Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I thought you could just reply to them directly, but that doesn't seem to be working, so just thank you. Everything you say is read carefully and is muchly appreciated!

Also, I think I am firmly in the camp that the Cursed Child is not actually canon, so you won't find anything from it in this story.

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

Somewhere I Belong

Chapter 2

You Are Mine

-o-

Minister's Daughter Missing!

Draco looked blankly down at the front page of the Daily Prophet, his piece of buttered toast forgotten in his hand.

Front and centre there was an image filled with people huddled around a conference table in various states of disbelief and upset. He could see the Minister and his wife in the middle, the latter seeming to be inconsolable. The lot of them kept glancing at him every now and then before going back to their grief.

Draco watched them for a moment, feeling vaguely voyeuristic, before turning his eyes to the picture on the left, where Weasley herself, her red hair blowing in the wind, smiled coyly at him. It was an image he knew very well for it was one they often used as her promo shot for her Quidditch career. Once again he was struck by her beauty, and by how completely out of his league she was.

Yet, a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him, as it had been on a near hourly basis, she had thought that he had asked her out, and she had agreed to it.

Draco shook his head rather violently, trying to banish the thought; now was definitely not the time. It was no use though; it never was. The youngest Weasley had always had an unfortunate habit of occupying an alarming amount of space in his mind—or at least she had ever since she had cast that hex on him in his fifth year.

Trying not to think about it, Draco turned to the sixth page where more images of the Weasley clan were scattered across the whole spread. Between the images were several blocks of text:

It has been officially confirmed that Ginevra Weasley, 27, only daughter of the current Minister for Magic elect, ex-wife of Harry Potter, former DA member, and Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, has gone missing. This is only weeks after her tragic fall and season-ending injury on the 16th of September—which also made her the recipient of one of Healer Julian Gates' newly approved Muggle medical adaptions.

She was last seen by her family yesterday, shortly before she was due to leave on a trip to Italy meet Luna Lovegood—also a former DA member, and now artist with work in both Muggle and Wizarding society.

Draco stared at Luna's name, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. Her worried face flashed through his mind, and he forced himself to finish the article before he got up to send her an owl.

Miss Weasley's Portkey arrived without her. When Miss Lovegood Flooed her and found her flat—a modified suite in an undisclosed Muggle building—empty, she contacted the Weasley family right away. A search of her home showed her bags packed, along with her wand, but no sign of the young woman in question.

So far there have been no clues as to her whereabouts. There are no signs of forced entry at her flat—though Aurors have reported that they are not ruling it out as a possibility. As of right now, no ransom note has been issued, and no one has come forward to claim responsibility for her disappearance. The Dark Arts revival group, Dark Rising, is under scrutiny, as they have been linked to a string of recent kidnappings, but there has been no evidence connecting them. The Weasleys are asking for anyone with any information to please contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as soon as possible.

Draco stared at another image of her, this one waving up at him cheekily, an uneasy feeling suffusing through him.

Perhaps her declaration to him hadn't been so out of the blue after all, yet how it could be connected to this he had no idea. The more he thought about it, however, the more uneasy he became. She had looked scared after he had told her that he hadn't asked her. The fact had only confused him at the time, but now, put into perspective, it made all of this seem much worse.

He should have pursued her and gotten to the bottom of it like he had initially thought, and he cursed himself for being such a coward. He had balked at the idea of finding out why she had thought he would have asked her out, and even more at the thought that it was some sort of joke.

Obviously, his cowardice had hurt more than just himself, once again.

Swearing, he folded the paper and tossed it away from himself, looking down at his breakfast unenthusiastically, his appetite long forgotten.

He was going to have to go see Potter about this, but the prospect made his blood run cold. No matter how much time passed, he always had this overwhelming feeling that the Aurors were just waiting for an excuse to throw him into the cell in Azkaban right next to his father. There were no longer Dementors, but it still wasn't where he wanted to spend any time, even though a tiny voice in the back of his mind always tried to convince him that that was where he belonged—and it didn't matter how much he worked, how many people he saved, or how much money he gave to charities, it never went away.

Getting to his feet he got ready, sending a quick owl to Luna before throwing some Floo powder into his fireplace and striding in before he could think better of it.

Moments later he found himself glancing around at the oppressive main hall of the Ministry of Magic. The air was filled with the glow of candles, and witches and wizards hurried across the space with an air of purpose. Several of them glanced his way, scowling when they realized who he was.

