Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did... well, that'd be awkward. Considering I'm re-writing all the major plot points. And killing off characters.

Author's note: So... I don't know if I'm going to be able to keep up with weekly updates. As I'm writing, my chapters are getting longer and longer. The first chapter was two thousand words, the second was three thousand, the third was four thousand. And this one is five thousand words. I will try though. Because it'll keep me on track. And I feel I owe it to all of you for making you wait so long in the past...

oOoOoOoOoOo

One year ago...

Ginny nearly walked by the letter.

She was home late from work, and it had been a hard day. They'd lost the case against a group of young Death Eaters who had tormented and assaulted a young Muggle-born witch. Well, not lost it, per se. The young men had been convicted of assault, but not malicious assault. If she and Preston had been able to prove that these young men had been Death Eaters, then the sentence would have been five times as severe. But the judge had ruled in favor of the defense. He had determined that these young men were not really Death Eaters. They had just been drinking too much. They were guilty of bad judgment, but nothing more malevolent. Because this was their first offense, they had been sentenced to probation and community service. Nothing more.

It was a difficult blow. And it proved that the Death Eaters were getting smarter. They weren't Marking their new recruits. They were keeping their meetings and doctrine silent. They were hiring lawyers to get convictions on smaller crimes, and even taking plea deals to avoid getting a convicted of hate crimes.

It was disheartening, and Ginny planned on taking a very long, very hot shower. And then she wanted a home-cooked meal and a glass of wine. And then bed. With this plan in mind, she nearly walked straight passed the letter, but then stopped, and turned.

The letter was propped up on her vanity along with the rest of the day's mail. This letter had only her name written on the front, no sender address, but she knew whose handwriting that was. She had read and re-read the letter Draco had left her, four years ago, when he had first gone missing. She had memorized every word and every letter, and now here was another.

She crossed over to the vanity and picked the letter up with trembling fingers. Hope flared in her chest, bright and fluttering, but she quashed it back down, not wanting to be disappointed. She quickly opened it.

Dear Ginny,

If you get this letter, then it means I have been gone for too long.

Odds are, you are not going to get this letter, but I am writing it just in case. I have it dated for four years after my departure. If I am not back by now, then either I am not as smart as I thought I was, or I am dead. As I am a genius, both of these things are unlikely. Which really just proves my earlier point that you aren't actually going to get this letter. But let's put probability and logic aside. If you get this letter, it means something has gone wrong, and you deserve to know that.

I wish I could tell you why I left. And what will be occupying my time while I am away. I wish that I had said good-bye in person.

We both know that last statement was a lie because you know how rubbish I am at anything emotional. But I do wish I had kissed you.

A few things to say to you now: First, I know I said this in the first letter, but I am waiting for you. Please do not feel obligated to wait for me. You're young, smart, and gorgeous. And if I am not back by now, then there is a good chance I am not coming back at all. Please do not waste your life on me.

Second, I can't give you the manor straight out, because we aren't married, but I am signing over permanent guardianship to you. I gave it to Bill at first because I trust he'll run it well while I am gone these first few years, but if I am dead… well, I think you'd be more pragmatic about what needs to get done. And you won't be afraid to make changes. Also, I want to be able to leave you something good, and the manor is a lovely place. It is your home now, so make yourself comfortable and enjoy it.

Third, I'm sorry. I am sorry I left. I am sorry I am not back. I am sorry that I have failed. Most of all, I am sorry I am not with you now.

Lastly, and most importantly, you are the woman I love. I had never thought I could love someone as I love you. My love has always been a selfish, temperamental emotion. But you I love wholly and purely.

Please forgive me.

Yours,

Draco

Ginny dropped to her knees and sobbed.

oOoOoOo

Present day...

Funny, but to Draco, it looked a lot like he was actually sitting down to dinner, not an emergency meeting. He looked around at those already gathered, wondering if anyone else thought this was strange. No one seemed as confused as he was. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were at the end of the table, helping themselves to fresh bread and butter. Mr. Weasley was reading the paper. Mrs. Weasley was busying setting out platters and dishes while some truly wonderful smells were coming from the kitchen. Bill was helping set the table, and then he slipped into the chair beside him.

"This is the emergency meeting, right?" Draco asked.

