Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I think you all know the drill.

A/N: I'm a quietly militant D/G shipper, but got sick of all the fluffy romances and decided to write a fic with a slightly darker side. Anyways, this is unbetaed, and in the need for a re-write. Enjoy.

Warnings: This fic is an M... I think. R-rated anyways on the old system. This is due to some pretty strong language and at some points a bit of violence. Er, D/G?


Chapter One

Ginny had never got chance at Apparation training at school. Nor, whenever she had a spare moment (whatever they were), enquired into getting some lessons. Molly begged and begged, often to the point of tears, trying to persuade her daughter to at least try, telling her over and over again that the skies and Floo were far too dangerous for someone to be travelling through these days.

At this, Ginny simply smiled and thought about what her mother's face would do if she were informed that her only daughter had been flying, alone, at night, these past six months, all the way to her home.

It's fate. I'm not meant to Apparate, Mum!

But the truth was that there was always someone there who could Apparate her to safety – her brothers, Hermione, Luna… Harry… She was always with them when the need for disappearing quickly cropped up. And, although no one came even close to admitting, if anyone really wanted you, an anti-Apparation charm net would be over the you, the house, the street, minutes before you knew anything…

As she sat in her little office in London, ignoring the inter-departmental memo's soaring and crashing above her head, travelling was the very last thing on her mind. Resisting the urge to send periodical burst of flames above her head to finally halt the flocks of paper was a slightly higher priority. When she had arrived this morning at quarter past nine, there were already swarms in the lifts and a nice welcome committee of them, waiting for her as she plonked herself down into her chair behind her desk. As time passed however, there was barely a flutter as the odd, last pieces of paper made their way to their rightful owners.

Ginny glanced at her watch.

8.35

Shit.

Contrary to her childhood memories, summer evenings really did not last very long. It was early August and already the night was sweeping in earlier and earlier, the uncharacteristic hiccup of actual good weather tricking her into thinking otherwise. While the windows around her still depicted cornfield blue skies and cotton wool clouds, the world outside was likely to be more of a navy variety…

Within seven and half minutes, she had dived into a closing lift and began jabbing the surface button repeatedly.

Why is there always a door open button, but never a doors close button? Why?

After what seemed a lifetime, the golden doors glided shut and Ginny felt her self ascend to the world above. The warm lights reminded her of the sleep she longed owed her body and she made a mental note (while checking in the mirrors if she had anything in her teeth) to go straight to bed.

It was rather disconcerting to be the only one travelling in the elevator, no matter what time of day. Ginny enjoyed the room, twirling around once or twice and checking that she didn't have anything stuck on her face or clothes. Her last visit to the Twin's shop had been a week or two ago, but she was always slightly wary of her appearance afterwards.

A chime, a low grumble and the fountain was in front of her. Here at least there were some humans walking around. A few nodded at her politely as she passed. She glanced up as she walked across the Atrium, and saw only the gilded symbols in ceiling awash with shade. Everyday she promised herself she'd find out what they really meant, how they worked…

Luckily, her shoes were not the only ones clipping the floor. Several workers were Apparating around her, their pops merely adding to the noises that the fountain was making. The fireplace's weren't exactly deserted either, now she looked – people coming and going on both sides. Returning home or to the graveyard shift…

"Ginny! Hey, Gin, wait!"

She turned around, instantly recognising the voice. It was Ron, running towards her, though when he realised a lot of people were staring he toned it down to a slow jog. Despite this, he grinned as he drew up to her. By the arrival fireplaces, someone – who had obviously arrived with Ron – waved at her. She gave a half-hearted return, not entirely sure who it was.

"Ron!" A brief hug. This could possibly be the worse time to see a blood relative when all she wanted to do was fly alone, at night, all the way home. "Erm, hi. Wha-What are you doing here?"

Smile. Just smile.

How she missed the day her brother's love and trust could be brought with a few Chocolate Frogs…

"Oh nothing much. I was sent to see you and Dad among other things." He grinned. But then returned to his, obviously fake, business tone. "He's been working late, again. And I've been given the honourable task of making sure you take more secure routes home."

Ginny rolled her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "What makes Mum think I'm not?"

"Well," Ron started, and repressing a groan, Ginny knew instinctively it would be a colourful rendition… "We were sitting in the kitchen – me, Mum, Bill and Hermione – and Mum was looking at the clock. Which made me check the time, nearly nine at night. Your hand was on 'Travelling' for like… eleven minutes. And then Mum said-" his pitch went higher "-That girl spends too long travelling." Cough. "So Bill said 'I bet she's flying-'"

Oh crap.

