She's by the lake, her scarlet hair pinned up into a messy little bun. The moonlight is unstable as it shifts back and forth between the clouds, rays of silver straying across the sprawling grounds. Ginny Weasley is sitting cross legged, chin in her hands, chocolate eyes glittering with something I can't quite put my finger on.

But something makes me want to, so I approach her, quietly, cautiously, the way a lion tamer approaches a wildcat.

"Hey, Weasley," I say casually, sitting down beside her. I'm careful not to make eye contact with her and stare aimlessly into the lake. The summer night shimmers with heat and the lake ripples silently.

"Hey, Malfoy," she replies, mimicking my tone precisely. I glance at her and see that she has propped herself back onto her elbows, hair cascading down her shoulders. Her eyes are closed and the sliver moonbeams play with her features, making her seem older and younger at the same time.

"I saw you today," Ginny continues. Her eyes are still closed and her lashes flicker briefly. Her voice is soft and soothing after the screaming and cursing of the day. "I cursed Rookwood and you were right behind him. Did you see me?"

"No," I tell her honestly, entranced by the way her skin glows under the moon.

She laughs, a low, rich sound. It's indescribable. "I didn't think so. I'm good at not being seen when I don't want to be."

I don't say anything because there is nothing to say. I pick a flower from the moist ground, its leaves fragile under my callused fingers.

"Do you remember me, Malfoy?"

I look at her, surprised, and it must show in my face because she laughs again. "I remember you," she confesses. "Rich and arrogant, always making fun of Harry. Then there was today."

Her face scrunches up as though not sure what to think. "There was something off about you today," Ginny continues. "Something wrong. What was it?"

"I don't know. Tell me, Weasley, what gives you the right to sit here and analyze me?"

Te words aren't angry. Just curious and maybe a little desperate.

Her eyes open and she turns her head to look at me. "I give myself the right," Ginny answers softly. "I survived today, Malfoy. I earned the right to do a lot of things."

"Maybe it was the fear."

Her eyebrows arch in a curious gesture of childhood. Not the gesture, I think to myself. The way she does it. "Excuse me?"

"Maybe it was the fear," I repeat. I begin picking the leaves off the flower as I speak. My hands are shaking and I need something to do with them. "You've never seen me afraid, have you, Weasley?"

She shakes her head, lips slightly parted. "No."

"Then maybe that was it. Fear. I was scared today, Weasley. Terrified, actually." My hands shake harder and I pluck the leaves off faster. "Lord Voldemort once threatened me and told me that if I didn't do his bidding, my family would suffer for it. You know that, of course. Don't you?"

"Yes."

I drop the flower into my lap and turn to look at her, really look at her. "You'd do anything for your family, wouldn't you?"

The answer comes quieter this time. "Yes."

"So would I."

"And today…"

I watch her. She's listening, I realize. No one's ever been willing to listen before. "And today I saw him again. I panicked. I'm sure my father told him that I stayed behind because I wanted to catch Potter. Truth is, Weasley, I don't give a rat's arse about Potter." I stare at her, willing her to understand. "I just didn't want to go with him."

"You said his name," Ginny tells me. "Death Eaters don't do that."

I return to picking at the flower. Suddenly, I shake the sleeve of my robes up to show her my Mark. "See this? This is never going to leave, not ever. It's always going to be on my skin, in my heart, on my mind. His will is etched onto my soul."

Her fingers clasp my wrist as I return to the flower. "Stop."

I let her tug me towards the damaged Greenhouses and I trail my fingers over the wooden frame of the door to 5. Once, in my second year, Blaise Zabini and I dared each other to ask Daphne Greengrass out and her anger when she had found out had resulted in a tiny burn mark on the frame, the evidence of a missed spell. Hogwarts is also etched onto my soul.

"See this flower, Malfoy?" Ginny grabs my hand and turns it over, her lithe fingers plucking the flower from my palm. "It grows where you leave it. So you can yank it from the root but if you put it in somewhere new, like here," she places it in a tiny patch of soil, "then it'll grow."

I stare at the replanted flower and the wet spots where juice has flown from the broken off leaves. "I've never seen that flower before."

"It's you, Malfoy."

"What's me?"

Ginny gestures to the tiny flower, limp in the moonlight. "That flower is you."

"What, purple and spiky," I ask in a bitter imitation of my old self.

She smiles and it's been ages since I've seen someone smile. "No, Malfoy. You are the flower. You might have come from Death Eaters but you can leave and thrive somewhere else. Voldemort might always be a part of you, but so will this castle. You must have some good memories. Everyone does. Beneath the torture and killing and lack of warmth, you must have something."

"My family isn't like yours," I tell her. I have to get rid of it. I have to get rid of it, the poisonous scars that have plagued me since I was old enough to remember breathing. "My parents loved me but they showed it differently. They bought me expensive toys and told me I was better than everyone else."

"I can imagine."

I glance at her sharply but her face is guileless and honest. Relaxing, I continue, "They took me to all these parties and charities. It was all about the image; the way we were feared in society. I knew exactly how rich I was before I turned seven; I knew exactly how well bred by nine."

"You were never innocent."

"No," I agree. "I always knew about the Death Eaters and crazy Aunt Bella and so much dark magic it would make your head spin. But I also thought it was normal."

"I used to think it was normal to have six older brothers and that all little girls liked Quidditch and racing and playing in the mud."

We lock eyes for a second. Then I smile. "I guess we were both wrong."

"Yeah."

"What you said about the flower…"

"I meant it."

"I know." I stare down at her, searching her face for answers to half formed questions. "How can you look so stable after everything that's happened today?"

"I'm not. I'm shattered. I've lost so much, Malfoy. I've lost too much. Family, friends…" she trails off and ducks her head and I can tell her eyes are brimming with tears. A protective instinct wells up inside me and it shocks me. "Time heals all. It's never going to stop hurting but I have to move on. It's what..it's what they'd want."

"Is it always so easy? Just…move on?"

"It's never easy. But you can't live with your head in the past. The memories I have…they're like Hogwarts, Malfoy. Good memories and bad ones and just everyday ones but I will treasure every single one, because I lived them and survived them with my family and friends. That's what matters."

I tuck a curl of tangled red hair behind her ear and my fingers brush against her cheek. "Why are you being so nice to me? I never was like that to you."

"You're being nice now."

I consider this. "I've lost too much and learned too much," I phrase carefully, "to give a damn about someone's blood or how much money have."

"There you go. I think, after today, everyone from every house, is just tired of fighting. There's no point. It's over. Here's to moving on, Malfoy."

She raises her chin and smiles bravely at me and in her eyes I can see every emotion I'm feeling and every train of thought crossing my mind. The questions and confusion and pain and regret…

..and the relief and satisfaction and exhausted victory…

"Thanks, Weasley," I say and my voice cracks. She just smiles that same sad, brave smile of someone who has gone through too much pain and hatred in her lifetime to hold grudges and in her smile, I can see myself, and in her big brown eyes, I see my reflection.

I'm not the person I once was but its okay; I don't want to be that person anymore.

I realize she's right; Ginevra Molly Weasley is absolutely right. Nobody who lived through this could ever keep up the hatred and anger that landed them here. I think that, everyone, everyone, is well on their way to moving on.

I lower my head to hers and kiss her.

She tastes like hope.

A/N: I've never written anything like this before. That is, having to do with the war. So please share your thoughts. Thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.