Journey to Awakening

The fog grew thicker. In the distance she could see a tiny flicker of light, followed by the rumbling sound of thunder. She knew the village must be close. Soon she would have to land and shrink her broom. She just hoped she could reach the village inn before it started raining. She hated walking through the rain. Normally she would have apparated or used a portkey, but she couldn't risk exposure on this journey.

She had tried to track him for weeks without success until one night his shield charms had been weakened enough for her to break through them. He had probably been exhausted that night, but even in their weakened state the shield charms had resisted two of her attempts to break them, only her third attempt had been successful and let her track down his momentary location. This more than anything else showed how powerful Draco Malfoy was, if he put his mind to it.

Leaning forward she steered her broom towards the ground and landed gently. Trying to ignore her aching back and stiff shoulders she set out down the road that lead to the distant village.

She shivered. The moist night air was seeping through her cloak, making it feel clammy and uncomfortable on her skin. The trek along the road took longer than she had anticipated, but she could finally make out the dimmed light of street lamps and lighted windows ahead. More than anything else she longed for a warm cup of tea, a roaring fire and a soft bed for the night.

Her search for Draco would have to wait until the next day, she decided, before pushing all thoughts of why she was on this trip to the back of her mind. For five days she had sat on her broom from dawn to dusk, resting wherever she was when darkness caught up with her and waking with the first rays of sunlight the next morning. Waiting one more night wouldn't make finding him harder, if he was even still in this village. Since breaking through his shield charms five days ago, she hadn't been able to penetrate them again. It had been a stroke of blind luck in the first place, but now it seemed as if he had put even stronger charms in place. Chances were he had left the village at once, when he had felt his shield charms crumble.

She entered the small village inn and walked up to the counter to ask for a room. Walking past the door to her left, Ginny gave a cursory glance into the adjoining bar. A shock of blonde hair caught her eye just as she was about to turn away.

She couldn't believe her luck. She had anticipated a fruitless search of the village and its surroundings for the next few days, not to find him sitting in the village pub.

Silence fell and all eyes seemed to be on her as she stepped into the bar. She tried to ignore the stares and resolutely walk towards Draco, who still had his back turned to her.

"Malfoy!"

Whispers reached her ears. From what she could make out every conversation in the room circled around her and Draco. ITwo strangers, coming to visit the village at the same time, must be more excitement than they've had all year/I, she mused.

Draco didn't react. She wasn't sure if he really hadn't heard her or if he just didn't want to hear her. Putting a hand on his arm, she spoke again, louder this time, "Malfoy, we have to talk!"

Gaze still on his beer glass, Draco replied, "What if I don't want to talk? What are you going to do? Force me?"

She was surprised that he didn't sound surprised by her appearance. Had he known that she was coming? Was he even aware of whom he was talking to? He didn't sound drunk, but he had always been good at hiding behind a mask.

"Don't you want to know why I'm here?" She tried another tactic, hoping to get him to at least look at her.

"Not particularly, no. After the other day it was just a matter of time until you would."

"Why didn't you leave, if you knew I was coming?"

"For some reason, you must be really desperate to see me, Weasley, don't think I didn't know every time you tried to find me. I figured if I let you find me, let you say whatever it is you want to say, you will leave me alone again."

Ginny reluctantly nodded her acceptance. It made sense, in a way. "You're not afraid that I will cart you off to Azkaban?"

"On what charges? You and your precious Ministry don't have anything on me." Finally turning his head and seizing her up with a cool stare, he continued, "Plus they wouldn't have sent you alone, you're no match for me!"

Ginny bristled indignantly. "You're underestimating me, Malfoy!"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her anger dissipated. She was travelling through time and space, back to her fourth year at Hogwarts.

IThey were in Umbridge's office. Draco was holding her arms behind her back, making her stand awkwardly, but not hurting her.

Ginny had her head turned to face him, eyes spitting fire. "You're seriously underestimating me, Malfoy, if you think I can't break your hold!"

