Somewhere I Belong

by Tiny Q

It's been just over ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Society has moved on but not in the utopic way everyone assumed it would. For Ginny Weasley, however, everything is going great until a season-ending fall derails her Quidditch career and forces her to reevaluate her life. It also forces her to realize that there's more to Draco Malfoy than she ever thought...

3. Chapter 3 - Hopeful Hearts

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

A/N: I think I might have gone a little overboard with the ellipses in this chapter... you are forewarned...

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

Somewhere I Belong

Chapter 3

Hopeful Hearts

-o-

With a loud crack, Draco reappeared in front of the abandoned canning factory just as Old Ben began to chime five in the distance. With his wand up he surveyed the area, but there was no one around.

He peered into the shadows, his ears straining to hear anything. Yet nothing caught his eye, and all he could hear was the distant sound of traffic and the rattling of an old fan. Where were they?

As the clock clanged its last declaration of the hour, the ground beneath him began to glow. He looked down to find an iridescent blue line which was leading towards an open door in the warehouse.

Draco stared at it for a moment, debating his options, then sighed and headed towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked, only to see the blue line disappearing behind his feet. Despite himself, he was rather impressed with the spell work.

At the threshold of the warehouse, he cast a reveal charm but there was no one inside, other than a few rats. The light was dim at best, and the line was leading out across a catwalk, then down set after set of rusted stairs, which disappeared into darkness stories below.

Draco felt an almost overpowering desire to go back home to where Luna would still be waiting, and have Potter and his ilk come through and do the saving. That was their job, after all—and, if memory served him correctly, they enjoyed doing it. The pressure in his chest, his pounding heart, the shortness of breath—making him feel like he would never breathe properly again—were anything but enjoyable. He was a Healer, not an Auror, and this was the reason why.

The fear on Weasley's face, when they had spoken in the park, flashed across his mind, and he found himself stepping forward before he could think better of it. He was such an idiot. All he was going to do was get himself killed, and yet he kept walking. His footsteps echoed loudly across the abandoned space, and as he began to carefully descend into the darkness he lit his wand, slightly mollified by the small circle of light that surrounded him.

The magicked line led him down flight after flight of stairs until he reached a cracked and crumbling concrete floor. What the narrow beam of light from his wand revealed of his surroundings was almost worse than the oppressive darkness around him. All the hairs along his skin were standing on end, and his senses were all straining, screaming at him that this was a terrible idea. The desire to Disapparate away was almost overwhelming, but he tried to remind himself how upset Luna would be if he came back without her friend. He ignored how upset he himself would be.

The line led him across the floor to another rusted-out door, with more steps that led down into even darker blackness. His feet came to a stop, and he stood there, breathing hard, shaking slightly with the effort to not run away. Bloody hell, he was such a coward.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then stepped down into the darkness.

The temperature dropped as he descended, and when he eventually reached level ground he could see his breath coiling through the air. Directing his wand around, he realized that he was in the Muggle underground, and, if the state of the tracks was any indication, it must have been long abandoned. The line led him to the left, and with a glance around he followed after it, his footsteps uncomfortably loud as he went.

After what felt like ten minutes of walking, he felt a shiver across his skin and froze. There was an Anti-Apparation ward up. He looked over his shoulder but all he could see was the abandoned tunnel.

As he glanced around it occurred to him that he should have left some sort of trail behind himself. There was no way for Luna and Potter to find him down here. He cursed, momentarily debating going back, but he didn't have time for that. Weasley didn't have time for that. He was just going to have to do this on his own and hope he didn't fuck it up too badly.

He turned, and without allowing it more thought, he hurried down the tunnel, following the line. The shale under his feet was almost deafening, the only thing louder being his breath or perhaps the pounding of his heart. Every now and again he would pass an open doorway, it's darkness impenetrable, and a shiver travelled down his spine every time.

After what seemed like an hour, the tracks bent to the left and as he rounded the corner a soft glow of light greeted his eyes. One of the rooms was occupied, and the blue line led right to it.

Draco paused and took a moment to gather his wits. He had no idea how Gryffindors could find this enjoyable. There was absolutely nothing enjoyable about an experience like this. Nothing at all. He just wanted to go back to his life. He knew it wasn't the most thrilling, and he knew his younger self would have been horrified at how anticlimactic it was, but it was a far cry less stressful than all of this hero nonsense. His brief stint as a Death Eater had cured him of a desire for anything more.

Noxing his light, he moved as quietly as he could over to the doorway and pressed his back against the wall. He took a deep breath, then carefully glanced around, his eyes sweeping the room beyond, only to freeze.

His father, who should have been in Azkaban, was standing in the centre of the room. Draco pulled back, leaning back against the brick wall, nausea rolling through his stomach. How had he gotten out? Better yet, what was he doing associating with this Death Eater revival group? Hadn't he assured his mother, many times over, that he was done with all of that? And Lucius had betrayed so many of them to get a lesser sentence, so why would they even be working with him?

