A young blonde boy of 11 years old glanced at his surroundings, unsure of where he was exactly. He had gotten fed up with his studies – his parents constantly had him studying – and thought he would go on a little adventure. It didn't occur to him that when he flew his broom outside the manor's wards that it would suddenly develop a mind of its own. Yet, here he was now, standing in the middle of a field, the hot summer sun glaring down on his little blonde head, with a broom that lay motionless on the ground beside him, despite the boy's fervent attempts to call it up. It seemed that this particular broom had decided it was not ready to go home so soon. And so the child stood in this field, quite lost, for he was certain his parents had never taken him to such an ordinary place. The boy spotted a small play set a few yards away that was partially shaded from the sun's burning rays by a cluster of old oak trees, and decided that if he must stay put (which his broom seemed determined upon) then at least he could sit out of such blinding light. He was much more accustomed to the dark.
Picking up his broom – apparently it had no qualms about moving if it wasn't going to be flown – the young lad marched over to the play set, plopped himself down on a swing in a manner that would most definitely disappoint his parents, and then dropped his broom carelessly beside him. He heaved a sigh of relief as the shade instantly lessened the stifling heat of this midsummer day. Looking to the expanse of land surrounding him, the young boy was struck once more by its homeliness. Much of the play set's equipment was rusting, the paint chipping, and the grass of the field was turning brown with the summer's incessant heat that brought no rain. It wasn't until now that this little fellow truly realized how hot summer could be; except for flying, his parents always kept him shut in the manor, as if they were afraid of what the light would do to him.
And it was with this thought that the boy began to worry. He now realized the enormous trouble he would be in once his parents knew he was gone. All of the sudden it became imperative that he return home. He leaped out of the swing and attempted to command his broom up, again, but to no avail. The broom didn't so much as flinch. The young boy leaned down to just pick it up manually – after all, it had worked when he walked over to the play set – but it was as if someone had placed a permanent sticking charm to keep the broom attached to the ground. The boy growled in frustration and kicked at the wooden stick. He came away, yelping in pain – since when had his broom been so solid? He collapsed back into the swing, its chains creaking with the movement he had forced it into. He was lost, stuck, injured, and guaranteed to be in deep trouble once this whole "adventure" was over. It seemed as if fate was working against him today.
And perhaps it was.
What the young Mr. Malfoy didn't know was that in a few short minutes he would be meeting someone that would change his life irrevocably. After all, this was the hottest and brightest summer Britain had seen in a very long time.
The sun had only moved an infinitesimal amount (although to Draco, it felt like ages) when a small figure appeared upon the horizon. Draco squinted to see who it was, but the sun was blinding him. Although he would never admit it, Draco was scared of the approaching stranger, for he was too young to own a wand and was therefore, left defenseless. As the figure came closer, though, Draco was able to tell that it was actually a young girl, no bigger than he was and definitely of no threat to him. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, as his fears subsided. Pretty soon, the girl was across the field.
Enrapt in a magazine, the girl continued walking directly toward the very swing Draco was currently occupying. Never before had Draco gone unnoticed, and so he was quite unsure as to whether he should say something. Instead, he opted for a slight cough: it did the trick. The young girl stopped short, only a few feet from the swings, and her head snapped up from the magazine she'd been reading so intently. There was a few seconds of silence as the girl adjusted to the surprise of an unknown visitor in her usual sport, and Draco seized the opportunity to take in the girl before him.
She appeared to be close to his age, although more on the taller side compared to other girls his mother had brought home as playmates appropriate for their standing. Her hair, which fell just slightly past her shoulders, was a vibrant red. She was dressed for the weather in a thin green tank top and jean cutoffs, and her cooler appearance only made Draco more aware of how uncomfortable he was in the white button down shirt and black dress pants his mother had put him in today. Her skin had the sun-kissed look of having been out in the bright light everyday, and a spattering of freckles covered her cheeks. But it was her eyes that drew Draco most to this new person: wide with surprise, big dark brown eyes stared at him, a color that reminded him pleasantly of chocolate.
"Hi!" the girl spoke, excitement in her voice, as a huge smile broke across her face.
Draco was jolted out his study.
"Hello," Draco responded stiffly, his voice guarded. He had suddenly realized that he didn't even know if this girl was magic. What if she was a muggle? He knew from his parents that he didn't want to associate with that filth.