"And maybe you're underestimating me," he replied, neither tightening nor loosening his hold on her.

Ginny was stumped for a second. His eyes seemed to be telling her something, but she couldn't figure out what it was. A loud noise out on the corridor saved her from getting lost in his suddenly expressive grey eyes. With a vicious tug she pulled her arms free, reached for her wand and hexed him. Then she ran out of the office./I

The events that followed had made her forget all about this particular encounter. Only recent events had made her remember and see it in a new light. She had wondered if he had wanted her to escape him that day, if he had wanted her and the others to be at the Department of Mysteries. She had even gone as far as think that he had wanted his father to be caught and imprisoned. She didn't know what to think about his behaviour and not knowing was driving her crazy. The main reason why she had agreed to go looking for him had been the vague hope to finally find out what had really transpired between them that night.

"Weasley?" A mocking smirk played on Draco's lips, but the emotion didn't reach his eyes. They were dead, expressionless, willing her to look away, to walk away from him. Only now did she see that his shoulders were slightly hunched, as if he wanted to make himself smaller. What was he hiding from? She wondered.

"So are we going to have this talk?"

"I already told you, I don't want to talk. Say what you came to say, then leave!" Draco turned around and ordered another beer.

Ginny didn't know what to do. She couldn't really say what she had come to say to the back of his head! She didn't even want to have that conversation in a room crowded with overly curious country folk. It was a matter better discussed in private.

Draco seemed to have forgotten about her being there. He continued to sip his beer, not sparing her another glance. A few minutes passed in silence.

Ginny grew more nervous the longer he didn't acknowledge her. She started fiddling with her necklace absent-mindedly, hoping for someone or something to present her a way out of this situation. Finally she could stand the silence no longer and blurted out the first thing that entered her sleep-deprived brain.

"Your mother…"

She didn't get any further before Draco interrupted her forcefully, "Don't, Weasley, don't you dare talk about my mother!" He spun around to face her, face contorted in anger, his once lifeless eyes spitting fire.

Ginny drew back as if he had hit her. "But she…"

"NO, Weasley," he roared, "I said, don't talk about her! There's nothing to talk about!"

Ginny was taken aback. She knew he had fled the Death Eaters after Snape had killed Dumbledore and hadn't seen his mother in four years, but did that warrant this kind of reaction? She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than guilt for leaving her alone in the middle of a war.

Silence followed Draco's outburst, the whole room seemed to hold its breath. "I'm sorry," Ginny murmured, a blush creeping up her cheeks. Draco didn't acknowledge her; his eyes, although still trained on her face, seemed to be seeing something entirely different.

The bartender came up to them, looking concerned, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, we just … "

"Get me a shot of vodka, please," Draco interrupted her, "no wait, make that a double!"

The bartender nodded and seconds later a glass with the clear liquid was put in front of him. Draco picked it up, finally tearing his gaze away from her, swirled the liquid around the glass and knocked it back in one go. He then motioned to the bartender who put another double in front of him.

Ginny watched him drink three double vodka shots in succession worriedly. She hadn't meant to hurt him. Hell, she had thought she was bringing good news!

"Draco?" Her voice was no more than a whisper, but the use of his first name had the desired effect, Draco's head shot up in surprise. His eyes were grey whirlwinds, brimming with repressed pain and sadness. It nearly broke Ginny's heart to see him suffer, but then she remembered every time he had made others suffer in his years at Hogwarts, and, even though she knew it was petty and in no way comparable, she felt like he deserved to feel a little pain of his own. "I know you probably don't want to hear this, but you should come back to London. Whatever happened, it can't be that bad and your mother really wants to see you again…" Ginny trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

"My mother is dead, Weasley! Do you hear me? SHE'S DEAD!"

"Draco, that's not…"

"I don't know why you're here, Weasley, and I'll only say it one more time: I don't want to talk to you and I most certainly don't want to go back! I was fine until you decided to come looking for me, so be a nice little goody-two-shoes and leave me alone again!"