Desperately trying to keep himself from hyperventilating, he straightened his spine and raised his wand, though he could still feel himself shaking. But he had a job to do, just like he did in the hospital. This was no different: it was just another unpleasant task that had to be accomplished. Only this time it involved his father and Weasley and—he cut himself off, and stepped into the room.

His father turned, and Draco felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He wasn't staring at his father at all, he was staring at himself. They were still Polyjuicing to look like him.

"About time you got here," the doppelgänger said with a sneer on his face. It was the same sneer his father had worn (and he himself, if he was being honest), but the man's posture was wrong, and the hair was too short. But still, did he really look that much like his father?

Draco felt the world spin dangerously beneath his feet. Dear Merlin, no wonder people hated him. He had tried for so many years to escape the man, but apparently he was physically incapable of doing so. He looked just like him. The ridiculous urge to cry welled up in him, but he shoved it down so hard that he was surprised he didn't move with the effort.

"Where is she?" Draco demanded, the sound of his voice, steady as anything, calming him down.

"Over there," his other self said, waving carelessly towards a pile of what Draco had first taken to be a pile of rags. Now, as he looked more carefully, he could see a tuft of red hair amongst the fabric. "She's still alive, I think."

"She better be," Draco snapped, dragging his eyes away to glare at his not-self. "Her being alive was part of the deal."

"Then you better give me the money and be done with it," the not-him said indifferently.

"How do I know that you won't just kill us both the moment you get it?"

The other Draco held something up in his hand. It was an old sock.

"My Portkey leaves in thirty-seconds," he told him. "Give me the money and I'll be gone, nothing else to it. Don't give it to me, and I'll kill you both and then take it. It's your choice."

Draco stared at him, then pulled out the bag, anger rising in his throat. He didn't want to give it to him. He didn't like the idea of being manipulated once more, especially by another group of fanatics. He glanced over at the pile that was Weasley, then grimaced. There was nothing for it, however.

He checked the drawstring on the bag, then tossed it to his double, who caught it clumsily.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Malfoy," the other Draco said, then a moment later he disappeared.

Draco stood there, his breathing suddenly ragged, all of his nerves tingling in anticipation, waiting for something to happen. Yet, as the seconds turned to minutes and nothing transpired he began to believe that the other Draco had spoken the truth. All they wanted was the money.

"Weasley," he said finally, striding over and dropping to the ground next to her.

She was on her back, everything covered except for her head. Her eyes were closed and her usually vibrant hair was matted around her face. Her skin was filthy and blood-stained, so pale that even her freckles seemed diminished. She looked like some sort of broken doll, used and tossed aside like thoughtless trash. He was suddenly incredibly glad that Luna had not come with him because seeing her friend like this would have broken her heart.

Clenching his jaw he reached out, with a hand that only had a slight tremor, to check for a pulse. The moment it took for the tips of his fingers to feel the slight movement under her skin felt like a lifetime. But then relief was flooding through him, and he realized that until that moment he had been convinced that she would be dead.

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, trying to calm his fraying nerves. Then he opened them, glancing around, before getting to work. He waved his wand, frowning at what the familiar runes told him: she was running out of time, and fast.

There were several pain patches on her, which surprised him, and he could detect that they had used rudimentary healing spells on her as well. It was the only reason she was still alive, but the number of patches was a problem in themselves: she could easily slip into a coma and never wake up.

He gingerly peeled a couple of them off, then pressed his hand against her cheek. It was cool and clammy under his touch.

"Bloody hell, Weasley," he whispered feeling despair threatening to take over. The Anti-Apparation barrier was a good ways back, and getting her there was going to be difficult. But he didn't have the time to wait.

He started slightly as she stirred.

"You're awake?" he asked softly, not noticing that his thumb was still gently rubbing her cheek.

Her eyes popped open, disoriented until they focused on him, then they flared wide in alarm. She cringed away from him, her body trying to curl in on itself and failing.

"Get… away from me," she croaked, and Draco snatched his hand back. He wasn't sure why he felt so surprised—they had been using his face to get her into this position, after all—yet he felt like she had slapped him.

"Weasley," he said as calmly as he could. "It's me. The real me. I've come to take you home."

"How… do I know… i-it's you?" she said hoarsely, her breath short. She was starting to shake with the effort of keeping herself away from him.

"What can I do?" he asked, resisting the urge to reach over and attempt to physically calm her.

"Tell something… only you… know."

"When I was a kid I used to be quite fond of ferrets," he heard himself blather, feeling desperate. "Always wanted one as a pet, actually, but mother hates them. Yet after that madman who wasn't actually Moody turned me into one I was forever put off by the idea."

Weasley laughed shortly, then groaned in pain.

"Don't make me laugh," she said weakly, though her body relaxed. When her eyes met his again he felt relief flood through him as his usual Weasley looked back at him: tired, in pain, but more like the woman he had come to know through their brief moments together over the years.

"I'll try not to," he replied. "You believe it's me?"

"No one else… would tell me… s-such… pathetic story," she said laboriously. She pulled her mouth into a lopsided grin around her split lip.