Draco straightened his spine and stared impassively back at them, silently daring them to do something. As usual, however, they simply turned away and returned to their lives. Despite his history, he was useful to them, and most of them knew it. Over the past five years enough people had come through his ER that almost everyone knew someone he had helped. It seemed to have awarded him a place in society where he could be looked down upon, but not acted upon—and considering the alternative, given what he had allowed to be put on his arm, it was the best he could hope for.

With a silent sigh, he squared his shoulders and strode purposefully towards the front desk. After the usual drama that any visit here brought, in which they confiscated his wand (because any former Death Eater, even a useful one, cannot be trusted in the government building with a wand) he was on the lift and heading down towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement trying to ignore the churning in his stomach.

The lift came to a halt and a blast of noise and chaos greeted him, and he was momentarily taken aback. There were Aurors and other Ministry officials in a right ruckus all about the large room: they were running from one point to another, yelling at each other, sending notes flying, or some combination of the three.

He swallowed thickly, then stepped off the lift, the doors clanging shut loudly behind him. Several people turned to look at him and froze. Slowly the whole room came to a stop, all eyes on him. He stared back, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. He knew those looks: they were the kind associated with a witch-hunt—or a wizard-hunt in this case.

"Malfoy," a voice called to his right, and he hated himself that the familiar sound brought with it a wave of relief. It was short lived, however, for there was an uncompromising look on the Boy Who Lived Twice's face. What the hell was going on? "In here."

With a final glance at the crowd, Draco walked forward, exuding calm even though inside he was beginning to panic.

He followed Potter into an office covered in clutter. Parchments and quills, half-empty mugs of coffee and take-out boxes coated nearly every flat surface of the room. The other man shut the door behind him, and then walked over to his desk, vaguely waving at the chair opposite. Momentarily distracted, Draco sat, trying to keep the disgust off his face as he glanced around. Didn't his bosses enforce any cleaning standards whatsoever? He supposed when you were the saviour of the world the standards were different.

"So are you here to confess?" Potter asked shortly, levelling his green eyes on him.

"What?" Draco asked, snapping his head around, his distaste with his surroundings forgotten.

"I said, are you here to confess?"

"Confess to what?" Draco demanded, absently noting a ringing in his ears.

"Kidnapping Ginny Weasley."

Draco stared at him. The chair he was sitting on seemed to be twisting beneath him. This couldn't be happening.

"I've done no such thing," he said, his voice much calmer and resolute than he felt. He leant into the sound, trusting his ingrained training to get him through. It had always worked before, against far more frightening opponents.

"We just received photographic evidence that says otherwise," Potter told him, picking something up off of his desk.

"What?"

"Someone sent this in, about ten minutes before you showed up," Potter told him, holding up an image. "Ron was just getting a team ready to come get you, but you've saved us some tax money by showing up on your own."

Draco looked at the image in the other man's hand, the twisting sensation travelling up his spine. It was so profound that he was vaguely afraid that he was leaning to the right along with it.

For there, glancing over his shoulder as he moved away from the camera, was a man who looked undeniably like himself. He was dressed in Muggle clothes (clothes he would never wear of his own free will), and you could just see red hair hanging over his left arm, and a woman's legs dangling over the right. He looked at the shoes and felt something within him wilt. They were the same shoes Weasley had been wearing the day before.

Draco reached out and took the image with numb fingers. He watched the image over and over, trying to find the man behind the mask, but over and over again he just saw himself apparently kidnapping the Minister's daughter.

"This isn't me," he told Potter. He looked over at the other man's face, so similar yet so different from what he had known in school, and he felt bizarrely detached from reality. This couldn't actually be happening, could it? Draco glanced at the photo again and something in his brain snapped, the world coming back into poignant focus once more, his spine straight and sturdy. "A witch or wizard took this photo, and they knew who both of us were and didn't do anything to stop me—him. Shouldn't you be concerning yourself with whoever took this?"

"How I do my job is none of your concern, Malfoy," Potter snapped. "All I'm concerned about is finding out where Ginny is."

"Well, I don't know, because that wasn't me."

"The photo says otherwise."

"It wouldn't be the first time someone pretended to be someone else to commit a crime, as you should well know."

"We're not talking about Crouch," Potter said, his expression darkening. "We're talking about you kidnapping Ginny."

As Draco assessed his former school-time rival, he felt his stomach clench up painfully. Potter wasn't joking around. He actually believed that he was not only capable of kidnapping Ginny Weasley, but that he had done so.