Without giving her the chance to reply, Draco stood up and made to brush past her. His legs wobbled and gave way. Ginny caught him seconds before he hit the floor.

"Let go off me! I'm fine!"

"No, you're not fine, Draco. You're drunk!" Exasperated Ginny helped him stand up straight. "There's no way you're leaving here alone!"

"He has a room upstairs," The bartender's voice sounded from behind them. "Number 13."

"Thanks," Ginny said, awarding him with a small smile. "I'll better get him into his bed, before he hurts himself."

Draco protested a lot less vehemently as she steered him towards the stairs. Ginny imagined that the huge amounts of alcohol he had consumed in the last ten minutes had finally caught up with him and were making him dizzy and slightly disoriented. With each step they took up the stairs Draco got heavier. When they reached the first floor corridor he had his eyes closed and his head was drooping.

"Draco?" Ginny whispered his name questioningly. She didn't want to disturb him, but she needed his attention for a moment.

"Mhmm?" he mumbled unintelligibly, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"Where is your key?"

Draco fumbled in his pockets for what seemed like ages, before finally extracting the key and thrusting it into Ginny's hand. During all this he never once opened his eyes.

Ginny unlocked the door and half-carried, half-dragged him inside and over to the bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, Draco was out cold. Sighing Ginny took of his shoes and pulled the blankets up over him.

She didn't want to leave the door open all night, but she also didn't want to lock him in from the outside to get a room of her own. A cursory glance around the room showed a small table, a big, worn-looking armchair, a narrow window and another door, presumably leading to the bathroom. The armchair would have to do for the night, Ginny decided. It was probably more comfortable than the clearings she had slept in for the past few days. Locking the door from the inside, she took off her cloak and shoes and tried to get comfortable on the armchair.

**

A dull pounding in his head woke Draco the next morning. He opened his eyes, only to shut them again, groaning. Bright light bathed the room and fell straight on his face, blinding him. In that single, short-lived moment in which his eyes had been open and able to make out his surroundings, he had seen that he was in his room in the village inn he had stayed in for the last few months. He had no idea how he had gotten there though.

Eyes still closed he tried to take inventory of his body. He seemed to be wearing his jeans and sweater that he had worn yesterday, so he must have either been incredibly tired, physically hurt or drunk last night when he went to bed. He lifted his arms and legs experimentally, but no pain assaulted him, apart from his raging headache. He didn't seem to be hurt, and judging from his headache, he had most likely just had too much to drink last night.

Silently cursing himself, Draco tried to remember why he had been careless enough to get drunk. Never in the three years he had been on the run had he gotten careless and now this. He had heard rumours that the war was over, that Harry bloody Potter had finally defeated the Dark Lord, so he wasn't in as much danger anymore, but he didn't doubt that the Ministry's aurors were still after him. He mightn't have fought in the war, but the aurors had thrown people into Azkaban even though they were innocent before, especially in the post-war confusion one more prisoner wouldn't make a difference. His name and background made him predestined for this fate, even though the Ministry could have no actual proof of him being a Death Eater, because he had never gotten the Mark after he failed to kill Dumbledore during his sixth year at Hogwarts. Still, no one would care, the majority of the wizarding community most likely thought he was a Death Eater anyway, no one would question him being sent to Azkaban.

So why had he felt the need to get drunk last night? The memories came back to him all of a sudden: He had allowed Weasley to break through his shield charms. She had become bothersome with her frequent attempts to track him and he had been in a reckless mood. She had finally caught up with him last night, insisting that they needed to talk. He remembered brushing her off until she mentioned his mother. White-hot anger made his blood boil. How dare she suggest his mother might still be alive, when he had seen her die with his own eyes?