The girl's brow furrowed slightly at the unfriendly tone of his voice. She abruptly leaned forward, peering carefully at him, noticing the tension of his body: the way his shoulders were raised and his oddly formal posture. Draco stumbled back, surprised at the girl's forwardness. With renewed distance between them, Draco finally noticed the cover of the magazine that now hung listlessly from the girl's hand. A Quidditch magazine! he eagerly realized – she was from a wizarding family.
Draco wondered why he had never met this girl before; he had always been under the impression that his family knew everyone of importance in the wizarding world. If this girl before him came from a respectable family she would have already been introduced to him as a suitable playmate. Yet, here he was, lost and lonely, and another magical person had happened upon him, wanting to talk. Surely his parents couldn't get mad at him for conversing with someone of magical standing.
"Are you alright?" the girl asked. Although she was clearly concerned, she was unable to keep the happiness from her voice.
Her question made Draco realize how long he'd been silent.
"I'm lost," he replied shortly; he couldn't make up his mind as to how to act toward this strange girl.
"Oh no," the girl said, worry etched into her forehead, "Well, if you wanted to, you could come back with me – I'm sure my mum could get you back home easy."
Draco thought about it. Although he wasn't sure how he felt about the girl, he was hot and tired, and now that he thought about it, quite hungry, so all he wanted to do was go home. She didn't seem particularly dangerous either, and Draco knew his fair share of highly dangerous people.
"Okay," he said, standing up from the swing to follow her as he picked up his broom – which put up no resistance now.
"Wow!" the redhead exclaimed, "that's a bloody brilliant broom you have!"
"One would think," Draco responded.
She looked at him inquisitively, silently asking him to elaborate.
"It seems to have a mind of its own. It flew me here without me telling it to, and now that I am wherever it is we are, it won't let me fly it back!"
Draco was keenly aware of how exasperated he had become and abruptly fell silent, thoroughly embarrassed. How many times had his parents scolded him for being too emotional? Malfoys aren't supposed to feel, they always said. Unaware of his embarrassment, the girl chimed in.
"Huh! That's really interesting, actually!" she exclaimed, the energy still in her voice, "Fred and George have told me stories of other people who have had similar experiences, and those people always claimed it was always fate acting on them. But then those people's brooms took them to something wonderful. Has anything wonderful happened to you today?"
"No," he answered, his voice clipped once more.
"Oh," she said, her face falling slightly, "Well never mind. Fred and George probably just made up those stories."
They lapsed into silence, and Draco knew it was his turn to say something, but he couldn't. He didn't want to risk showing his feelings again, and, he had to admit, he was a little intimidated by this girl. She had so much energy and happiness that he couldn't keep up with her. But it turned out that he didn't need to supply any words for conversation.
"It's really actually a good thing you were there. Not that it's good you're lost, but that I found you," she chattered, "my mum sent me out to go grab some strawberries from the grove nearby, but I really wanted to finish this magazine because it's actually Ron's and there's no way he would let me read it, but he's out shopping for school with my other brothers and my dad, so it's the only time I could grab it. I was going to go read it at the park – the swings are one of my favorite places to read – and that's when I found you!"
She grinned at him, and he had the faintest notion that she was thanking him, but he had absolutely no clue as to why.
"How is my interrupting your only time for reading a good thing?" Draco asked the girl, drawn into talking despite himself.
The girl giggled, and Draco immediately felt self-conscious for asking something so apparently obvious.
"Silly me!" she responded, "I'm sorry. I forgot to mention how I always get wrapped up in being outside, and I would have ended up in that swing for hours, landing myself in terrible trouble for not bringing the strawberries back to mum right away. It's just that it's so incredibly beautiful outside; I just get caught up in my daydreams and reading about Quidditch – oh, I love to fly!"
Once he realized she hadn't been laughing at him, Draco instantly relaxed. She was overflowing with joy, and her joy was too contagious to keep him from smiling. The girl caught onto his change of mood right away when she glanced over.
"You understand me, don't you?" she asked, delighted by the thought that she might finally have found someone to empathize with her plights.
Draco couldn't respond. Despite his waning discomfort, he didn't feel ready to speak. He didn't know what he would say.
He watched her face fall once more as the silence lengthened, and he felt a pang of guilt for causing it.