Bill nodded. "Emergency meetings involve our strike teams, intelligence teams, Ministry liaisons, and logistics. Harry," he nodded down at the table, "runs one of the strike teams."

"Should I know what that means?" Draco asked, a little testily.

"If you had just waited a moment, I was going to explain it to you," Bill said.

"Oh."

"Strike teams are our rapid response and combat teams. The Ministry has its Civis Arma forces for rapid deployment, but they're primarily concerned with neutralizing the immediate threat, protecting civilian life, and reclaiming lost ground. We're more concerned with cutting Voldemort's power from under him, sabotaging his forces, and waging war."

"Civis Arma is the military waging a politically correct war, and you are the resistance fighters," Draco summed up.

"Exactly."

"How many strike teams are there?"

"Three teams, and they're on call in eight hour shifts. Harry runs one, and Ron and Hermione are on his team, as well as Sirius Black – he's the guy that just came in."

Draco looked at the man. Dark hair and eyes, fair skin, and a sense of laughter about him. The latter was proven when he leaned over Harry, said something to the three gathered, and they all burst into laughter.

"He's actually distantly related to you," said Bill.

Draco jerked a little in surprise, and then looked back at the man. He finally looked up, spotted Draco, and did a bit of a double take.

"Draco?" he asked.

"Wait, Draco?" asked another man, coming into the room. He looked to be about Draco's age. There was a rather sizeable scar on the side of his face. He saw Draco, and actually staggered back a step.

"Draco?" he asked. "Draco, is that-?"

Harry pulled him over to the side and whispered something in his ear.

"That's Blaise Zabini," said Bill. "You went to school together. Dean Thomas is behind him. They're on strike team two. And those two men coming in are Rudy Costace and George Parrish. They're Aurors, which are our police force, and members of the Civis Arma."

The two men wore faded red robes and serious expressions. Their shoulders were tensed, eyes alert. They looked surprised to see Draco, but nothing more. Draco was pretty sure that meant he didn't know them personally. He watched as Mrs. Weasley took in the state of the men, and immediately began fussing. The man called Rudy – the younger man – gave a bit of a roguish grin, clearly pleased with the attention. George looked a little more formal.

"And that's Pansy," said Bill with a bit of a grim note in his voice.

Draco looked over. A gorgeous woman had come in. No, not walked in, flaunted in. She paused for a moment in the doorway, shaking back long dark hair. She wore a business skirt-suit, but the skirt was two inches too short to be professional, and he couldn't tell if she had a shirt underneath her blazer or not. There was an impressive amount of cleavage. She wore an outer-robe that appeared to be silk.

Her eyes lit onto Draco, and something changed in her expression. He didn't know what it was, but she tossed her head back once more and continued her saunter into the room. She ran her fingers over Rudy's neck as she passed, and he turned, an appreciative look on his face. George elbowed him in the side. Blaise pulled out a chair for her and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. He didn't look down her blazer, even though he had a perfect view. They must be friends.

"Pansy's in intelligence," said Bill. "Well, a bit of a freelancer, but helpful. She's not… she and Charlie… well, they were serious about each other. And then… when he died, she didn't take it too well."

Draco looked at her, wondering if he could tell that she wasn't doing well. She didn't appear to be upset. In fact, she looked fine. She was laughing and flirting with Rudy and George at the same time.

"That's the second third of our intelligence," said Bill as another woman came into the room. She had pale skin, a snub nose, and hair that was currently electric blue. "She's actually your cousin, Tonks."

"Shape shifter," said Draco, remembering the conversation he'd had with Hermione.

"Tonks does infiltration work, whereas Pansy … ,"

"Seduces her way into information?" Draco surmised.

Bill looked a little pained, but nodded.

"Who's the third member of intelligence?"

"Ginny," said Bill.

Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Ginny works in the justice department," Bill explained. "Specifically, trying and convicting Death Eaters. It gives her access to a lot of confidential information – overseas trips, business ventures, money transfers, that sort of thing. We've uncovered quite a few Death Eaters due to monitoring their finances."

"So Ginny will be here," Draco said, feeling something flutter a little nervously in his chest.

Bill shook his head. "She's in a closed meeting with a judge and Advocate Preston. We couldn't get word to her."

The flutter was replaced with a pang of disappointment, and then several more people were coming into the room.