Ron was watching her face very carefully. Ginny took a chance and grinned easily, pinching his cheek. "Yeah I get it Ronnikins. Relax – you can tell Mum I'm not flying home. I was probably walking a lot."

She could tell that Ron knew she was lying. If her voice sounded half as fake as she thought it, he'd see right through her.

But he simply shrugged, loosing his playful demeanour. "I don't mind, Gin. But if I hear you're doing it in winter-"

The beginning of a temper began to flare. A flock of worrying, nosey and annoying brothers were the last thing she needed, on top of the weekly earfuls she was getting from her moth. "Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? What are you going to do? Tell Dad!"

Ron scowled. Perhaps it was what she said, or perhaps it was the way her voice raised dangerously. "Would you listen to him?"

No.

Ginny sighed and rubbed her face, feeling the tensions behind her forehead ready to explode. This is why she flew home – not for the thrills, and certainly not for the views – but for the way that the wind whipped away all other thoughts except getting from one place to another. Everything was so simple up there. There was basically no room for anything else.

When she opened her eyes, Ron was looking as sheepish as she felt. She gave him a reassuring smile. "Ok, fine. No more flying. I wasn't going to – I don't even have a broom on me!"

And, ignoring the slightly curious looks she was getting, she muttered goodbye, walked away and removing her Ministry tags; she pulled the door shut on one of the visitor exits.

Thank you for visiting the Ministry of Magic. We trust you had an enjoyable time.

Too used to the message, and too tired to think of anything original to say back at it, Ginny walked out into the street without a word.

Almost immediately after she left the dilapidated telephone box, she tightened her coat. Warm days, they might be, but warm evenings they were not. Avoiding the bit of traffic at the end of the street, and making her way around the remains of the day's market, the distance between her and a designated flying spot lessened.

Above, the cloud mottled, darkening sky called to her.


Draco put out a cigarette by chucking it inside a flowerpot and returned his gaze to the horizon.

Not that you could see much.

He exhaled through his nose. Might stop the damned thing from freezing off. Even though he was wearing his best new summer cloak, he hadn't expected to be mooching around in some person's garden at dusk, staring into the sky.

They were miles and miles away from the city, almost in the country, and yet the vile, repulsive glow of Muggle London could still be seen. The caustic yellow filled up the sky, ate up all the stars and yet didn't manage to light the sky. Behind him and the house, the sun had set about fifteen minutes ago. The heavens above him varied from a diluted periwinkle to indigo… or at least they would if that damned city wasn't there. But where he could see the blue, that wasn't interrupted by cloud or pollution, it seemed so endless and clear…

To his right, his companion hopped from one foot to another.

Draco watched him for as long as it took to confirm that the movement was excitement rather than an urge to keep warm.

"You know this is fucking sick, Hearne."

Another hop. "Whatever. Irony, Malfoy, look it up. And anyway - I need some fun in my younger days." He turned with grin, barely illuminated by the dieing light. "We're not all veterans."

Something wiggled in his stomach. "You're three years older than me," he muttered subversively.

"You know what I mean."

A surge of insults and replies entered his head so fast that the best option seemed to get out another cigarette.

Hearne brought out his own pack, rattled it and chuckled when he discovered there was only one left.

"You got a light?"

Draco stared at him for a moment, then brought out his wand.

"Ever seen one of these?" he asked, waving the object around around. Lazy git.

"Can't conjure flames all that well. Dunno why. C'mon, Malfoy. It's a friggin' light."

How on earth did he manage to become a Deatheater? Draco then leant forward and lit it with the biggest flame he could create. A burning tower of blue fire shot up and rippled about seven feet their heads. The cigarette had disappeared, disintegrated most likely, along with some of Hearne's eyebrows.

"Twat! You bloody twat!" Hearne hissed, his volume of speech making it more like a suppressed scream. "That could be seen for miles!"

"Oh I am sorry. I didn't realise." Draco bit his lip and poked Hearne in the chest with his wand at the same time. "Do you think we'll get in trouble with the Ministry? Gosh, do you reckon any Muggles saw?"

Hearne batted away the wand. "Piss off. You know they were due five minutes ago. They could have seen that." Several plants and flowerpots were kicked viciously. "Twat!"