"Never mind," she said again, "I'm stupid for thinking all those things – that's what everyone always says: get your head out of the clouds, Ginny! Be realistic Ginny! Oh my!" she exclaimed, "I haven't introduced myself. Mum would be appalled! I'm Ginny Weasley."
Draco stuck his hand out. Introductions he could do; his parents had introduced him so many times he thought himself to be a pro.
"Draco Malfoy," he responded, noticing how Ginny's dark eyes widened at the admission.
While her name did not strike a chord in his memory, she clearly knew who he was – or at least, who his family was.
They clasped hands and Draco was taken aback by the callused feel of her palms – he was used to a much softer texture. Ginny, on the contrary, had never felt hands as smooth as his.
Draco wanted to ask her about his family, but something told him that he might not like the answer, and so he kept his mouth shut. Silence entered their midst again, but this time Ginny offered up no words. Draco started to feel drained from the heat and the amount of walking they had been doing. How much further could their destination be? At least when she was talking it didn't seem quite so long.
"Are we there yet?" he asked.
Ginny frowned slightly at the whiny tone in Draco's voice. He wasn't offering much aid to the pro-Draco side of the battle raging in her mind. As soon as Draco had said he was a Malfoy, Ginny knew she was heading into hot water. How many times had her dad come home complaining about Lucius Malfoy and his arrogant, terrible family? Yet Draco didn't seem that bad. Not the friendliest chap, for sure, but he wasn't terrible. If she had to admit it, she rather liked Draco. He was a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of her family: he let her talk and wasn't overprotective; he didn't try to tell her what to do.
"The strawberries are just a little bit further and then we'll head back home," she responded.
Draco winced at her cool tone, a tone he had come to expect from his father, not his peer. It surprised him how much he didn't want to disappoint her. He usually didn't care what strangers thought.
"I'm sorry for complaining," Draco uttered in the silence, "I'm just tired and it's so bloody hot out here."
He watched Ginny's face soften into a small smile and felt relieved. It hadn't been easy to apologize, but, Draco decided, it had been worth it.
"I guess you aren't really dressed for the weather, are you?" Ginny asked dryly.
Draco shook his head, and Ginny let out a snort. At first, Draco was taken aback by Ginny's unladylike behavior. It would horrify his mother to no end, yet to Draco, it only made Ginny more likable. Suddenly, he began to chuckle at the bizarreness of the situation, and soon Ginny joined in with a giggle that sounded like a bubbling brook. The tension between them broken, they finally had to stop walking as they fell into uncontrollable laughter.
As their laughter subsided, Ginny glanced over to her companion, noticing how just by simply smiling, Draco's face was transformed. His face didn't seem quite so angled, his nose not as sharp; his eyes were lit up with this positive energy, no longer guarded and wary. Even his hair seemed lighter with joy: it now reminded her more of the sun, rather than ice. And just like that, Ginny decided that she wanted to be friends with Draco, even if he was a Malfoy, and she wasn't going to let anyone stop her.
"Green is my favorite color," Draco stated abruptly.
"Huh?" Ginny asked, pulled out of her thoughts.
"My favorite color. It's green," he repeated.
"Oh," Ginny replied, not sure what the point was, "That's ni –"
"Your shirt is green," Draco interrupted.
"So it is," she said, turning to smile brightly at Draco, finally understanding his attempt to compliment her. She was touched by his newfound niceness and pleased that, for once, he was the first to speak.
"Ready to pick strawberries?" she asked as she led him slightly off the dirt road they had been walking on.
"Is it hard?" Draco asked, worried.
"You've never picked strawberries before?" she asked incredulously.
"I've never picked anything before: apples, strawberries, you name it – I haven't picked it," Draco answered.
She stared at him in disbelief for a moment. "Boy, are you missing out!" she remarked, "Just do what I do, and I'm sure you'll get the hang of it in no time."
Draco watched as she pulled out a woven, tan piece of something and was amazed when she stretched it out into a fairly large basket. Ginny looked up and grinned at Draco's shocked expression.
"Mum put a charm on the basket, so it wouldn't be so hard to carry on the way over," she explained, "Ready?"
"As much as I'll ever be," Draco responded.