"You can't honestly believe this," Draco snapped, shoving the photo back at the git. He could feel his grip on his calm persona threatening to slip away. "After all we've been through? After all the times that I've saved her life? What would I have to gain by kidnapping my former patient and pretend that I have no idea what's going on?"

"She's not just your former patient," Potter said calmly. "She's also the only daughter of the Minister, a member of the Holyhead Harpies, a former member of the DA. And she used to be my wife."

Despite the circumstances, that last word stabbed into Draco's heart.

"It always comes back to you," Draco said, feeling his lip curl. "Contrary to popular belief, the whole world doesn't revolve around you, Potter."

"I know that," Potter snapped, glaring at him. It was a look that was so familiar, Draco would have felt a bit of pride at having achieved it if the circumstances were different. "But it doesn't change the realities of who she is and what she represents to the public."

Potter glanced away, his jaw shifting. When he finally looked back his face was composed, as though he had slid into his professional persona.

"So if you're not here to confess, then why are you here?"

"I saw her last night," Draco said, feeling a slight glimmer of hope; he was at least being allowed to tell his side. "She was acting strangely, as though she had had a conversation with me that had never happened. It was shortly before her Portkey was supposed to leave."

Potter's eyes narrowed.

"You knew when her Portkey was leaving?"

"Luna's my friend, you know," Draco snapped before he could stop himself. He could feel his cheeks heating up, which just made it worse. "She tells me what's happening in her life."

Potter's look of surprise made Draco want to pull his wand, and he might well have if he still had it (apparently their concerns with former Death Eaters weren't so far fetched after all). Was it that hard to believe that the craziest girl in school had befriended him? That he actually had friends after everything that had happened?

"But that's beside the point," Draco said firmly. "I had nothing to do with this." He gestured towards the image on the desk. "That wasn't me. All I'm doing is reporting to you that Weasley was acting strangely before she disappeared."

The other man just glared at him.

"Potter," Draco finally said, trying to keep his voice level. "I couldn't possibly gain anything by doing this. You have to believe that."

"I don't know what to believe," Potter said, shaking his head. "All I know is that Ginny is missing, probably injured, and someone sent us photographic evidence that you did it."

"What do you mean, probably injured?" Draco asked carefully, a shiver running down his spine.

"We have several Muggle witnesses who saw Ginny step back into traffic and get hit by a car," Potter said grimly, and Draco's mouth almost fell open.

"Is she all right?" he demanded, forgetting himself.

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me," Potter said, glaring at him. "The witnesses all reported a blond man rushing over and picking her up. He yelled at them that he was a Healer before running off with her."

Draco tried to swallow, but his mouth and throat were dry.

"It wasn't me," he said softly, feeling deflated. Images flashed through his mind of Weasley's panicked eyes from the last time she had been in his ER. Did she look up at this impostor the same way, expecting him to help her, only to find out it wasn't actually him? "And even if it was, there is no way that I wouldn't bring her to the ER. She wasn't in a good state before all of this."

He looked at the scar-faced saviour of the world for understanding, but all he saw was scepticism.

"If anyone was in a position to repair the damage without having to go to St Mungo's, it would be you."

"I wouldn't do that," Draco said through gritted teeth, then decided to try and redirect this insanity: "Potter, if she was hit by a car you need to find her, and fast. Her previous injuries severely compromised her. She won't last long without medical attention."

"What do you mean, 'won't last long?'" he asked, and Draco felt irritation flare through him. He had forgotten how dense the git could be.

"What do you think I mean," he snapped. "If she got hit hard enough, and her injuries are re-agitated, she could be dying." If she wasn't dead already—but he refused to voice that scenario, lest it came to fruition.

Potter stared at him, horror flickering across his face. "The witnesses said she flew at least twenty feet through the air."

Draco sat back, the same horror the other man displayed washing over him, his posture going slightly slack. The ringing in his ears got louder, and his skin began to tingle.

"Fuck," he said softly, staring vacantly at the space between them.

"It wasn't you, was it?" Potter asked, and Draco snapped his eyes towards him.

The fact that the man was such an idiot, that he couldn't realize that this accident was actually life-threatening, and that he wasn't tearing the city apart in an attempt to find her, crashed into him. All thoughts of calm, of panic and horror, left his mind, leaving behind a startling rage.

"Of course it wasn't me! And if you were doing your fucking job properly you would be out there looking for her and not wasting your time! She's dying, Potter!"

The door flew open with a bang.