Bill introduced them as Oliver Wood and Hestia Jones, who were on strike team three. Fred and George, more Weasleys and identical twins, were in weapons development, and Draco shouldn't trust anything they give him.

Fleur came in next. She greeted Bill with a kiss, and then Severus arrived, looking a little pinched around the eyes. He strode to the head of the table. There were a few empty chairs. Draco knew that Ginny should have filled one, but didn't know who else was missing. He was going to ask Bill, but then Severus cleared his throat, and the conversation around the table went silent.

"Thank you for your attention," he said in a drolling sort of voice. "By now it's obvious why we've brought you here. We would like to welcome the return of an important member, and also share some vital information with you." He paused. "Or should I say, lack of information.

Draco shot the man a glare, because that just seemed uncalled for. Every face turned to him, and he shifted a little, uncomfortable.

Mrs. Weasley inadvertently saved him by whisking an entire dinner onto the table. And suddenly everyone was more focused on serving themselves heaping plates of food and passing dishes than looking at Draco. And Draco came to the realization that this was not a conference table, rather a dinner table.

He leaned over to Bill and whispered, "Is it normal to have emergency war meetings over dinner?"

"Yes," said Bill. "You get used to it."

Draco shrugged a little, and then helped himself to a plate of roasted chicken, potatoes, and vegetables. The food was good, far better than the food that Draco had been feeding himself for the past three months – and probably the last five years. Mrs. Weasley was showered with compliments, and Severus, at the end of the table, looked a little annoyed at the interruption, but in a resigned sort of way.

The distraction the food provided only lasted about twenty minutes, and then as the diners started getting full, or moving onto second helpings, Draco noticed more and more people were looking his way. Blaise was trying to whisper something at him. Pansy raised her eyebrows at him, and Draco didn't know what it meant. He shifted in his chair a little and drummed his fingers on the table. He jounced his leg up and down. He sighed, slumped back in his chair, and tried taking in a few deep breaths. The two red-heads with identical faces gave him odd looks. Draco started fidgeting again.

Bill pressed on his shoulder to get him to stop. Draco did, rather ill-humoredly, and suffered through the rest of the meal. It wasn't long, thankfully, and then Mrs. Weasley was clearing the table and breaking out coffee and tea – and that seemed to be a cue for everyone else to start talking about work again.

But Draco noticed that the mood was different. Before there was tension and grim faces, now there were relaxed expressions and a few bits of laughter here and there. There was more energy as well. It made sense- from a biological view. Eating was a natural way to decrease stress and anxiety because it was a physical cue that the current environment was safe. Draco wondered if the dinners were deliberately held to distress the attendees, or just a happy accident.

"If we could now return to our previously scheduled conversation," Severus said, not bothering to rise from his chair this time.

The conversation died down again.

"As you can see, Mr. Malfoy has returned to us," Severus said. "So, here to explain where he's been for the past five years, is Mr. Malfoy – or the closest approximation we have to him."

Draco bristled, an angry report on his tongue, but Bill gave him a warning nudge. Draco bit back his response.

"Mr. Malfoy, you have the floor," said Severus.

Draco looked around the table. The faces were expectant, hopeful. He sighed. "So, I have spent the past five years deciphering the Merlin Tomb. I don't know why. I don't have my memories. Bill says that it's most likely that I mind-wiped myself, so until I get my memory back, I'm not entirely sure what the code is for or what it does."

There was a moment of silence. Draco could pick out varying expressions of horror and frustration from the people seated around the table.

"So… how much did you lose?" Blaise asked. His expression was falling more towards concern than frustration, which was nice.

"Well, I don't know who any of you are," said Draco.

"And he doesn't know what magic is," said Bill.

There was a general uproar from the table – at least, from those who didn't know already. Severus was quick to rein them in by tapping his wand on the table. It made a sound like a judge's gavel.

A magic noise spell.

Rather pointless, Draco thought.

"If Mr. Malfoy felt it was important enough to wipe his memory for the sake of this code," Severus said, "then it is safe to assume that it must be crucial to the war."

"Maybe it's a way to defeat Voldemort," said the man called Sirius Black.

"I think the most pressing concern is where are Mr. Malfoy's memories," said Severus. "Draco, do you have any clue where your memories might be?"

Draco frowned a little at his phrasing. "Still in my head, I'd imagine. Maybe there's a memory trigger or something to unlock them."