"Indeed," he said, dipping his head slightly, leaning towards her once more. "I'm going to patch you up as best I can, then I'm taking you to the hospital, okay?"

She nodded her head, closing her eyes.

"What're you… d-doing here?" she asked as he slipped his hand into his pocket.

"You mean instead of Potter?" He grabbed the first-aid kit—ignoring the sting he felt in his chest—and pulled it out, using his wand to make it bigger. Another wave had items soaring up into the air.

"No… instead of… Aurors."

Draco hesitated as he pulled the blanket the rest of the way back to assess the damage. She winced, and he felt a pang of guilt spear through him.

"They blamed me," he told her carefully as he began to feel around her limbs, noting when she winced. Everything corresponded with what the runes told him. "And then sent me an owl about it, with a very small window for action. If I didn't come your side never would have forgiven me."

"Why didn't… go to Aurors?"

"Luna's doing that as we speak," he told her, carefully peeling two more pain patches off of her. "There wasn't time to do anything else."

"Luna's home?"

"Yah, she came back as soon as she could."

She moaned softly. "Don't… feel so great."

"That doesn't surprise me," he told her, pulling back and glancing at the equipment floating in the air. It somehow didn't seem enough, but in reality, there was little he could do for her here. At least her brace was still on, which was something at least. "You've gone and mucked up all my hard work. Very ungrateful of you, really. I thought you were at least clever enough to know not to play in the street."

She snorted, then moaned in pain once more.

"Shut… up," she groaned, glaring at him briefly before closing her eyes.

"Ah, I see you're lovely attitude hasn't changed," he quipped, sounding far more cheerful and confident than he felt. "I'm going to try and stabilize you now. This might get uncomfortable."

She nodded and he waved his wand sending everything down to secure the damage to her body. She winced and gritted her teeth, but hardly made a sound. She was made of sterner stuff than he was, he realized, because he knew he would have been howling in her place.

"I thought… make pain go 'way… not worse," she said, her voice wavering as he worked. She tried to glare at him again, but it looked more like a grimace this time. Her body had begun to shiver, and her teeth rattled slightly.

"I can only do so much," he replied, faking nonchalance and glancing over his work. It was about as good as he could hope for. "You haven't exactly picked the best hideout, Weasley."

The look she gave him was weak, but it conveyed her sentiment nonetheless.

"Getting you out of here is going to be tricky," he continued as he sat back, sending all of his equipment back where it had come from and replacing the kit in his pocket. "We can't Disapparate out because they've put up wards a ways back. It's going to be painful as soon as I move you."

"Whatever," she gritted out. "But you owe me… for this."

"Tell you what," he said distractedly, as he cast several charms on her, namely to secure her spine and reduce her weight. He cast a final warming charm on her and her shivering ebbed away but didn't stop. "When you're your usual charming self again, I'll take you out for dinner to make up for it."

He shut his mouth as quickly as he had opened it, cursing himself and his loose tongue. He was obviously more stressed out by this scenario than he realized. He glanced cautiously down on her, feeling the tops of his cheeks begin to burn.

"Are you trying… to entice me to… cooperate… or scare me off?" she said, a pained smile on her lips, one that almost reached her eyes. "Accepting… your invitation… got me into this… mess…."

"It wasn't mine," he said lamely.

"Forgot," Weasley said, grimacing as he took off his cloak and wrapped her in it as best he could. "That was… Malfoy… who smiles."

"Oi, I smile!" He glared at her as he leant back once more.

"Never seen it," she said, shaking her head ever so slightly causing some of her hair to slip down onto her face. He balled his hand into a fist to keep himself from reaching out and pushing it back.

"It's hard to smile at someone who's always calling you a dictator," he snapped, getting carefully to his feet.

"You are one," she said, looking blearily up at him.

"It's for your own good," he told her, glancing around one final time before taking a steadying breath. He didn't want to do this, but Levicorpus was going to be too slow. She needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

"Exactly… what… dictator… would say."

"And then you wonder why I don't smile at you," he said, shaking his head. "I'm going to pick you up now, all right, Weasley? I've made you weigh nothing, so I might actually be able to manage it."

"Too weak… to carry me?" she asked by way of reply, and Draco rolled this eyes as he stooped down and put his arms under her shoulders and knees, still gripping his wand. Their eyes locked and he felt something in his chest tighten. Her body looked so defeated and broken, yet her spirit was still shining through her eyes. Still fighting to survive despite everything. How did she do it?

At her nod, he lifted her up as gently as he could. There were still tears in her eyes and she still cursed and winced, but she didn't tell him to stop, didn't give up. Draco felt an intense stab of guilt, even though he hadn't done this to her. Well, in a way he had, but—

"Well, if you didn't weigh so much it wouldn't be a problem," he replied, trying to distract himself. It was a lie, however because she was tiny and he had had to carry much heavier patients than her without magic. Once he was standing he adjusted her in his arms and she let her head curl in and rest against his chest, her body limp.

"All muscle," she slurred. She took a shallow breath then another. "You smell different."