"Harry, is everything—"

Draco barely had a chance to look over his shoulder, before he found himself being thrown back onto the desk, several things jabbing painfully into his back. Weasel King's hand was gripping his shirt collar, his wand pressed painfully against his cheek.

"Where's my sister, you fucking ferret?" he thundered at him, and Draco blinked dumbly up at him, his rage completely forgotten.

"Ron!" Potter shouted. "It wasn't him!"

"What do you mean?" the redhead demanded, increasing the pressure of his wand against his face. Draco felt a spark singe his skin. "He's in the picture!"

"It wasn't me!" Draco gritted out, his hands coming up to push at him. "And as I was just telling Potter, you need to find her because she needs medical attention—now."

Weasel King stared down on him, his face an ugly shade of puce and his eyes a little wild. Draco felt a stab of fear go through him. He knew that if Potter hadn't been in the room with them, he would be well on his way towards a slow and painful death.

"Ron, let him go," Potter commanded.

Weasel King continued to glare down at him, but a moment later, to Draco's utter amazement, the enraged redhead did just that. He stepped back from him, lowering his wand, but he did not put it away. Draco pulled himself up gingerly, trying his best not to wince as he did so.

"You had better be right, Harry," he said, still glaring at Draco.

"Give me Veritaserum and question me, if you like," Draco said, straightening his clothes. "But you're wasting time that could be better spent looking for your sister."

Potter stared at him, and if Draco didn't know for certain that the other man was a miserable Legilimens (something Snape had assured him) he would have been mentally preparing himself for an assault.

"Do you have any enemies, Malfoy," Potter asked finally. Weasel King snorted, and Draco felt inclined to agree with him, though he would never admit it. "Anyone who would want to frame you for this, assuming that you're telling the truth, and this isn't you." He waved the picture at him.

"It's not," Draco snapped. "And take a moment and think about that, Potter. Not only the whole of your side of the war hates me, but so does the whole of mine. And now, given my career, anyone who I failed to save has family members who, if they hadn't already, have joined the I Hate Draco Malfoy club."

"I love that club," Weasel King said wistfully, and Draco glared at him, clenching his jaw.

"There's no need to be so dramatic," Potter said, running a hand through his messy hair. "I needed to ask. Has anyone been more vocal about hating you than usual?"

Draco thought back, but nothing came to mind. He shook his head.

"No," he replied. "And"—he added quickly—"I haven't been doing anything that would make someone hate me, other than my job. Nor have I had anyone die on me in a while, or at least, no one of consequence."

"Charming," Weasel King replied.

"Now will you stop wasting your time and do your job?" Draco demanded, the rage beginning to simmer once more. "She won't have much left."

"Why do you care so much?" Weasel King asked aggressively. "What's my sister to you?"

Oh, if only you knew, he thought, but instead snapped: "Nothing. Though if you don't find her I will lose everything because I don't think my innocence will matter if she dies."

"Is that all that matters to you?" Weasel King hissed. "Yourself?"

"Ron," Potter snapped as Draco opened his mouth to retort. "Enough." He turned to Draco. "If you think of anything useful Floo me immediately. And you might want to consider keeping your head down. If this hits the papers you're going to want to lie low."

"What do you mean, 'if this hits the papers'?" Draco demanded, glancing at the photograph debating if he could get away with stealing it. "Your lot isn't going to publish it, are you?"

"They won't let us," Weasel King said morosely, and both Draco and Potter glared at him. He shrugged indifferently. "Well, they won't."

"Of course we won't," Potter said with a scowl. "But whoever sent it probably has more planned than just telling us. And there's only so much pressure we can apply to the papers without people screaming censorship." The other man sighed, running his hand through his hair yet again putting it in utter disarray. "Just don't leave the country, and maybe call in some of your sick days, just to be safe."

"I can't do that," Draco said, a sneer on his face at the very thought. "I'm needed."

Weasel King laughed unkindly at that, shaking his head. "The day you're needed is the day Hell freezes over."

"You weren't singing that tune the last time they brought you into the ER, were you?" Draco snapped, glaring at him. He could feel the tops of his cheeks begin to burn once more. He wasn't sure if he was more furious at the audacity of the git for saying it, or with the voice in the back of his mind that was enthusiastically agreeing with him. He hated that he thought it was more to do with the latter.

"Do what you want, Malfoy," Potter said, waving his hand toward the door. "But don't say I didn't warn you. We're not the only ones with pull around here. And, as you said, our 'side' really doesn't like you all that much."

