A/N: Welcome back and a special thanks to my lovely reviewers, Just Silence, Pizziagirl, Black Rose 851, arielgenevieve, Nutmeg 44, whatisfake and hatebelow. You made my week, guys!

Ginny couldn't believe it. After she had come home that day she had sat James down and told him it was just the two of them and however sorry she was she couldn't be both his father and his mother they were going to have to make do. Had to help each other. He was the man of the house and they were going to have to work as a team.

She'd been honest for once, told him how sad it had made her to see Harry's benevolent neglect, how she had wished his dad could be there more often. How she couldn't handle being only his support without getting any in return. At the end of it they had both shed some tears and for the first time in longer than Ginny wanted to remember, her son had given her a hug.

There were still issues to be worked out but on the whole the atmosphere in their house was miles better. James even smiled at her now. And all because she had taken the first shaky step towards letting her little boy become a man.

Knowing what had helped the most she returned to the beautiful townhouse with the private garden, a potted rose from her mother's garden in her hands. As he answered her knock she almost dropped the pot. He was still as gorgeous as she remembered, if not more so, with his hair untidy, his shirtsleeves rolled up and a plain white apron around his waist.

"I-ah…"

"Ms. Weasley, come in." She stepped in and caught the scent of something marvelous in the air. "We're making hamburgers, would you like to join us?" Hamburgers? She tried to picture the Draco Malfoy she'd known making hamburgers and her imagination fell short.

"Oh, no, thank you. I don't want to impose. I'm sorry to disturb you unannounced but I just wanted to give you this, as thanks for your help." She held out the pot and he accepted it.

"It's a prize specimen, Ms. Weasley, I'm not sure I deserve all that."

"Oh, no, it's not much. It's from my mum's garden, and I thought it might look nice here. I noticed you have some other kinds out back." She fiddled with her fingers, suddenly feeling stupid. Why had she brought the man a plant he had to put in himself? She could have just written a card. Or bought wine.

"Well, I've heard of Mrs. Weasley's roses. In fact I believe my own mother was rather jealous of them." Ginny couldn't imagine the aloof society lady ever being jealous of her own mother and it warmed her heart to hear it.

"As I said, it's not much but thank you for listening to me. And for giving me sound advice. It's easier to go home now that I don't have to fight a war every time I'm there."

"I'm glad then, Ms. Weasley."

"Did you get lost on your way back from the hall then, dad? Is senility setting in?" Scorpius' teasing tone travelled from the kitchen and Ginny smiled.

"Are you sure, Ms. Weasley? We make a fair burger and it's not often we get to entertain?"

"I…" There was really nowhere she had to be. James was at Teddy's, his outmost idol's house and wasn't coming back until the morning. All she had planned at home was a glass of wine with a microwave dinner and a TV movie.

"It's really no bother, we always make too much." As her mum had taught her it was impolite to refuse a sincere invitation more than once without reason she nodded.

"Thank you then, I would love a hamburger. But only if you stop calling me Ms. Weasley."

"Very well, Ginny. And it's Draco." She couldn't believe he actually remembered her name after all these years.

He brought her into the kitchen and for a second she was vaguely reminded of the Burrow. Not because of how it looked, this kitchen was spacious, with shiny surfaces and snazzy appliances. But the lighting was warm, the air smelled of cooking and music was playing, all things spelling home to her. Scorpius Malfoy was elbow deep in mince as he nodded in time with the music.

"Heads up, lady in the house." Scorpius looked up and she wondered if this was how adorable Draco Malfoy would have looked as a boy if he hadn't had a big stick up his butt for most of it.

"Ms. Weasley, it's nice to see you again." Something unreadable passed between father and son that she couldn't understand but she was impressed both by his manners and his memory.

"Ginny, is fine. Can I do anything to help?" Soon she was seated at the kitchen island, mincing lettuce and tomatoes, a glass of very nice white wine at her elbow, suddenly included in the nice picture. The music was still playing as Malf…Draco was turning burgers on the stove and Scorpius made something he termed "secret salsa". They were in the middle of a conversation about Quidditch and she was enjoying herself immensely.

"I'm right, aren't I, dad?" It warmed her heart to see the absolute trust Score had his dad would know the answer. She decided that even if Malfoy were to be wrong she wouldn't want to break that trust.