He knew without a doubt that it was his mother he had seen killed in front of his eyes. So what was Weasley playing at, coming here and telling him she was still alive? Was it all just a ruse to get him to agree to come back to London? But why trick him into coming, if they could just take him by force? Of course, that would require a lot more people, but the Ministry had enough aurors in its employ to carry out such an operation.

IOnly one way to find out/I, Draco decided, Iget up and interrogate Weasley./I Shielding his eyes with his hand, he braved the glare of the sun again. He sat up slowly. The room seemed to be spinning, the pounding in his head had intensified. Draco waited for the spinning to stop, before lifting his gaze from the floor, all the thinking about how to find Weasley.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he was surprised to see Weasley curled up in the armchair across the room, her head pillowed on her arms, obviously still asleep. Draco didn't question his luck but swiftly, or as swiftly as his splitting headache and dizziness would allow, crossed the room to loom over her tiny form.

Wasting no time on pleasantries, he shook her roughly. This time he would have the upper hand in their encounter. "Weasley! Wake up!" He winced at the volume of his own voice, but was pleased to see her stir.

She mumbled something he didn't quite catch, stretched her arms above her head and slowly took in her surroundings. With grim satisfaction Draco noted that she seemed as disoriented as he had when he had first woken up. A tired smile tugged at her lips as her eyes fell on him. "How are you feeling this morning?"

The question only irritated Draco further. "Cut the crap, Weasley! Tell me why you're here. Why you're really here, not that bullshit about my mother," he ordered, voice hard and unyielding.

"You don't believe me."

"No, I don't," Draco agreed. Had he only imagined it, or had he heard disappointment in her voice? Surely she had no reason to be disappointed, after all, she had tried to trick him, not the other way around.

"She said you probably wouldn't," she went on, as if talking to herself, then she turned to him and asked, "what if I have proof? Proof that she really is alive and that I talked to her?"

Draco's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before his mask slipped into place again. Was this another trick? What he said next pained him, but he knew he had to stay unaffected, stay in control, and if that meant talking about his mother, that's what he had to do. "Let's hear it, Weasley, but don't assume for a second that I actually believe you."

She nodded. "She didn't want to tell me anything about your childhood, because she said you wouldn't be comfortable with other people knowing about it."

That did sound like his mother alright, but anyone who had gone to school with him would have known that he didn't talk about his home much or not at all, other than to brag about something his father had done. Never had he talked about what life was like for him though.

"I could list all your subjects at Hogwarts, what grades you got, how many OWLs you got, but that kind of information is pretty easy to attain as well. I know next to nothing about what happened to you after you left Hogwarts with Snape, your mother didn't know either, just that you escaped the Death Eater stronghold soon after you arrived," she paused, gathering her thoughts, "What she did tell me, is that she was incredibly worried about you all throughout that year. She said you changed, became reclusive, that you hardly wrote to her anymore. She talked a lot about the last Christmas holidays you spent at home. How you would lock yourself up in your room for days, not eating or drinking. How the house-elves didn't dare go in and disturb you. You hurt her a lot, you know. She kept asking what she had done wrong, why you didn't trust her anymore, she even mentioned asking you the same things once, but you just left."

Draco stared at her in disbelief. No one knew about those holidays, no one bcould/b know. The house-elves were sworn to secrecy, they were physically unable to say anything to outsiders. There really was only one possibility. "She's … alive?" His voice was unsteady, she had finally penetrated through the walls he had built around his heart. His mask was cracking as the fight went out of his body. Soon he was sitting on the floor, crying helplessly.

Too long had he kept everything inside. The power with which his emotions crashed down on him now threatened to drown him. Then she was there, her arms around his shaking form, comforting him. She didn't say a word, she just held him as his sobs became weaker and died down.

They stayed like that, sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his head buried in her hair, for a long time. When he finally disentangled himself, he was ashamed of his tears. He hadn't meant to cry in front of her. He hated showing weakness, but it had happened and there was nothing he could do to change it. He helped her up, then began packing his few belongings wordlessly.