The two of them set off to work, Draco catching on quickly, just as Ginny had predicted. Before long, their basket was full, and as they returned back to the road, Draco glanced at the sky. The mid-day sun of before had turned to one of the late afternoon. Hours had passed since he first arrived in that field, Draco realized in surprise. By now his parents would definitely notice he was missing.
As they trudged up a hill, Draco noticed that Ginny seemed to be even more alive than before, if that was even possible.
"What is it?" Draco asked.
"You'll see," Ginny replied cryptically.
As they cleared the hill, a grin broke across Ginny's face, as a tall house came into view.
"This is it," Ginny stated proudly, "the Burrow."
Draco took in the sight before him. It was definitely not the Manor, but in some ways he liked it better. The house was tilted slightly as it went higher, and it was rather shabby, but in a good way, as if it was well-loved. As they drew closer, Draco smelled the most wonderful smell wafting through the air. It was the pungent whiffs of freshly baked bread and cooking meat drifting from the open top of the Dutch door that Draco had caught, and they made his mouth salivate with hunger. The clucking of chickens and the distant mutterings of garden gnomes filled the background as a woman's cheery voice called out for Ginny.
"How does she know you're here?" Draco asked, curious.
"Oh, she has a clock that shows the whereabouts of everyone in the family," she explained, and then added, "You have to see it for it to really make sense."
The rest of the door swung open as a short, plump woman bustled out. She didn't notice Draco at first, heading straight to greet Ginny. Draco took in their matching red hair and decided that this must be Ginny's mother. She had a kind look to her: crow's feet bordered her own dark brown eyes, showing years of laughter, and a streak of flour crossed her cheek from an afternoon in the kitchen. As Mrs. Weasley reached out to embrace her daughter, Draco began to feel like an intruder to their intimacy. In fact, taking in the whole picture of the two women in front of the Burrow, basked in the late afternoon sun, Draco felt an immense pang of longing for a life that wasn't, and he felt, would never be, his. This house was not just a place people existed in, like the Manor. This house was built on laughter and love. People really and truly lived here.
Stepping back from her daughter, Mrs. Weasley glimpsed a shock of blonde hair in her peripheral. Upon seeing the boy fully, she immediately recognized him as the sole Malfoy heir. She turned back to Ginny, her eyes snapping, and Ginny glanced at Draco who seemed lost in thought and unaware of the two's exchange.
"Ginny! What in the world have you done, bringing the Malfoy boy here?" Mrs. Weasley asked in a heated whisper.
"His name is Draco," Ginny responded. Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed, so Ginny offered, "And he was lost."
Mrs. Weasley's eyes softened as she looked to the boy in front of her. It was hard to hold a grudge against his family when he stood their looking so lonely.
"Well then, Draco is it?" she asked, jolting him back to reality.
Draco nodded in confirmation.
"I'm Mrs. Weasley. Ginny here tells me you're lost. Is that so?"
"Yes, ma'am," Draco responded.
"What a polite boy," Mrs. Weasley commented, "Although nothing less than expected for Narcissa's child."
"You know my mother?" Draco asked.
Mrs. Weasley smiled at his eagerness, "Yes, dear, we've met."
"I wonder why I've never heard of you before then."
"Well, I guess you'll have to ask your mother that," Mrs. Weasley replied, "Now why don't you two come in, and I'll see what I can do about getting a hold of your parents, Draco."
The two children followed behind the Weasley matriarch like ducklings. Passing the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley requested, "Ginny, dear, put the strawberries on the table, please. I do hope she didn't make you do all the work, Draco."
"Oh, no, ma'am," Draco responded, smiling as he caught Ginny rolling her eyes, "we both were picking."
"Well that's good," Mrs. Weasley said as they entered the sitting room, "Why don't you two sit down; make yourself at home, Draco."
She pointed to the worn couch, placed beneath a set of windows where a soft breeze blew in, ruffling the curtains and cooling the room. Draco placed himself carefully on the cushion, sitting straight so that his back did not touch the seat. Ginny laughed at his formality as she sprawled across the other half of the couch. When her toe brushed the side of his leg, Draco flinched, shaken by the lack of proper decorum observed in this house.
Mrs. Weasley kneeled in front of the fireplace positioned against the wall, her wand held before her. With a flick of her wrist, flames burst to life. She reached into a small bowl to the side of the hearth and pulled out a pinch of powder. Draco recognized it as floo powder – his family used it often enough.