"Afraid not, young padwan. Ginny's right, and you've seen it in action, too. Remember when we went to see the Falcons last June? And I explained why the whistle was blown?" She didn't know what a padwan was but she could easily hear the affection in the term.

"Right, so that's when you apply that rule!"

"You know, you can take Ginny's word for anything Quidditch-related. She's played for both Gryffindor and the Cannons." No one had brought up her short Quidditch career in years. She'd just started out when she had gotten pregnant and had to drop put of the team. The two years that had passed between quitting and taking care of baby James had changed her, she didn't really want to play professionally anymore. She'd still always love the game but as a mother she felt uncomfortable doing something so risky for a living.

"The Chudley Cannons?" Score's eyes were round. Her son had never been particularly impressed by her short Quidditch stardom, it was a small star compared to he supernova of fame that was his dad.

"Only one season-"

"-Which the Cannons won-" Draco interjected.

"-before I had my son."

"Do you miss it?"

"I still play with my family, but I don't miss playing it professionally. It takes some of the fun out of it."

"We play sometimes, if you get up really early and set up wards and invisibility spells in the park you can play without the Muggles seeing you." She saw Draco's face take a humorously innocent look over at the stove. He was probably well aware that was against regulations.

"Hmm." She decided to let it pass. It wasn't as if they were endangering anyone. "I bet it's a nice place to play."

"You could come sometime, and play with us." Suddenly his face was as innocent as his dad's and she wondered what mysterious game they were playing between them.

"Maybe. Your dad's not half-bad from what I remember." Which was true. Playing against Harry, the best Seeker in 250 years of Hogwarts history, probably wasn't the best measure of talent. As far as she could remember Draco had been a very talented Seeker, maybe even on level with Charlie. And he wouldn't have had to be, she recalled, as his dad had literally bought his place on the team.

"Why thank you ever so much, Weasley," he said drily and she knew from his tone he was more flattered than he let on.

"You're very welcome, indeed, Malfoy." She mimicked his tone and Score sniggered.

o.O.o

The burgers had been delicious and after Draco had reminded Scorpius it was his turn to do the dishes and topped up her wine they had gone to sit in the comfortable living room. The couches were very much man couches, she thought, all big and squishy. He waved his wand and a small fire lit in the fireplace, cheerily crackling away. There was a humongous TV that she thought James might faint of jealousy if he ever saw, along with a collection of DVDs and videogames that could probably rival all of her brothers' put together. There were more books, and on top of the mantelpiece, a recent shot of father and son.

Curled up on the couch, Ginny was again surprised by how at home she felt. They chatted about several of the movies she spotted on the shelf that she had seen, about books and the garden outside. When she ran out of inconsequentialities Ginny felt compelled to ask,

"Why did you move to the Muggle side?" He shifted in his seat and she saw his eyes seemed to pale in color, get flatter. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked. It's just you've never seemed the type…"

"Cause I'm a pureblood, you mean." He got up and stared out the window, into the darkened garden. "I didn't do it for me."

Gently he touched the rim of his wine glass, wiping at an invisible smudge. "I know it must seem like it would be…easier for me to live here. Where nobody knows me, or rather of me. Don't know I betrayed my school and everyone in it, and then betrayed the cause I'd done it all for in the first place. I know this. I know my part and my guilt. I don't like knowing it but I can live with it. But I moved here so Score could have at least three months of the year without being looked at like he's scum. He has no friends at Hogwarts. Because of me. What I did when I was sixteen. The sons of the Dark siders think he's the son of a traitor and the Light siders think he's the son of a Death Eater." She couldn't imagine it. That sweet boy, who was funny, talkative and obviously intelligent, had no friends? She felt ashamed on behalf of her friends' children.

"Why would they think that? He's a great kid, anyone can see it." She saw a quick grateful glint in Draco's eyes as he turned.

"I know it and I try to make sure he knows it. But it's hard to let him go to school every year, knowing he's miserable there. He tries to pretend he's not but I…I just don't know what to do about it." Ginny didn't either. She'd never been on the outside of popularity. It had been easy enough for her, people had always been drawn to her, followed her. When she'd become Luna's friend it was at no risk to her popularity since she was at the top of the food chain in Gryffindor. It was hard for her to realize that her son was one of the people who were not standing up for a boy who had done nothing to offend.