They didn't speak as he paid and they left the inn. They walked until they were out of sight from the village, before she produced a broom from out of her bag, enlarged it and beckoned him to climb on behind her.

The journey back to London passed in a blur. He was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his mother was still alive, that he had been tricked. He couldn't quite believe it, no one had that much luck, especially not he. But there was no other explanation for Ginny's – he had taken to calling her by her first name in his head - knowledge about those Christmas holidays; the last time he had seen his mother, before she had been killed.

Much too soon they arrived at their destination. His thoughts were still an unorganised jumble. He was afraid, afraid that it would all turn out to be a lie, too good to be true. But then the door opened and his mother rushed towards him. In that moment, all his doubts were silenced. It hadn't been a trick, it was real; she was real! Warmth spread from his heart throughout his body, the cold empty feeling that had been his life for the last few years was gone, replaced by the warmth of his early childhood once again.

**

Ginny had just stepped out of the shower when someone knocked on the Burrow's front door. Her parents, her brothers and Hermione were at the Order's headquarters making final arrangements for Narcissa and Draco Malfoy; she was the only one who had opted to stay at home. Muttering curses under her breath she ran down the stairs and threw the door open.

In front of her, Draco Malfoy stood in the pouring rain. To say Ginny was surprised to see him would be putting it lightly, she was shocked! She hadn't seen him since he had been reunited with his mother a week before. Ginny had taken him straight to the Order's headquarters to see his mother when they had arrived in London. As soon as Draco had set foot into the sitting room Narcissa had flung her arms around him, tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks. Ginny had felt like she was intruding on a very personal moment and quietly left the room. The last glimpse of Draco she had got was of him crushing his mother's body against his chest, looking as if he never wanted to let her go again.

And now he was here! He stayed at headquarters, he knew that everyone else was there; he must have come to specifically see her. A warm sensation spread through her body. Although they hadn't spoken much since leaving the small village she had found him in, Ginny felt that they had bonded on their journey to London, she felt connected to him.

Ginny blushed a deep shade of red as she realised that she was just staring at him. ISay something, moron,/I she berated herself. "Hi," she whispered, smiling shyly.

"Hi," he returned, equally as quiet. "Can I come in?"

Ginny nodded, stepping back to let him pass into the sitting room. When they had both settled on the couch, silence stretched out between them. Something had shifted in their relationship the last few days. They could both feel it, but neither knew what to make of the change.

"He dragged her into my cell and killed her in front of my eyes. He said he wanted to punish me for my weakness. He laughed while he did it and then he left her cold, lifeless body in my cell. I don't know how much time passed until someone came and took it away, I couldn't stop looking at her. I can still see her eyes, wide and vacant," Draco finally said, staring into the fire. "I suppose he used Polyjuice. I know it wasn't her but someone else, but I keep seeing the scene in my mind over and over again, it just doesn't stop." Draco was silent for a minute, before adding, so low Ginny had trouble understanding him, "Neither do the nightmares."

Ginny stayed silent. What was she supposed to say? She would be lying if she said she knew how he felt, or that the nightmares would stop. She didn't know if they would. She wanted to offer comfort, but was afraid he might think it was pity. He certainly hadn't told her so she could pity him.

When the silence became unbearable, she decided to just switch the subject, maybe lighten the mood a bit and let him forget, even if it was for just a few moments. "What did you want me to do? That day in Umbridge's office?"

A small smile flitted across Draco's features. "I wanted you to do what I couldn't, to break free from the hold I had on you, like I wanted to break free from the hold my father had on me."

Ginny nodded her head in understanding. It made sense. Draco had never learned to ask for help and would have scoffed at it, if anyone had offered it. But he had known, deep down, that he couldn't escape his father's grasp on his own. Making allusions had been his only way to ask for the help he desperately needed but was too proud to seek.

Once again silence engulfed the two of them, but this time it wasn't awkward. This time it was comforting, safe, something both of them had craved for a long time.