"Am I right in assuming your mother to be at the Malfoy Manor?" Mrs. Weasley asked Draco, turning her head to face him.
Draco nodded, "Yes, ma'am. You should also ask for the parlor fireplace – that's where she's most likely to be," Draco added.
Mrs. Weasley turned back to the blazing fir and tossed the floo powder into the flames. The fire crackled and sparked before turning to a brilliant shade of emerald. Inserting her head into the fire, Mrs. Weasley clearly stated, "Malfoy Manor, Parlor."
She felt the familiar sensation of her head being tugged toward her destination even while her body remained firmly in the Burrow. She couldn't say it felt pleasant, but she reminded herself that she was doing this for the miserable-looking boy stranded on her couch. The pulling stopped, and Mrs. Weasley found that she was looking into an elegantly furnished parlor. The room was empty, save for a house-elf clearing dishes away from what appeared to have been High Tea. Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes at the Malfoy's lavishness.
"Excuse me!" she called out to the house-elf.
The tray that the creature had been holding crashed to the marble floor, the expensive china dishes shattering upon impact, as the small fellow squeaked in surprise. Mrs. Weasley winced. Narcissa would not be pleased to find one of her precious tea sets broken, and her anger would not end well for the poor house-elf. Mrs. Weasley was about to speak up when another voice broke in.
"What in the world is going on in here, Dobby?" Narcissa demanded, her voice shrill as she strode into the parlor.
She was undoubtedly a beautiful woman. Tall and willowy, Narcissa walked proudly and with the easy grace her lineage provided. Her pale blonde hair – the same as Draco's – was coiled on top of her head, and she was dressed in flowing ice blue robes that accentuated the pale blue of her eyes. She carried herself in a way that hinted heavily to her status and power. She was a formidable presence, and as she took in the wreckage on the floor, Mrs. Weasley couldn't blame the house-elf – Dobby, she had called him – from cowering back.
"You broke my china?" Narcissa hissed at the creature. Rose bloomed on her cheeks as her anger rose.
"It was my fault, Narcissa," Mrs. Weasley spoke up, rescuing the visibly shaking house-elf, "I surprised him."
Narcissa startled at the unexpected voice coming from the fireplace. She turned, recognizing the woman whose face was dancing in the flames.
"Molly," she acknowledged, her voice chilly, "I think that I can decide whose fault this was. Dobby should be trained to never drop things, no matter how many distractions there are. Isn't that right, Dobby?"
"Yes, Mistress Malfoy," Dobby replied meekly, "Dobby is very sorry, Mistress, Dobby is to blame."
And then Dobby began banging his head against the stone wall behind him. Mrs. Weasley watched in horror as Narcissa let Dobby continue to hurt himself. After a moment, Narcissa said, "You may stop now, Dobby. Clean up this mess right away," she commanded as the house-elf turned to face her.
When he had scurried from the room, Mrs. Malfoy strode over to the fireplace. Mrs. Weasley wanted to comment on Narcissa's treatment of her servants, but she held her tongue; criticizing the way Narcissa ran her household would not help Draco. Already the Lady of Malfoy Manor was looking at Molly with distaste, her face arranged as if she smelled something bad.
"What is this about, Molly?" Narcissa asked, her voice bored, "And make it quick. While you may be content in doing absolutely nothing all day, I have places to be."
Mrs. Weasley flushed at the obvious insult to her status, or lack thereof. "I understand you son is missing," she said, keeping her voice steady.
"What would make you think that?" Narcissa responded with a laugh. It sounded forced to Mrs. Weasley's ears. "Really, Molly, lowering yourself to idle gossip? I know you have little else to entertain you, but even I thought you were better –"
"He's in my home, Narcissa," Mrs. Weasley cut in tersely.
Narcissa stared, astonished, "Is he okay?" she asked, her tone urgent.
"He's fine," Molly responded. Mrs. Weasley thought she saw relief cross the paler woman's face, but Narcissa schooled her expression to one of disinterest so quickly that Molly had to wonder if she'd just imagined it.
"I see," Narcissa spoke, regarding Mrs. Weasley coolly, "What do you want from me?" she asked suddenly.
"Excuse me?" Mrs. Weasley responded, taken aback.
"What do you want, Molly?" Narcissa repeated, "What can I give you to get my son back with no word of this leaking to anyone?"