Draco scowled at both men in turn, then finally nodded his head and strode out of the room without a glance back. He stormed through to the lift, ignoring the once again boisterous room, glaring furiously at the lot of them as the lift doors slid shut. Yet even as the doors clanged ominously his fury gave way to the gnawing dread that had been festering ever since he had seen the picture. Weasley, his—Weasley was out there somewhere, hurt, possibly dying, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

-o-

The evening brought tidings of exactly what Potter had warned him about. There had been a late afternoon release from the Prophet, and sure enough, his imposter had made the front page, along with eyewitness accounts, both Muggle and Wizard, all declaring the same thing Potter had: that he, Draco Malfoy, had kidnapped the Minister's only daughter.

Draco glared down on the paper, the food he had been trying to persuade himself to eat completely forgotten. The feeling of dread and impotence was gnawing at him, eating away his appetite, his calm, everything.

It had taken all of five minutes after the paper's release before the owls had begun to arrive—he had, after all, kidnapped an internationally renowned Quidditch star, while having the audacity of being a former Death Eater (being acquitted meant nothing as usual). There was currently a whole flock of them outside his windows, pecking at the wards that kept them a couple feet away, howlers clenched in their beaks or tied to their feet. It was going to be a disaster for the Ministry, but that wasn't his problem. It was entirely legal to ignore owls, and his premises was warded to keep all but approved ones out.

He had never been more grateful that his flat was on the eleventh floor of a Muggle high-rise, and that it was both Muggle and Wizard-proof (with the exception of the Aurors, whom he would never be rid of, he feared). He glanced down on the street and could see what he assumed were reporters milling about on the streets, watching the flock of birds, but they would never be able to find him up here. Here he was safe, as long as he never left again.

Draco sighed. His only consolation was that the Aurors had at least denied that he was involved. Potter himself had asserted that they were looking into a case of stolen identity as well Weasley's kidnapping. That he, Draco Malfoy, was not responsible. Not that it was going to do much good. The image alone was enough to ruin what little reputation he had.

The sound of the fireplace bursting to life cut through the air, and he turned, dropping the paper as he did so. Chief Willoughby's head was floating amongst the green flames, and Draco felt his spirits sink at the older wizard's expression.

"You've seen the paper, I'm assuming," Willoughby said without preamble.

"It wasn't me," Draco said automatically, mentally cringing at how asinine he sounded. One more problem with the public and he reverted back to his former, whiney self? Maybe he should just take that ticket to Azkaban and be done with it: they were obviously succeeding in ruining him.

"I didn't say it was," Willoughby said, shaking his head. "But that still hasn't stopped the almost constant stream of owls we have been receiving since the story hit."

Draco opened his mouth to ask what they said but closed it as he realized he didn't have to try hard to imagine what they would contain. He felt his spirits drop further.

"You're not going to have me come into work, are you?" Draco asked finally, refusing to slouch as the realization slowly began to sink in.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Willoughby said. "But you can't. People need to feel safe when they come here, especially to the ER. And this story, coupled with your past, er, associations, isn't going to allow for that." He glanced around uncomfortably. "A lot of people are calling for your resignation."

"You can't do that!" Draco shouted, leaping to his feet. "It wasn't me! I haven't done anything wrong! Even Harry bleeding Potter believes me!"

"Unfortunately, until Harry Potter can prove it to the rest of the world you're officially suspended until further notice." Draco blinked in surprise. Willoughby looked at him with contrition written all over his face. "I have no choice, Draco. I'm so sorry."

"Whatever," Draco said, recovering from his shock. "Just—just make sure whoever takes my post doesn't muck things up." He paused. "You're not going to put Sommers in charge, are you?"

"You know I can't tell you that," Willoughby said, shaking his head. "Just make sure that you don't come by the hospital unless you are in dire need of assistance. Frankly, I think it's best if you don't leave your flat at the moment. When you come back I want it to be to resume your position, not as a patient who has been lynched by an angry mob."

Draco kept his expression neutral, even though inside a part of him wanted to smile despite the circumstances. His boss was on his side. Someone was on his side.

"Yah," Draco said instead, dropping back down into his chair. "I know the drill."

His boss' head nodded, and without saying much more than a goodbye, he disappeared, the green flames dying down with him.

Draco turned and looked down on his picked at dinner, the image of his imposter looking around beside it. He shoved both away, giving up completely. His heart was pounding uncomfortably against his chest, and his head was beginning to pound as well.

He hadn't felt like this in almost a decade.

