former student would share the same opinions of their own dating experiences during the school years.

"You never were patient. But you've always been clever." He looked her over and bit his lower lip, an old worry habit that must have carried on into adulthood, "You're right, I came with a little more in mind than small talk and tea. I… I don't like asking for help you know. I'm lousy at it."

The woman laughed and nodded in agreement. "It's true, you never did figure it out." She grew serious and slowly stirred her tea, adding a bit of sugar. "You have everything Draco. I have just enough to get by with just a bit left for something I want here and there. I have no idea how I would help you." She knew he was here for ulterior motives but the word 'help' was the last thing she ever expected to fall out of his lips.

He nodded his head slowly, he was taking in her words. Digesting them. He nodded again, even more slowly. "I don't need anything from you. Not in that sense at least. No. it's different. It's complicated. I think I have a way to change it Ginny. A way to erase what happened. He wouldn't die. Fred wouldn't have to. He'd be here. As soon as we finished. Right here. In this kitchen. Waiting for you and tea. You could live again. Not the way you have been either. But really, truly living."

Ginny was shaking her head, "No, no… stop it Draco. It's over, it's done. Magic doesn't bring back the dead. Nothing brings back the dead. I can't belie-"

She didn't have a chance to finish. Draco had put his hand over her mouth, holding it tight so words couldn't wiggle their way out of loose fingers. He was more excited than Ginny had ever seen him, more animated and warm than he had ever been during the short time they had been together. He gave her a genuine smile and pulled something out of his pocket. Then he whispered the four words that had the power to change everything, "The last time turner."

Chapter 2 | First Glance

Ginny couldn't move. Every eye was on her. Every face was pointed in her direction. She swallowed hard, so hard she feared her tongue would go down too. Or maybe she hoped it would, that way she could choke until she was blue. Choke until it was all over. Then she felt a nudge, it was Draco, she heard him telling her to stop being dramatic and go sit on the stupid stool because she had done it all before anyway. He was right of course but it was nearly impossible for her. She knew he was out there in the crowd watching her, she could feel his icy eyes prickling her skin. Or maybe she was just being dramatic.

Taking a deep breath she managed to get her left foot to peel itself up off the ground and then the right and left again. Time went on forever and after what must have been an eternity she finally slipped down onto the small stool, the same stool that would be there years into the future. Then, just as the hat was lowered on her head, she saw him. Eye contact. Confusion on his side, fear on hers. Then it was black and silent. And silent it remained for nearly five minutes until…

"Ginevra Colmane. Or, should I say, Ginevra Molly Weasley. You're quite out of order you know. You should be amongst the very last to be sorted and I don't just mean amongst these students. But I'm just an old hat, what can I do?"

To be continued…