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Narcissa!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, irritated, "I don't want anything from you! I just want you to come and pick up your son soon."
This time relief did cross the Malfoy woman's face. Molly wondered if reputation was more important to Narcissa than her own son.
"I will be there sometime in the next half hour," Narcissa informed Mrs. Weasley, "Good Afternoon."
As Narcissa strode from the room, Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes. Of course. The Malfoys always had to have the last word. Frustrated, she pulled her head back from the fireplace and slowly adjusted to being back in the Burrow. She turned to where Ginny and Draco sat, waiting patiently. Draco was looking anxiously to Mrs. Weasley.
"Your mother will be here soon, dear," she said, and Draco visibly relaxed.
They sat for a minute, cooling off after the fire had been extinguished. In the quiet, a growling rumble emerged from the direction of the couch. Ginny giggled when Draco looked sheepishly down at his lap.
"It sounds like someone is hungry," Mrs. Weasley observed, smiling warmly at Draco. When he nodded ever so slightly she continued, "C'mon you two, I'll fix you up a little snack."
The two kids trotted after Mrs. Weasley, back to the kitchen.
"That was quite a noise you made back there," Ginny commented, nudging Draco, a grin spreading from ear to ear. Draco flushed pink, making Ginny burst into laughter again.
"Ginny, you better not be making fun of Draco back there," Mrs. Weasley called back, "Especially not since your stomach has been known to be even louder when you're hungry."
Now it was Ginny's turn to blush as Draco chortled, noticing that even the tips of her ears grew red with her embarrassment.
Entering the kitchen, Ginny jumped onto a wooden stool next to the massive counter that was largely covered with a sprinkling of flour. The delicious smells of before were even stronger in here, and Draco inhaled happily as he slid onto the stool next to Ginny.
"Well don't you look happy," Ginny teased with a grin – Draco wondered if it were possible for her not to smile.
"It smells marvelous in here," Draco explained.
"Why, thank you, Draco," Mrs. Weasley said, sliding a bowl of strawberries over to the two of them, "I've been working on this dinner for most of the afternoon."
"All by yourself?" Draco asked incredulously, "Where were your house-elves?"
Ginny watched her mother stiffen and decided to speak up, "We don't have any. Mum and Dad say it's important to learn how to do hard work on your own."
Draco took in this information for a minute before asking, "Does it always take so long to make dinner?"
Mrs. Weasley gave a small laugh as she said, "Oh, no dear. This one took awhile because it's a special one; it's Percy's birthday."
"That's one of Ginny's brothers, right?" Draco clarified, remembering the name of the studious brother Ginny had mentioned as they picked the fruit.
"Yes," Mrs. Weasley confirmed, pleasantly surprised that he knew Percy's name. As the children finished their strawberries, a thought came to her, "Draco, Ginny, I was about to start on the apple pie – would you two care to help me with the crust?"
"Of course we'll help!" Ginny exclaimed, answering for the both of them. "This is going to be awesome!" she told Draco as they washed their hands. He only looked at her doubtfully in response.
Mrs. Weasley demonstrated how to roll out the crust using the rolling pin, adding more flour when it got sticky. Soon, the friends were happily busy with the pie as Mrs. Weasley moved on to tend her other dishes around the kitchen. As she worked, she let the joyful noises of Ginny and Draco talking and laughing keep her company. They seemed to get along so well. It almost didn't seem possible that he was a Malfoy. Leaning back on the counter, she watched as Ginny flicked some flour at Draco: it hit him square in the nose. The boy glanced up, startled, only to find Ginny grinning wickedly at him. Immediately he tossed some flour back at her, and Mrs. Weasley let them go at it for a bit before clearing her voice. Their squeals of delight subsided.
"Truce!" Ginny cried out, "I call truce!"
Draco gave a smirk that was as much from his father as his mother, and agreed with Ginny. Mrs. Weasley smiled in contentment.
A sharp knock came from the door, and Draco froze. Ginny frowned as Draco instantly reverted back to his formal posture of when she first found him. Mrs. Weasley went to open the door, revealing Mrs. Malfoy. She stepped in, her lip curling in distaste as she took in the more humble surroundings of the Burrow. Her eyes came to land on Draco and softened. Relief washed over her features, and Mrs. Weasley could finally see how much Narcissa did care about her only son. Yet, as Narcissa continued to take in her son's appearance – his rumpled clothing, dusty shoes, and the flour on his face – her eyes began to narrow.