Everything he had worked so hard to build was being torn away. Everything that he had struggled to escape just kept sucking him right back in.

Was there ever going to be a time when the damned mark on his arm wouldn't come back to haunt him? Were his past choices to save his family over society ever going to stop affecting him? Was he ever going to be able to save enough people to finally amend the damage and horror he had caused? That his damned father had caused?

He knew there never would be. He was tainted and no amount of work or magic could change that. He just hadn't been expecting everything to fall apart so easily. Nor for Weasley to get dragged into all of it.

Draco lowered his head down and rested his forehead against the cool surface of the table, closing his eyes.

His only consolation was that the usual urges weren't coming back along with everything, but he knew they would come. They always did. At the moment his worry over Weasley was keeping them at bay. Just like his worry for his family had before, and his concern for his patients did nearly every day. So long as he had something to direct it at, he was fine.

He felt dread and surprise spear through him, something slowly sinking into his mind. It had never occurred to him that despite all his intentions of doing something good with his life, that the positive effects for him were a result of the anguish of others. He shoved the thought violently aside. Now was not the time to fall apart, though it wasn't like he had anything better to do…

There was a crack of someone Apparating into his front foyer, and Draco quickly raised his head, rubbing furtively at his forehead. He got to his feet, listening to the sounds of coat and shoes being removed. Moments later Luna Lovegood wandered into the room.

"Loon," he said, his eyes flicking over her clothes, her figure, her hair. He tried to look at her face, but the terror that was suddenly coursing through him wouldn't allow it. He was terrified that her expression would say that she thought he had done it and that she had finally realized what he was. Then she would leave, and he would be alone once more—and though he knew he deserved nothing less, he didn't want it.

"Hi, Draco," she said as she walked over to him and pulled him into a tight hug.

Draco stiffened, then felt relief flood through him as quickly as the terror had come. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back just as tightly, putting his head down on the top of hers. The familiar scent of her mint and eucalyptus shampoo filled his senses, and he felt himself relax even more.

"When did you get back?" he asked, rubbing her back slightly.

"A few hours ago," she said into his chest, sounding contested. Draco lifted his head and looked down at her in surprise. Luna never cried. Never. Yet she looked up at him with her large eyes red-rimmed and full of tears. He tightened his arms around her, his heart hurting. "I only just got away from Ginny's family."

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, as she pulled back. He reached into his robes and pulled out a handkerchief, which he promptly handed to her. She dabbed at her eyes, and Draco led her over to the couch, sitting her down.

"No, thank you," she said, still dabbing at her eyes. "This whole thing has just..."

Draco stared down at her as she trailed off, at a loss for words. She hadn't said anything about a creature he had never heard of, her voice wasn't misty and dreamy, her expression wasn't calm. His Luna, the unflappable, intelligent, and powerful woman he had come to consider his best friend, was anything but her usual self. And if he hadn't already been feeling a horrible ache in his chest it would have started then. He was going to rip apart whoever had taken Weasley, for both women's sake.

The violence of his thoughts didn't even disturb him, as it usually would these days. It was a mark of just how out of sorts he really was.

Luna looked down on her lap. "And now they're trying to blame you."

"I didn't do it," he told her, squeezing her hand. The fear was gripping his heart again.

"Of course you didn't," she said, looking up at him, a rare frown on her face. "You would never purposely put her in harms way."

Draco nodded, wondering absently at her odd phrasing.

"I ran into her," Draco started slowly, unsure of how much to say. "It must have been just before she—before she was taken." He saw her in his mind's eye again, expression changing from breathless excitement to dawning horror. "She seemed convinced that I had, er, asked her out."

Luna's big blue eyes focused in on him, curiosity mixing with the sadness.

"Did you?"

"What? No. But it's strange that she would think that I would."

"And stranger yet that she would say yes?" Luna asked him intently, looking more like herself. If it hadn't been for her question, he would have felt a bit better.

"How do you know she said yes?"

"You wouldn't be so bothered if she hadn't."

Draco stared at her, once again stunned by how perceptive she could be. It had happened the first time she had sat herself down at his table while he had been having his weekly brunch, and it had been the beginning of their bizarre little friendship. At the time he had been horrified by how intrigued he was by her, but now it was something that was just part and parcel with Luna. She never ceased to surprise him with how clearly she saw through him (or other people, for that matter), but, as usual, he wasn't about to admit it. He didn't want her to know how well she got him, even if she was his best friend.

"Who would want to hurt both you and Ginny at the same time?" Luna asked, drawing his attention back to the moment.