"Good?" he asked distractedly as he looked down on her. If the circumstances weren't so dire he would have taken a moment to enjoy the feel of her there. She seemed to fit perfectly in his arms…

"World's… spinning," she muttered into his shirt, snapping him out of what he shouldn't have been thinking about, regardless of the circumstances.

"I know," he replied, lighting up his wand. Glancing around one final time he made his way carefully out of the room, trying not to jostle her too much. "But you have to try and stay awake, all right, Weasley?"

"Whatever… dictator," she mumbled, and Draco couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

As he reached the tunnel he looked around in the darkness, aiming his wand this way and that, as best he could. It looked more forbidding now. At least with the line he had felt relatively secure, but now it was just him and his—and the broken Weasley. He could feel panic licking at his heels, but he did his best to ignore it. Releasing a breath he struck out to the right, walking as quickly and as smoothly as he could, his footsteps crunching loudly as he went.

Weasley's body relaxed further into his arms.

"Hey," he said, watching as she stirred. "No falling asleep."

"I'm awake," she said groggily, barely managing to open her eyes.

"You need to stay that way."

"Stop being… so… bossy," she said without any conviction.

"Stop being such a brat," he said before he could stop himself.

"Got hit… by… car," she muttered. "And then… you kid… napped me."

"I hope you don't intend on blaming me for the rest of our lives because of something someone else did with my face," he said as they moved past doorway after doorway, the darkness seeming to watch them.

"What's… in it… for me?" she said softly, her eyes sliding shut once more. Her voice was painful to listen to, and he wanted nothing more than for her to be able to stop and rest. However, he was terrified that now that she was awake that if she stopped it would be the last time she said anything.

"You have to stay awake, Weasley," he told her firmly. "I know it's hard, but you have to."

She made a noncommittal noise.

"How about you tell me a story," he said, his mind spinning for a reason to keep her awake. "Tell me why you're just Weasley again. What happened to being Mrs Potter? I thought he was the love of your life or some blather like that. I've never had a chance to ask you when you're in the hospital."

She blearily opened her eyes, and her left shoulder moved ever so slightly under his hand.

"Not right… together," she said finally. "But… too busy… to realize."

Draco nodded, though her eyes were already sliding shut.

"Then… I got pregnant… and all… fell apart."

"You have a kid?" he asked in surprise, hating how much the idea hurt. The thought of her with Potter's child…

"No," she said flatly before he could get carried away. "Miscarried."

"Oh," he said, quickly feeling like the biggest arsehole in the world. This was turning out to have been a bad choice in topics. The last thing she needed right now was another reason to be upset. That and he knew she wouldn't be telling him this part if she wasn't stoned on pain patches. "I'm sorry."

"It was… what it… was," she said, her voice laced with a sadness that made Draco feel even worse. "But… made me… start living… f-for me." She paused. "Family doesn't know… don't tell them… please."

Draco looked down at her in surprise. Now he was certain that she wouldn't have said a word to him. He felt like he was taking advantage of her, and he desperately hoped that she wouldn't remember this and feel the same way.

"Why have you kept it a secret from them?" The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.

"Don't… know," she replied, surprising him. "A Weasley… having trouble…" She trailed off, turning her face into his chest.

"Sorry," he said, squeezing her gently in an attempt to physically convey the sentiment. "I shouldn't have asked you that. It was none of my business."

Silence greeted his ears, and Draco looked down, only to find the redhead looking up at him, an exhausted but incredulous expression on her face.

"What?" he asked, frowning at her.

"Never thought… ever hear… a Malfoy… apologize… to a Weasley," she told him weakly, smiling ever so slightly. "Thought you'd… burst into… flames."

"I apologize to people all the time," Draco said, glaring down at her, though there was no malice in his expression.

"I've… never… heard you," she told him, closing her eyes again.

"Just like I never smile around you either," he told her. "It's almost like you don't know me at all, isn't it?"

She snorted weakly. "I'm… really… tired, Malfoy."

"I know," he replied, squeezing her gently once more. "We're almost there." He hoped. "Just stay with me."

"M'kay…" she whispered, her voice fading away.

"Weasley—"

The sound of falling rock brought Draco to a standstill, his words dying in his throat. He extinguished his wand and stepped as quietly as he could over to the wall, pressing his back against it. As soon as the light went out his ears seemed to pick up on everything and anything, namely his heart pounding in his ear, his increasing breaths, and Weasley's shallow ones. Too shallow. He squeezed her carefully, but she didn't stir.

He glanced around, grimacing, then pinched her thigh. She moaned softly but didn't wake.

"I heard something," a familiar voice said further down the tunnel, and relief flooded through him. He wasn't even ashamed of it this time.

"Potter?" he asked cautiously.

"Malfoy?"

A moment later the tunnel was filled with light, exposing Potter, Weasel King, Luna, Longbottom, and several other Aurors, all squinting in the sudden brilliance.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Weasel King demanded, striding forward, arms outstretched as though to snatch his sister from his arms. Draco tightened his grip on her protectively, pressing himself further into the wall. "You had no business—" He cut off, a strangled noise escaping from his mouth. "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Ronald Weasley," Luna said sharply, as Potter snapped his name.