"Oh…I was going to ask you and Score to come to dinner at mine to repay you…but I see now that might be awkward. For Scorpius. James is in the same year at school." It now occurred to her that though Score in all likelihood knew who her son was he hadn't mentioned him once. "I mean the invitation stands, but you'll have to ask him. If he doesn't want to, I completely understand."

As she left it was with a heavy heart, a strange endnote to what had been one of the nicest evenings she'd had in a long time.

o.O.o

He dreamt of her that night. He was back. It was sixth year, he could tell because of the distance his eyes were from the ground. He'd been short until fifth year. If that hadn't told him, the sense of dread in rolling in his stomach would. Panicked fear twisted in his guts, mixing with a cold-sweaty sense of glee. Desperately afraid for his parents he'd felt as if he were a head shorter that whole year, not measuring up, knowing whole-heartedly, with the hopeless certainty of the condemned, that he was too young to deal with it. His parents' lives were in his hands. The two pillars meant to hold up his last year as a child had been torn down, felled and cracked with only him to save the pieces. And as little as he could carry a block of marble singlehandedly could he be sure to help them.

At the same time he finally had a chance to win. To be someone. His father would look at him with pride. The strings he always attached to his praise would snap and his approval be given freely once he'd proven himself. Malfoys do not falter. His father's cold voice was in his head, just as the high-pitched, whispery sound of pure evil was. He could never forget it. Just as he could never get rid of the touch of his long-fingered, spidery hands on his shoulder. The grip had been soft but he'd known what they were, what they could do and had felt like a tiny bird trapped in a cage made by those hands. A cage where the walls were steadily and cruelly closing in.

Then he'd realized he was in the Great Hall, habit making sure he reached it for breakfast. Not that he ate much anymore, but he had to keep up pretenses of enjoying this so called "honour". That's what his aunt had called it, her voice greasy with false affection as she simpered about hos great he would do, how proud he'd make his family. "Malfoys do not show weakness." So he would pretend to eat. Pretend his life hadn't been irrevocably ruined long before he was even born, on the day his father had accepted the Mark.

He sat and began pushing scrambled eggs around his plate to make it seem like he'd eaten some of them. Pansy sidled up and as always her perfume made his stomach shudder. It was too sweet, always made him think of what the overpowering fume hid. It seemed like something was rotting underneath. Perhaps Pansy's personality, which had been dead a long time. He almost smirked at the thought. True to her pug-faced appearance she followed any dominant personality like a dog, at the cost of her own.

"Draco," she breathed in what he imagined she thought was breathy sexiness. She sounded like an asthmatic long-distance runner on helium to him. After his curt nod that she was allowed to sit next to him he tuned her yapping voice out, focused on what he'd have to do during the day. High on the list was to lose Crabbe and Goyle, not a difficult task but sometimes time-consuming. And then he had to…

She walked in and as always he lost his train of thought. It was as if all sunlight in the Hall was centered on her, illuminating the face that always caught him off guard. The elfin-like heart shape of it, the porcelain skin that shone from within, the winged eyebrows, the slightly pointed chin. He'd dissected very feature of it to discover the source of the fascination. Yet, he couldn't place what it was. It could be those wide eyes, the irises the colour of melted chocolate and warm brandy. Or the fact that her hair tumbled like a stream of melted gold on fire down her back and around her face, drawing your eyes to her even when she was in the middle of a crowd. It could be the slight curve to her lips that made her always look like she was enjoying a private joke and was unapologetically sexy. Whatever it was it haunted him, made him able to recall every feature of it perfectly. Just as he could with her body. The girl had escaped the unfortunate gangly gene running in her family, leaving her short enough to probably fit neatly right under his chin, with well-proportioned limbs and long legs. The curves softened what would otherwise have been an athletic build and were generous enough to drive a man to distraction yet didn't make her look bigger than she was. Being somewhat fortunate in his looks as well he knew better than most that it was just a matter of luck (not breeding, whatever antiquated ideas his dad had on the matter) but with Ginevra Weasley there seemed to be something more, something vibrant and alive under her skin. Like a note humming below what noises a human could actually hear there seemed to be more than just her looks that drew him in. And for the life of him he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