"I don't know," he replied. "I've been going over it and there's no reason for anyone to hate me more than normal, let alone try to turn the Weasley rabble against me."

Luna nodded. "And who would have access to you to make a Polyjuice Potion?" she continued, looking off at something Draco couldn't hope to see.

"Anyone who could get into my locker at work, I suppose." He paused. "Or who touched me at work—or was just in my vicinity for that matter. Merlin knows I shed."

Luna nodded. "And who would know about your relationship with Ginny?"

Draco snapped his head up, expecting to see some indication that she was joking. However, she just looked steadily back at him.

"I do not have a relationship with Weasley," he told her firmly. "Never have, never will."

"You don't have to hide the truth from me, Draco," she said, smiling slightly. "No one would believe me anyway."

Draco opened his mouth, then smartly shut it. He wasn't going to have this conversation right now. Better yet, he wasn't going to have this conversation ever.

"If someone were to misinterpret our interactions," he said as levelly as he could. "Then it would be someone who has been at the ER when Weasley's been admitted…"

There was a tapping at the window, and they both turned to find a large barn owl on the windowsill. He frowned, a shiver running down his spine. He didn't recognize it and yet it had gotten past his wards. With a bad feeling, he opened the window and the owl hopped in, offering him his leg where an envelope was attached. Draco gingerly took the letter and a moment later the bird took off without a backwards glance.

The letter was heavy in his hands and the weight seemed poignant somehow. His name was written clearly and elegantly on the front, and as he flipped it over he felt dread wash over him. There was no denying who was involved now. The Dark Rising symbol glared up at him.

"Whose it from, Draco?" Luna asked softly. She stepped up beside his elbow as, with slightly shaking hands, he broke the seal and opened the envelope.

He tugged the letter out, handing her the envelope, vaguely aware of her sharp intake of breath when she saw the seal for herself.

Malfoy,

By now we assume we have your full attention and an idea of our motives—and if not motives, then the seriousness of our actions and just how badly we can ruin you. However, circumstances have changed, as they are want to do, and as such so have our plans.

If you want your Blood Traitor returned to you, meet us at the canning factory on Pletly Street at five o'clock.

Draco glanced at the clock on the mantel. That was in twenty-three minutes. Why were they giving him such a small window?

And bring one hundred thousand galleons with you. We know you're good for it: it will hardly make a dent in your savings, but for us, it will do wonders. Give us the money, we give you the girl.

Even think about going to the Aurors and she's dead. Bring anyone with you and they're dead.

Sincerely,
The Dark Rising

Draco read the letter over several times, feeling anger, crippling fear, and horror alternate through his system.

They knew.

They knew about his fee—thing for Weasley. And, he realized as he thought about it, that of course they did. Of course they would have known. Parkinson had figured it out one day during their seventh year, and he knew the bint couldn't keep anything to herself to save her life. It was actually amazing, now that he thought about it, that one of them hadn't involved Weasley in their machinations with him sooner.

"Draco," Luna said finally, her hand on his arm. He jumped slightly and looked at her. "We have to take this to Harry."

"We can't," he said, shaking his head. "Not until after. We don't have time."

"But, you can't go," she said, a pleading in her big blue eyes.

"I have to," he said, running a hand through his hair. He didn't want it to be true, but it was. At her unconvinced look, he sighed. "Luna, if they're sending me this then something is terribly wrong."

"Of course something's terribly wrong," she said calmly, watching him. "They have Ginny."

"There's more to it than that." He hesitated, then ploughed forward. "They didn't put it in the papers, but We—Ginny, got hit by a car before they took her." Luna gasped, and Draco felt like an arse for telling her so bluntly. "If they're sending a letter now that means she doesn't have any more time."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered, her hand at her mouth, an expression the likes of which he had never seen there before. He felt fear begin to suffuse through him once more. He couldn't lose her too.

"I didn't want you to worry more than you already were," he said, the explanation sounding weak even to his own ears, but it was the truth. "I'm sorry, I should have told you."

"You should have," she said, nodding, her expression starting to return to normal. "You don't have to lie to me, Draco. Ever."

"I know," he said, though he knew he would still withhold the truth from her. It was so ingrained in him, that even she wasn't immune. "I'm sorry."

"We still have to Floo Harry," Luna said, taking a step towards the fireplace.

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. "That's what you're going to do after I leave."

"What do you mean?" she asked, shaking her head. "You can't go there without any money."