"Look at her," Weasel King groaned, his eyes not leaving her. "She's—"

Draco opened his mouth to tell him off, but Weasley groaned in his arms and started coughing wetly.

"We don't have time for this right now," Draco snapped, glancing around in alarm. Luna was by his side in an instant, her hand tightly gripping his bicep. "She needs to get to St Mungo's immediately."

"The Anti-Apparation wards are just a few feet behind us," Luna said softly.

"Good," Draco replied. "I need someone to come with me so that I don't get arrested for walking in there. They still think I'm the kidnapper."

"Aren't you?" Weasel King demanded.

"Ron!" both Luna and Potter said angrily.

"What?" the redhead snapped.

"I'm serious," Draco said as Weasley began to cough again, her whole body shaking with the effort. He increased his hold on her, feeling panic begin to grip his heart. "She's dying."

That snapped the lot of them to attention.

"I'll go," Longbottom said. Potter nodded, and moments later Draco felt himself being compressed into space, his best friend, a Weasley, and Longbottom along for the ride. If the situation wasn't so dire, he would have thought it was the beginnings of a terrible joke; which, really, just sort of summed up his life perfectly.

-o-

Draco glared at the dark haired man from across the table he had been asked to sit at. They were in one of the conference rooms in St Mungo's, and he knew an interrogation when he saw one, and this was exactly what this "friendly chat" was.

After over six hours he and a team of Healers and nurses, including his boss, had finally got Weasley as fixed up and stable as they could. He was pretty confident that everything was as good as it could be, given the circumstances, but it was going to take a while before she would be running around, let alone playing Quidditch. It still stunned him that she was even alive, considering what she had all gone through over the past twenty-four hours, but she was a stronger person than most people gave her credit for.

Now all they had to do was wait for her to wake up and make sure everything was indeed all right. In the convening time, Potter and his goons were determined to figure out what he had done wrong.

"So explain it to me again," Potter said, glaring at him. "You got the letter and just took it upon yourself to give money to a terrorist group?"

"There wasn't time to do otherwise," Draco snapped. "They only offered me a twenty-minute window to decide and act." He glared at the other man. "And you can't tell me that anything different would have happened if it had been in your hands."

Potter glared back at him. Draco was glad, that despite the interrogation, it was again just him and Potter. The Weasel King had been in a right state since they had arrived at the hospital, and Draco was making a point of avoiding him, even if he had rescued his sister. Apparently, he wasn't alone in that sentiment, for at the moment Longbottom was standing outside the door keeping watch.

"No," the bespectacled git said finally. "We wouldn't have. Though he would have put a trace on the money."

"I did," Draco said flatly.

"What?" Potter sputtered, and Draco glared at him. He wasn't an idiot.

He took out his wand and waved it, revealing the runes that would allow them to track the bag. Potter took out his own wand, a dumbfounded expression on his face as he recorded the information.

"It's attached to the bag, not the gold," he told him. "So act quickly, because it's not the most unique trick in the box. Though, given whom they took, I don't think they're as clever as they think they are."

"Do you usually have large sums of gold stashed away in your flat?"

"I don't see how my financial habits are pertinent to this investigation," Draco snapped, glaring at him. "I haven't done anything wrong. And not only was I framed and had my reputation tarnished further"—his glare increased at Potter's incredulous expression—"I am finding myself substantially poorer."

"The Ministry will reimburse you," Potter said, surprising him. He hadn't actually expected that at all. Not when a Malfoy was involved.

"Don't bother," Draco said firmly, keeping his expression neutral. "I'd rather you spend that money getting back what they took and stopping them altogether."

Potter arched his eyebrows but simply nodded.

"And Potter," he said, the matter just occurring to him. "Don't let anyone tell her about the money. She can't know."

"We can't tell her about the thing you did that saved her?" Potter asked incredulously. "I thought that it would be one more thing you could hold over all of us."

"And that's exactly why not," he snapped back. "None of this was her fault. She doesn't need to feel indebted to me of all people after everything else."

Potter stared at him. "Some days you really surprise me, Malfoy."

"If your opinion of me mattered at all, I might be flattered," Draco sneered.

"And then you say something like that, and everything is right again with the universe," Potter said dryly. "Do you have any idea why they would send you the ransom note instead of her family?" Draco was surprised that he hadn't said us.

"No clue," Draco lied. "The only time I've spent time with her is when she's been my patient, and even that is only for a brief period of time. I have nothing to do with her recovery. So I am assuming it has something to do with the Malfoy-Weasley feud and a nice bonus of ruining what little reputation I have."

Potter nodded. "It's just that you're not the first person they've gone after like this," Potter told him casually. "Though usually they go after life partners or family members, not patients."

"We're not secretly dating, if that's what you're thinking," Draco spat, though a part of him wished that they were. "If they're going after people important to their benefactors they would have been better served to go after Luna—though no, we aren't dating either, and never will be—but there is a more logical connection there than with Weasley."

"And yet you still paid."