Draco would not be sorry to have to call the whole damned night off. He waited for the Terrible Flower Kicker to calm down. "I don't understand why we have to do it like this. If you want to show off you're flying at least do it where your girlfriend can see you. I bet she's at home now, thinking what a brave boy you are-"

"For the last time, she's not my girlfriend!"

Yeah right. "Fine then. Why can't we just do what works? As much as I love this… idea, Avada Kedavra has had some previous testing, I hear, and it appears to work."

His voice fell on deaf ears, and the irregular little jumps became a full-blown dance. "She's here!"

Sure enough, from the southwest and to the right of him, a figure was slowly emerging from that yellow cloud, nipping from one bank of cloud to another. She, whoever they really were, remained in sight for barely a second or two before disappearing. Merlin new how this git could have seen that. At a glance the shape might have passed as a rather large blackbird but with every passing moment, its proportions became too wrong for any animal.

Hearne grabbed the broom leaning against the shed, stole Draco's cigarette from out of his mouth and mounted as he ran up the garden. "See you later, prick!"

Draco, minus his cigarette, watched the larger figure skirt the hedgerows beneath the flying figure for what could have been miles, but were merely seconds, and begin to sweep up behind. He was loathe to join in, aside from the fact that Hearne would be even more annoying if anyone, especially Draco Malfoy, tried to muscle their way into his prize. Hearne always wanted solo trips – which no one would grant him, unsurprisingly – so made do with the next best thing: doing all the work himself. Which Draco had absolutely no problem with.

At the moment, his comrade had disappeared, not even the slightest flicker betrayed his whereabouts.

Instead of finding a broom for himself, he simply chose to amble down the lawn, following path his partner had created in the early dew, continuing when the other set of footprints disappeared. A golden moon, not quite full, was beginning to rise of the yellow smoke.

There was short wall at the bottom of garden, which separated this wilderness from some fields. After treading over some vegetation – he couldn't possibly call them flowers – he swung himself onto it and made himself comfortable. Everything would unfold in front of him, all in plain sight. Well, as in plain sight as possible.

A small smile appeared on his face as he watched the now smaller figure of Hearne slowly closing in upon the next victim of gravity.


Ah… finally.

Ginny Weasley was soaked to the bone. Within seconds of remaining inside cloud cover, she was soaked. And she'd been flying for over half an hour. Her promise to Ron would easily be kept about not flying in winter – August was bad enough.

Despite her body's urge to slip into autopilot, she'd concentrated entirely through the journey and stayed strictly within cover – sacrificing the semi-decent state her hair was in. Nothing had happened, as usual. She'd put a charm on her want to make sure it didn't fall out of her pocket, kept her flight path random (she flew all the way into Surrey before turning east back into Kent tonight) and followed every last rule she could remember. She'd persuaded Charlie to put so many wards on her broom she was surprised it could still fly.

She felt alive, the cobwebs from her desk had faded away and she could breathe again. A grin split onto her face. Soon she'd be home, listening to the radio with a hot cup of tea. Maybe she'd even do some paper work. Or maybe she'd just get that early night she'd promised herself for longer than-

With a sudden jerk, her broom jolted to the side as if on a piece of string. A scream was caught in her throat and Ginny just managed to stay on, her vision and senses momentarily jarred. All she could see was her hair, her breathing the only noise and staying on her broom her only priority. When her head snapped back, she caught the sight of red sparks streaming past her face.

Oh no.

Grabbing hold of the handle more firmly she pulled up, ignoring the cold and wet, and attempted to disappear into a cloud.

Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe it was just her brother's playing a practical joke on her. Or maybe, just maybe, her luck had finally run out.

Something slammed into her side and her thoughts and breath were knocked out her in one go. A black figure to the right of her. A surge of something – adrenaline, fear, anger – roared through her head, blinding all of her thoughts.

She pulled her broom up to almost vertical.

The wind snapped at her hair and cloak, pushing her back, and jostling her around. Risking a glance over her shoulder she saw the figure closing in on her, seemingly none too bothered by her evasive turns. She looked around for as long as she dared, squinting through the mist of a sudden cloud, not able to spare a hand to pull her hair from her eyes. Was that two more?

Her stomach dropped when she realised something was pulling her backwards.


Draco sat quietly on the wall. He wasn't going to deny that this was a little twisted. Merlin knew what Hearne wanted to do, he didn't know at all, not really; only that it involved catching her in the air. Which was never normal.