"I won't be," he said, something resolving itself within him. It was the same feeling he felt in the ER, where whatever had to be done was just done, and he dealt with the repercussions afterwards.

Draco pulled out his wand and walked over to one of his bookshelf. He carefully levitated it out of its nook, placing it in front of the one beside it. He knelt down and popped the floorboards up, exposing the cavity he had created between the joists. He grabbed the duffle bag from within it, and pulled it out, bringing it over to the table.

"Draco… what is that?"

"Emergency bag," he said with an indifferent shrug, not looking at her. But Luna was silent, and he finally glanced at her despite himself, only to be startled when he saw sadness on her face instead of disgust.

"I wish you didn't feel that you needed that," she told him softly.

Draco ducked his head. He felt the same way but didn't voice it, busying himself with digging through the bag instead. It was full to bursting with everything he could possibly need: from tents and camping gear; identification that was both Muggle and Wizard, for a selection of countries; clothing to blend in for any climate, or population; books and special items; an invisibility cloak; a spare wand; money. Everything he hadn't had the last time.

He pulled a bag of coins out, glancing into it. He took a handful out and put them back into the duffle.

"If the Aurors ever find that they'll think you're guilty of whatever they're accusing you of," Luna said softly.

"I'd like to think I'll be using it and out of their reach if it ever comes to that," he said, grimacing. Honestly, he hoped to Merlin that he never had to use it, or the one in his office, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew full well what his place was in this society, and he also knew he was too stubborn to succumb to it if he didn't have to.

Draco glanced at the clock. There were ten minutes left. He put the money aside and replaced the duffle, putting everything back in its place. He then turned his attention back to Luna, only to find that she wasn't there. He felt fear grip his heart. Had she run off?

"Loon?" he called cautiously.

She walked back into the room, dressed in her coat and shoes, holding his other invisibility cloak.

"What's that for?" he asked carefully, already not liking where this was going.

"I'm coming with you," she said as though it was the most obvious answer in the world, and it was, wasn't it? Why wouldn't she try to come with him? Weasley was her best friend.

"No," he said firmly. "You're not. You're waiting five minutes after I Disapparate and going to get Potter and the rest of them. Then you're coming after us."

Luna's face hardened slightly, taking him by surprise.

"Please," he said, the word seeming to be wrenched from his chest. "I… couldn't handle it if something happened to you."

She stared at him a moment longer, then her expression softened back into the dreamy expression that he had grown so accustomed to.

"Your plan makes sense," she said, nodding her head. "But don't think that I won't hold it against you if you get yourself killed."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco replied, grimacing. He glanced around, patting his pockets, finally striding away to grab his cloak and a few medical supplies, adding them to the collection he usually travelled around with.

He came back into the room, picking up the letter and the moneybag once more. Both felt heavy in his hands, though neither weighed more than the other, as the bag was charmed to be near weightless.

Was he really about to do this? Now that he was ready to go, his mind was catching up with his preparatory actions, and he could feel his resolve draining out of him.

Was he really willing to give that much money to a group of terrorists so they could do who knew what with it? Did he want to be a part of that, even if it was because of an act of desperation? Though that was just it, wasn't it? Once again he was being forced to act a certain way so that he could protect someone important to him; and like it or not, Weasley was important to him. He just hoped that she never actually found out how much.

"Give them the letter," Draco said reluctantly, handing it to Luna. He didn't want to, didn't want them to know what lengths he would go to for a Weasley, but he wasn't an idiot. Without the letter, any money tying him to Dark Rising, regardless of his explanation, was a one-way ticket to Azkaban. And though he knew that was probably where he belonged, he wanted to end up there for doing something deserving of it, not by trying to do the right thing. But, there again, wasn't that exactly why he had ended up where he had, where he was now? Because he had tried to do what he had thought was right at the time?

Luna distracted him as she stepped up to him and hugged him, harder than she ever had. Draco was startled into inaction, stiffening despite himself, but brought himself to hug her back, kissing her cheek when she finally pulled away.

"Come back in one piece," she told him, her huge eyes locking with his. "With Ginny, if you can. I need you both."

Draco nodded his head, unable to find his voice. He glanced at the clock, his heart pounding against his ribs as he realized it was his moment. And damnit all, he was going to act, wasn't he? He was an even bigger idiot than he ever gave himself credit for.

He gripped his wand, smiled awkwardly at Luna, and Disapparated.

-o-

A/N: Well, that's chapter two. I hope Draco is still as mysterious and intriguing as you found him before. :S