"And yet if I hadn't and I missed the deadline I would have been responsible for the death of not only England's darling Chaser, but the ex-wife of Harry Potter, a member of the DA, daughter of the Minister, and a member of the Weasley clan. Did I forget any titles? No? Regardless, in light of that, I had to act because I just want to live my life, and I have no interest sitting behind bars for crimes that I did not commit."

Potter stared back at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Whatever, Malfoy," he said.

After that the interview carried on, Potter asking him about the events in several different ways until he seemed satisfied that Draco had honestly just been caught up in the events and not responsible for them—as well as to reassure himself that his ex-wife and a Malfoy were not dating behind his back.

A few days later, Draco still sneered at the memory as he found himself striding through the hospital. Would it really be that terrible of a reality? A Malfoy and a Weasley? He supposed it would be.

The papers were going wild speculating about what their relationship could be, from a secret love affair going back to their time at Hogwarts, to his using Dark Magic to ensnare her. It would have amused him, but despite a huge article on what had happened, how his actions had saved the youngest Weasley as well as led to the arrest of several members of Dark Rising, he was still getting distrustful glances and sneers. It kind of ruined the whole ordeal. It seemed a Malfoy could do no good, even when he did. And in that case, how could someone like him ever hope to be accepted by someone like her.

He rounded the corner and saw Willoughby walking out of the room he had been heading towards. He hadn't seen the Healer since the night he had brought Weasley in, and Draco realized with some surprise that he looked about as tired and worn as Draco himself felt. He supposed all of this had been a PR nightmare for him as well.

"Chief, why are you still here?" he asked as he came up beside him. It had to be close to three in the morning.

"I could ask you the same question," the older wizard said, his sharp brown eyes flicking across him.

Draco gestured into the room, where he could just see a head of blonde hair. "Keeping her company."

Willoughby nodded. "I see"—he paused, then clapped Draco on the shoulder—"you did good work, Draco."

Draco blinked in surprise, then nodded his head in gratitude, schooling his features. "Thank you, sir."

"And for the record, I'm glad that everything got sorted." He smiled tiredly at him. "I knew it wasn't you."

Draco nodded his head a second time, not quite sure if he trusted his voice. The older wizard yawned, covering it with his hand, then smiled at him, the wrinkles on his face creasing happily.

"I'm going to go home before something else goes wrong," he told him. "Have a good night."

"Thank you, sir," Draco responded, feeling a little dazed. "You as well."

With a bemused expression on his face, he walked into Weasley's recovery room, wondering if Luna had heard the exchange and had an opinion on it. As he moved past the curtain he found her sound asleep, however, curled up in her chair like a cat.

He felt an ache in his heart. What was it about Luna that made him, well, love her (for lack of a better term) but only in a way befitting for a sister? What had she done to him? And why, he wondered, not for the first time, did that not bother him in the slightest?

Draco turned his attention to the other sleeping woman in the room, and felt a reaction as well, though this one was entirely different. This one did bother him, though he had gotten so used to it over the past decade and a half that he didn't think much of it anymore.

He sighed and walked over to the closet and took down a spare blanket, returning to Luna and draping it over her. He proceeded to carefully tuck it around her shoulders and feet, smiling slightly as he did so. He didn't think he would ever understand how she could just close her eyes and sleep near anywhere. He certainly couldn't.

"Malfoy?" Weasley asked groggily, and he turned to look at her, a thrill going through him as her brown eyes met his grey ones.

"Weasley," he said softly in return, as though worried his voice would startle her away.

"I thought you were supposed to make the pain go away," she said softly, her voice rough.

Draco finished tucking in Luna and turned to her, pulling his wand as he did so. Automatically he checked her vitals.

"It was worse before," he told her, smirking at her slightly, glancing at the runes and relaxing as he realized that everything looked okay so far.

"I remember." She glanced about the room, her eyes lingering on Luna. "What are you doing here?"

"I just got off work and was just checking in on her," he told her. "You've… been asleep for a while, and it's her turn to sit with you. She usually takes the night shift, and I don't think she's been sleeping much during the day." He paused. "But there's always been someone here with you." Myself included, he thought. For, despite his good intentions, he was having a hard time staying away from her—which was new and unprecedented. Usually, he could put a wall up and forget all things Weasley, even if she was in the hospital, but it wasn't working this time. He usually found himself in her room reading a book while Luna busied herself with a sketchbook and some markers. Today he had spent far too long in his lab, trying to avoid this very scenario, so he felt exhausted as well as annoyed for showing up once more.

Weasley nodded. "How long?" she croaked.

"Almost five days," he said softly, glancing at the door. "I need to tell them that you're awake."

"Malfoy," she said, her left hand coming out from under the blanket, reaching for him. He stared at her, then her hand, before carefully taking it into his own. It was warm and soft and calloused, and almost tiny in comparison. Her fingers curled around the sides of his, gripping it with a surprising strength, given what she had been through.

"Thank you. For everything."

"No worries, Weasley," he told her, squeezing her hand gently, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart. "No worries at all."