"Irony, Malfoy. Look it up."

But not only was it… odd, it opened the doors to millions of problems. In fact, it positively invited them, with a huge, red, flashing sign saying, "Free entry to Problems". That's why he was here on the ground, watching the show unfold in front of him, keeping an eye on Hearne. Stupid git hadn't the capacity to see beyond his rather long nose.

Moodily, he lit his cigarette, watching the figures sweeping and diving in the sky. His mother was constantly nagging him to quit smoking, and to be honest at the moment he didn't need one at all. She said it looked uncouth, the magical ones so similar to the Muggle that they were often confused. He took a drag and felt nothing – not the relief he used to experience, or the calmness settle in his stomach. Still, he continued smoking.

This is not how he imagined he would have to spend any night of his life.

It was rather hypnotising, watching. He felt detached, looking on from his little wall, like it wasn't happening at all. The figures swooping in and out of the cover were like birds.

And then the girl pulled up vertical, spinning, avoiding all the spells that were soaring out of Hearne's wand.

Another drag.

She was a good flyer; he'd give her that, much better than Hearne.

Then they disappeared into a huge bank of cloud. Draco stared at it for a few minutes, before realising why panic was growing in the pit of his gut. They had not only disappeared into a massive, opaque cloud (not like the threads of mist they were playing in a minutes ago) but it was also almost completely submerged in darkness. The darkness, he discovered to his dismay, which had crept over him, the house and the rest of the landscape.

Slowly, he pulled himself off the wall, falling (further than he thought) into the field. He walked through the stubby plants for a few metres, cigarette in mouth, gawping at the sky like an idiot.

Not only were there free pints luring the problems in, but now with a free trip to somewhere hot, contraceptives supplied.

It was shortly after this thought that he saw the two figures falling from the sky.

"Oh. Shit."

One on his left, one on his right. Who was who?

He could imagine his Lord's face if he took his chances and saved the wrong person.

Swallowing, he ran forward screaming off a charm at the dark blob falling on his right. A silvery blanket shot out, making it's way to the person. When Draco's sight turned to the left, the figure was already alarmingly close to the ground and, distracted, a thin and patchy swathe of the silvery white stuff streamed across the sky. He had no time to watch the other person as they floated at a less daunting speed into the ground.

There was a dull thud.

He sprinted madly to where the sound had come from, half jumping over the plants that, despite their stubby size, seemed to get in the way.

A darkish lump caught his eye.

Draco turned the body over quickly, kneeling on the floor, panting, whispering prayers and thoughts into the night.

"Hearne?"

Falling. The wind catching her breath. The mindless simplicity of nothing. The roaring of air past her ears. The ground calling to her…

Her dream was spreading, the black tendrils creeping into her vision now joined with a white cover, lessening the howl of the wind.

Still, the ground rose to meet her.

Don't. Pass. Out.

"Hearne? Oh Merlin."

There wasn't as much blood as he expected, or at least, the night had absorbed all that he couldn't see. It was the odd angle at which Hearne was now lieing, not his neck exactly, but his back, which was not good. His skin was pale, he wasn't moving and there was a nasty gash in his hair somewhere, and blood slowly seeped in ever increasing tendrils down his face.

Draco didn't want to touch him, let alone steal himself to check if he was alive or not.

Though if he was honest with himself, Draco wasn't sure what he was more apprehensive about – calling in for more help, or being held responsible because he had left his comrade alone.

"Shit."

The sky above him mocked him, the rolling clouds now drifting in front of the moon.

He racked his brain through the night. It had all gone so fast.

The orders had come through. They had Apparated nearby and walked the rest of the way. Cigarettes. Through a little village, past a noisy Muggle pub – it was Monday and Hearne had wondered aloud why there was so much ruckus, receiving no answer but a scoff. The house. Finding the broom. Cigarettes. Hearne's face when he had thought was his flawless, evil scheme. Waiting. More smoking. More talking. Stealing. Flying. Sitting. Then his desperate charms on the falling figures.

Draco didn't like to remember the fear that had coursed through his veins. Actual fear. He didn't particularly like Hearne – in fact, he rather hated the git – but he didn't deserve to die, not like this, in the middle of a fucking field.

Something snapped behinds him and he threw himself to the side. A nasty coloured yellow curse disappeared into the night. His head had connected with some hard and indignant pain screamed. Wheeling around, wand in hand, he fired off whatever curse came strongest to mind, only to find it bouncing back at him.