She moved with a lithe grace that earned her serious skills as a Chaser and she was laughing at something that tool Dean Thomas was saying. For an instant he yearned to be the one whose hand she was holding as she led him to the table while the sun teased sparks in her hair and his words woke a similar glitter in her eyes. Then he pushed the thought away. He could never have her. Didn't want to have her. It was just physical. The girl was a looker, the whole of Hogwarts thought so. It was normal to think about wanting her. Yes, but not about wanting to make her laugh…his inner voice was snide and cold and though he knew it was his own voice it reminded him more of his father than himself. He shook to rid himself of the unpleasant feeling of never having lived a single day of his life as himself, only as his father's son, a Malfoy and basically a puppet whose strings were held by his father, tradition and his name.

Besides, he forced himself to finish the thought, just to prove he could deal with his feelings, no matter how distasteful, she would never want you. She wants goody-two-shoes, self-sacrificing idiots who fit the part of King of Gryffindor. She'd never want someone who...well, someone like him. Someone who didn't even know who they really were. But increasingly lately he'd been feeling that if he found out who he really was, he wouldn't like it very much.

It doesn't matter! She doesn't matter! With an ill-tempered scowl he stood, tearing his eyes from her and pointedly staring ahead as he walked out.

o.O.o

Draco woke covered in cold sweat. Sitting up in his bed he looked around. It was his room, he was back in his life. The time he'd served as a ventriloquist's doll was over. The room held no heavy bottle green drapes shutting him in, there were no priceless antiquities that he wasn't allowed to touch and the walls weren't covered in portraits of older generations of Malfoys that had frightened him senseless as a child but his father had refused to move from his room. Because Malfoys weren't afraid.

This room was airy and comfortable. The furniture was eclectic and a little worn, the large bed was left in the open, no hangings keeping him in. The pictures were the ones he'd taken himself. Some of Score, some of places he had been. The only reminders of the past were a picture of him and Blaise, the only Slytherin he was still in touch with, and a small sketch Snape had once drawn. It was all his, his things, his life, his house and in it he could live as he pleased.

Though he hated the knowledge that his past scared him as much as any nightmare it made him content to realize he'd freed himself of it, had crawled out of the hole of predestination and broken the heavy chains of tradition, the chokehold of expectation. And through it all he'd learnt a very good lesson in how not to raise a child. Perhaps that was something for him to thank his father for. With a snort he got out of bed. Glancing at the clock he saw it was a little past three in the morning. He could conjure a glass of water but the remnants of the dream clung to him and to the sheets so he padded softly downstairs to give the memories a chance to die down before he went back to sleep.

The kitchen was cool and the summer night looked more like dusk than night. The smell of the jasmine in the garden wafted through a cracked window and Draco felt peace began to settle within him again.

"Hey."

"Merlin!" Draco whirled around and for a split second he thought he was back in the dream before he realized that the face was not his but his son's.

"Did you think I was a ghost?"

"In a manner of speaking." The ghost of himself. Of what he had once been only a ghost remained. It had his shape and outline but there was no substance to it anymore. The Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts had died a long time ago and turned into a ghost that only reared its head when he was at his most vulnerable, in his sleep. "What are you doing up?"

Scorpius leaned on the kitchen island, scrawny and pale in sweatpants already too short at the hem and an oversized t-shirt with the logo of his favourite band on the chest.

"My guild needed me. They're mostly American so it's hard to match up the time zones. We slayed a dragon. Looked like a Swedish Shortsnout but it was a lot harder to kill than we thought. It took three tries but Will figured out that if you spam the…" Draco was grateful enough that Score at least had some friends online, or whatever it was called, to not mind the weird hours it made him keep. At least there were some people his son could talk to out there, even if it was at three in the morning. "What about you. Why are you up? It's way past your nine o'clock bedtime."

"Funny." Draco leaned against the counter and sipped his water. "Just a dream."

"Oh." The reply was casual enough but Draco saw the sidelong glance of concern he received as well.