Their eyes locked, and Draco felt like the world was dropping away around them. He didn't want to look away, he didn't want to move, ever again. He just wanted her to keep looking at him like that, like she actually saw him. He didn't want to go back to the way things were. But they had to. For her sake. So he forced himself to look at their hands, feeling like he had just walked away from the sun and returned to darkness.

"I'll go tell the nurses that you're awake," he told her, squeezing her hand once more. She nodded, her eyes sliding shut, and he carefully put her hand back beside her on the bed. He glanced back when he had reached the door, but she didn't open her eyes again.

Feeling a peculiar weight in his chest, he headed out into the hall, informing the Head Nurse that she was awake. A flurry of activity followed, and Draco found himself slowly walking back towards the room, trailing after nurses and Healer Edward Chafe.

He hesitated outside, wondering if it was appropriate for him to go back in, but then he saw that Luna was still asleep somehow and took a step in. The lot of them had pulled the curtains back, and as they fussed her eyes met his and smiled slightly at him. He felt the will to keep away from her drain out of him, and he went and sat beside Luna, hating himself for his weakness.

Once everyone had left, Weasley glanced at the still sleeping Luna before fixing her eyes on his.

"I thought you said you were working," she said quietly.

"I was," he replied with a frown.

"Then why aren't you in Healer robes like everyone else?"

He stared at her, wondering why this, of all things, was standing out to her. "I was in my lab," he said finally. "Though I could have changed for all you know."

She nodded her head, closing her eyes briefly. "What do you do in you lab?"

"Research that you will never find out about," he replied automatically.

Weasley snorted softly. "Bloody Slytherin." She opened her eyes, then bit weakly at her lip. "Did they catch them?"

Draco nodded his head. "They didn't take the whole operation down, but they caught who took you."

"Who was it?"

Draco hesitated, uncertain if he should be the one to tell her. Yet as she looked at him, exhaustion and something else in her eyes he sighed; how could he deny her anything she asked of him? "Dark Rising took responsibility, but it was Marcus Flint who was using the Polyjuice Potion."

She nodded her head, rolling her head away from him. "I didn't think I was going to make it," she said softly, so softly he found himself leaning forward to hear her better. "I thought that when I hit the ground that was going to be the end of it."

"But it wasn't."

"No," she said, her voice tense. "It wasn't."

She was silent for so long that Draco started leaning back, assuming that she had fallen asleep.

"The first time I opened my eyes I thought I was seeing you," she said suddenly, her voice choked.

Draco felt a pang of unease go through him.

"He didn't… hurt you, did he Weasley?"

She turned and looked at him, tears swimming in her eyes, and, not for the first time that week, felt like someone had gut-punched him.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "It just wasn't you." She took a shaky breath. "Every other time I've gotten hurt lately I wake up to see you, and then I know everything's going to be okay. And for a moment I thought everything was, but then it wasn't you."

She closed her eyes and wiped clumsily and ineffectually at the tears that were now running down her face. She opened them again and focused on something across the room. "And I didn't have my wand. All I wanted was my damned wand, then I knew everything would be different. But I couldn't have even used it if I'd had it." More tears rolled down her cheeks and Draco reached over and placed a box of tissues beside her.

"Thanks," she said wetly, pulling a few out. She glanced at him briefly, her brown eyes red and puffy, before burying her face in the white cotton. "Where did you go?" she asked him, her voice muffled.

"I'm still here," he said carefully, frowning at her. Did she have brain trauma? Everything had looked clear on the scans, which was amazing considering what the rest of her body had been through.

"I mean, where did you go after your trial?" she said, raising her head and looking at him. "You—Flint—said that when you came back to England that—well, he just never said where you went."

"He probably didn't know," he said with an uncomfortable shrug. He shifted subconsciously in his seat, glancing at Luna, who was still asleep somehow.

No one knew what had happened, not really at least—except for Potter, but that had been unavoidable, given the circumstances. He had never spoken about it with anyone and he avoided thinking about it, though there was a constant reminder if he cared to look at his arm. Now, as he stared at her, he felt the story on the tip of his tongue. As though it was for her that the secret had been waiting inside his chest for the past decade. And he was shocked by how much he wanted to tell her. She had confided in him, didn't he need to return the confidence? Though admittedly she had been right stoned at the time…

"You don't have to tell me," she said softly, shaking her head. "I was just wondering."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at it slightly.

"I ran away," he said finally.

"What?"

"I ran away," he said again. The words were easier this time.

"Why?" she asked. It was such an innocent question, with an answer that was anything but.

"Because I'm a coward," he said, hating himself as he glanced away from her, not wanting to see confirmation of his statement in her eyes. "I just… couldn't handle it anymore. When it was over I couldn't go home, couldn't bring myself to go back to that damned Manor. For those two years, I had wanted nothing more than to escape, and I finally could."

"Where did you go?" she asked softly after a moment's silence.

"America; California to be exact," he said with a shrug. "It was the first Portkey out of Europe."

Weasley stared at him, her eyes sad, though her tears were drying up.

"Then what happened?"