"Draco!" she scolded, "What on earth happened to you? You know better than to get so dirty!"
Ginny, who, until now, hadn't thought Draco's mum was that bad, spoke up, "It's just a little flour."
"Just a little flour!" Mrs. Malfoy exclaimed, rounding on Ginny, "It is not just a little flour, but then I wouldn't expect a Weasley to understand."
Ginny sucked in her breath as her mother cut in, "That's enough, Narcissa. You have your son. I think it's time you left."
Draco stared bewildered between the grown-ups. When Ginny had explained that they didn't own any house-elves, he had guessed that the Weasleys were not of the same status as his family, and that was why he'd never met them, but now it seemed that they did not like each other at all.
The tension in the room was palpable when Narcissa finally spoke, "Alright, Draco, time to go." Draco slid off his stool, picking up the broom he had left next to the table, and started after his already departing mother.
"Goodbye, Draco," he heard a voice behind him say. He turned to see Ginny smiling uncertainly at him. Draco hovered, unsure of whether to respond. He really like Ginny, but he could feel his mother's disapproving glare as she paused in the doorway to wait for him. He didn't want to disappoint either of the, so he settled for a small smile of reassurance toward Ginny – a smile his mother couldn't see. And then he turned and followed Mrs. Malfoy out. He never saw Ginny's face fall in disappointment when he didn't respond.
"I don't understand," Ginny whispered so quietly Mrs. Weasley almost didn't catch it as she closed the door behind the departing Malfoys, "I thought we were friends."
"Oh, sweetie," Mrs. Weasley crooned, holding her arms out to her daughter, "It's not your fault. Sometimes children get caught up in their parents' disputes. Now let's get a happy face on for the birthday party, shall we?"
Ginny nodded as she pulled out of her mum's hug. She turned to go when Mrs. Weasley spoke once more, "And Ginny, dear, I think it would be best to not mention any of what happened today to your father or brothers – you know they don't think well of the Malfoys."
Ginny nodded once more and left the kitchen, climbing up the winding steps to her room.
"Don't expect that your father won't hear about this," Narcissa threatened as she arrived home with Draco, "What were you thinking Draco, flying out of the wards like that? You know quite well that your father and I do not approve of you being outside for anything but Quidditch! And to fly to the Weasleys of all places! How could you have let the family name be associated with those blood traitors?"
"It didn't fly there on purpose!" Draco protested.
"What? The broom just decided to take you there on its own?"
"Yes!"
"Draco. A broom would have to be spelled to develop a mind of its own like that, and our brooms are kept secure. If you're going to lie about this, at least try to make it believable!"
"Well what's so wrong with the Weasleys anyway? They seemed perfectly nice to me. Are they not pure-blood or something?" Draco countered.
"What's wrong with the Weasley family," a new male voice broke in, cold and uninviting, "is that they have tainted their purity by welcoming half-bloods and mudbloods into the wizarding community. They even dally in the muggle world," the word muggle was spat out with obvious contempt, "And to hear that you have been associating with them, Draco, disappoints me deeply."
Draco gulped as his father, Lucius Malfoy, stepped out his study and walked down the hall. Lucius came to stand in front of his son and raised is hand. Light glanced off the Malfoy ring on Lucius' finger, and the glare of it hit Draco in the eye. His father's hand moved fast, the back of his palm connecting sharply with Draco's cheek. Draco let out a gasp of pain as the ring cut into flesh. The force of the blow flung Draco's head to the side where he was faced with the source of the light that had glanced off his father's ring. Through the hall window the sun was setting. Its brightness reminded him of Ginny, and suddenly he didn't hurt as much. He barely registered that Lucius was sending him to bed without dinner. He began the slow climb up to his bedroom, glancing toward his mother as he went, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. She never did when he was punished.
Entering his room, he went straight to his window and pulled back the curtains, determined to watch the sun until it disappeared. Yet as the last rays reached across the land, Draco found himself blinded by the light. Turning away, he climbed into bed, letting the darkness creep into his room. The light was too much for him, and so it was the comforting familiarity of the night that lulled Draco to sleep.
AN: This is my first attempt at long DG fic, but I have to say I am very excited about it! Please review - it keeps me writing :)