"Not that kind, Score." There were worse nightmares than remembering who he had once been. He sometimes dreamt of what had gone on in Malfoy Manor during what should have been his seventh year. The screams, the terror, the disgustingly dirty side of defending a twisted ideology that no one wanted to remember afterwards. What he'd seen in there, what he'd been made to do, would never leave him. It had left as black and dead of a scar as the Dark Mark he bore.

His parents had in a seldom seen surge of parental concern shielded him from some of it. But some wasn't all and the rest had been plenty to feed the growing seeds of self-repulsion he'd carried inside. In the end, once it was all over, he'd had to rebuild himself from the ground up, his way. It was the only why he could ever deal with having been a part, however passive, of what had passed in that final year of the War. Still, dealing didn't mean forgetting and he assumed the rest of the wizarding world felt the same, as they seemed happy enough to eschew his son for the sins of his father. No one was forgetting. "I dreamt of my Hogwarts days…But it wasn't all unpleasant." And it was true. Though he'd hated the thoughts at the time, the ones he'd had about Ginevra Weasley, they were probably among the nicest ones he'd had in his seven years of school.

"You dreamt about her, didn't you?" The teasing note was absent in his Score's voice and it worried him.

"I did. I used to think about her a lot back then, it's only normal she'd be in it when I dream of my time at school." Scorpius looked away, his dark eyes fastened on the blooming jasmine.

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"Ask you what?" Normally he could easily follow his son's train of thought but he was stumped at this one.

"I heard you, in the living room. She asked us to dinner. She said that you should ask me if I wanted to go. Why didn't you ask me?" Draco put the glass down. He had to tread carefully. He didn't think Scorpius knew just how well aware he was that his son had no friends. How guilty he felt about it. It was too heavy a burden for a child to bear.

"I just figured since her son is in Gryffindor you might not want to go and be forced to hang out with him."

"You're lying to me. We said we'd never lie." Draco ran his hand through his hair as his heart bled when the pride that refused to let his son back down from a challenge, took control. The same pride that had him square his shoulders and jut his chin when he boarded the school train for another year of writing made-up letters about friends that didn't exist and outings and adventures he was never part of.

"I wasn't lying. I was trying to phrase something awkward in a way that would…make it less awkward. I know that you don't have…that you aren't exactly popular at school. And I know it's because of me. I know you won't tell me because you think I'll blame myself for it. And I didn't tell you I knew because I figured that if we pretended, then it would make it easier for you. Score," he waited until his son met his eyes, the tired look in his son's scaring him more than he could ever admit. He was just as powerless to help with it as he had been as a teenager to steer his fate. "I know. And I will blame myself for it, no matter what you think. Because it's true. You would never have to deal with this if I had…If I had been different. Stronger. Smarter. Hell, maybe even if I'd been dumber, I'd've just gone for broke and joined the Order. But I didn't and I have to live with that. It pains me that you have to too."

"I don't blame you, dad. You were just a kid. I just…I know how much you wanted to say yes and see Ms. Wea…Ginny again. But you didn't even ask because you thought it'd make me unhappy." For the first time in a long time Score's bottom lip trembled.

"Well, yes. I'd never do anything to hurt you. Sure, seeing someone I had a crush on in school was nice but I don't-"

"You're lying again. Do you think I can't see it? You're punishing yourself by saying no. Do you think I can't see the way you look at her? You want to see her again and you're not even going to try because you want to be as unhappy as you think I am! Want to punish yourself, or whatever. Well, I don't need a martyr. Just as badly as you want me to be happy, I want you to be. So save this self-sacrificing crap and call her." Scorpius had crossed his arms over his chest and was staring back out the window. Draco blinked. The light had brightened outside and the morning seemed to have brought cold with it. Harsh, biting cold. With a deep breath Draco soothed the twisting, burning metal coils that always wound tight in his abdomen when his son cried. It made him want to lash out, kick and hit until whatever hurt him was bleeding and dead.

"When did you get so smart?" Scorpius blinked away the unshed tears and managed a laugh.

"I've always been smart. I take after my dad."

"Come here, you smartass." As he hugged his son, Draco wondered when he'd managed to do something to make the universe think he deserved Score. He sure as hell didn't know.

A/N: Thank you very much for your nice reviews, it always makes my day to get one! I'm really glad you like it and I hope you keep reading and enjoying.