Draco hesitated. Was he really going to do this? She was the one person that he had never wanted to know. The one person who he wanted to think the best of him, to not know what kind of coward he truly was. But he was too weak to resist giving her what she wanted, even if it was a truth he had never uttered before. So instead of keeping it all to himself he opened his mouth and damned them both.

"I started drinking," he said slowly. "Among other things."

He dropped his hand to the sleeve of his left arm, and slowly began to unbutton the cuff, pulling up the fabric. She watched him, gasping as the angry red keloid scars were revealed on his forearm: his sorry attempt to cut the Dark Mark from his flesh. He pulled it back further, past the inside of his elbow, where more scars appeared, ruined veins and all.

He jumped as Weasley's fingers skimmed over the scars.

Something had gone wrong with them, and his sense of touch there was more pronounced than it had been before. He always felt it was a punishment for trying to deny what he actually was, had actually been. He had tried to get rid of the damned thing so he could forget it and move on with his life, but instead his arm was always uncomfortable, always making itself aware as his clothes moved against it. Now he couldn't even pretend that it wasn't there.

"For how long?" she whispered.

"About two years, on and off," he replied, keeping his eyes fixed on her fingers.

"But… then how did you get back here? How did you get to be a Healer?"

"I ended up in the hospital when I did this," he gestured towards his arm. "Someone recognized the Mark and called the Aurors. They thought I was a Death Eater in hiding." He smiled humourlessly. "Next thing I knew, Potter was there, and I was heading back to England, getting clean, and trying to get my life sorted. And the bastard had the audacity to help me with all of it. He's probably the only reason I got this job too."

The silence hung heavy in the air, and Draco finally looked up to find her staring at him, her expression curiously absent of emotions. It was more unsettling than any amount of disgust or pity could have been. Since when did she not wear her heart on her sleeve?

"For being such a coward you still managed to come and rescue me, right when I needed you."

He shook his head, bile rising in his throat.

"If I'd had the choice I would have been happy to leave the job to the Aurors," he said, looking away again.

His eyes settled on Luna, who was still sleeping soundly. The hair hanging in front of her face was moving slightly as she breathed, and he absently reached out and pushed it behind her ear.

"I was ready to fight my way back into the OR if I needed to—to help you—but nothing beyond that." He hesitated. "I only acted selfishly. If I hadn't I would have lost the ability to do my job and Luna wouldn't have been the same if something had happened to you… and the thought of that…," he trailed off, shrugging, keeping his eyes on their mutual friend.

The silence was broken by a bark of laughter, then a groan of pain. Draco's head shot up and he looked at her in surprise.

"You know, I'm beginning to think that you're the ridiculous one, not me," she said, smiling lopsidedly at him.

Draco stared back at her, flabbergasted. Here he was admitting to her that he wasn't the hero she deserved, and she was smiling at him? And it was a genuine smile too, one that lit up her whole face and her eyes, even if her mouth wasn't able to spread as widely as it could. It was an expression that he had seen on her countless times before, but she had never directed it at him before. He felt a profound ache in his chest, one he couldn't interpret the meaning of, and he was at a complete loss as to what to do. So he just tried to focus on keeping his expression neutral.

"You're not disgusted by my answer?"

"How could I be?" she asked. "You walked into danger to rescue someone you don't even like so that your friend wouldn't be sad and so that you could keep helping people." She smirked at him around her scabbed-over lip. "Besides, you're a Slytherin. We can't expect miracles from you now can we?" She stifled a yawn. "I think I'm going to fall back asleep, though."

"Sleep well," he managed to say, watching as she closed her eyes. It didn't take long until her breathing had evened out.

He glanced over at Luna and jumped slightly. She was staring at him, wide awake, but she hadn't moved from her curled up position. By the smile on her face, he had a feeling she had been awake the whole time, and he frowned at her slightly, wondering if his Slytherin roots weren't rubbing off on her.

He felt something tighten around his heart as he realized what she would have heard everything. But it occurred to him then that Luna probably would have put it all together—or at least some version of it—before. She had seen him in short sleeves, she knew what his left arm looked like. And now that he thought about it, she had never asked about it. Not because she was being polite, but because she didn't need to.

Still, he felt exposed, raw. He shouldn't have opened his mouth. Neither of them needed to hear any of that. That was his burden to bear, his shame.

Luna's hand came out and gripped his left forearm, just bellow where the scars began, as though she knew exactly where they were even when she couldn't see them. He stared down at her slim, paint-stained fingers, then finally looked up at her face.

She smiled at him, not her usual dreamy smile, but a reassuring one. One that seemed far too poignant and present to be from Luna, and yet, there it was on her face.

"Thanks," he said softly, turning back to look at Weasley, the pressure of Luna's hand anchoring him and making it all a little easier to endure.

-o-

A/N: Well, this chapter got a little long and out of hand. Sorry? I'm sure I could prune it down a bit more, but my summer is counting down at an alarming pace and I want to be free! I apologize for any rambling you may have had to endure. Anyhoo, I would love to hear your thoughts!