"People can pull their memories out and store them," said Bill. "It's actually more likely you did that."

"What do you mean, pull them out?" Draco demanded, feeling a little panicked.

"You could have left them here, or somewhere else," said Bill.

"Hope you didn't leave them in Hogwarts," said one of the twins.

"Yeah, that would be a problem," said the other.

They laughed, but Draco wasn't hearing them, not really, because he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his memories were outside of his head.

"Boys, please," Mrs. Weasley scolded.

"Just saying," they moped together.

"Wait," said Draco, because this was really hard information to assimilate. "Memories can take on physical form?"

"It's a little complicated, but quite feasible to take out most of your memories," said Severus. "You would have had the knowledge and the power to do so."

"But if my memories are somehow physical, that means then can be destroyed," said Draco. "Or lost, or broken, or – how was this a good idea?"

"It's alright," said Bill, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll find them."

"But what if they were at this Hogwarts place? You said it was destroyed."

"You wouldn't have put them in Hogwarts. You didn't trust Dumbledore so far as you could throw him," said Severus.

"What if someone took them?" Draco asked, still panicking. "Or someone moved them, accidentally? Why on earth would I have taken my memories out of my head?"

"You might have feared capture," said Bill.

Draco paused. He didn't remember being captured, but something flickered in the back of his head. His arm went to his shoulder. He remembered pain.

"Draco?" Bill asked.

"Who would want to capture me?" Draco asked.

"Voldemort and his followers," said Bill. "Did you see them? Were they after you?"

The phantom pain slipped away, leaving no memory, just a blank wall. "Not in the past three months. But I can't speak for the other times."

"Wiping your memory might have been the best way to protect yourself," said Bill. "Or protect the code. You can't tell someone something you don't know, not even under Veritaserum."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "You guys have a truth serum? Like sodium pentathol?"

"Far more effective," said Severus with a slight sneer.

"First order of business then," said Bill. "We find Draco's memories."

"Two orders of business," Severus corrected. "Bill, you help Draco find his memories, and meanwhile I want some more information about this code. We'll probably need assistance from the Ministry."

"We'll tell Kingsley and King Arthur," said Rudy, giving a nod.

"King Arthur?" Draco asked.

"Head of the Civis Arma," Bill explained. "King Arthur is a title, not an actual name. It protects the identity of the leader."

"An identity we really should be privy to," said Arthur Weasley, a little sternly. "It would make these meetings more productive, don't you think?"

Rudy smiled and stood up. "That's on a need-to-know basis. When you have something that might stop Voldemort, we'll revisit the subject. But right now, we're concerned with government stability, and protecting our leaders."

"You mean busy negotiating with Death Eaters," Arthur said, derision in his voice, and Draco could tell there were a few other Order members who agreed with him.

"We're keeping the country together as long as possible, while you figure out the Prophecy," said Rudy, with the same good cheer as before. "And if Harry hadn't had already been an Order member, we'd be working with him too. But as he's got you all to help him, we'll focus on making sure there's a country left when this is all over."

He gave a short nod and left, George Parrish following him. Draco watched them go. There was an undercurrent to that discussion that hinted at an ongoing political debate. Part of him knew that he was probably good at politics, and yet it seemed to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Who's ready for dessert?" Mrs. Weasley asked, breaking the unsteady quiet that followed the two Aurors' departure.

She brought out a chocolate and raspberry trifle, and while Draco ate, he was bombarded with questions.

"You really don't remember me?" Blaise asked.

"Can you still do magic?" one of the twins asked.

The other twin shoved his brother. "He's lost his memory, not gone Squib."

"Do you remember Hogwarts at all?" Blaise asked.

And then people were trying to fill him in on all the latest happenings. Did he know that Seamus got married? Well, no. And he didn't even know who Seamus was. And Hermione had graduated valedictorian, and Filch had nearly been killed when Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts, but Mrs. Norris had saved him by biting any Death Eater that came close to him.

Why was she biting?

And the Quidditch World cup had been cancelled.

"What's Quidditch?" he asked, and that launched another round of explanation, and seriously? Flying brooms? Were they just trying to be stereotypical now?

Oh, and Dean was now a werewolf?

"What?" Draco demanded, because this was getting really ridiculous now.

"Fenrir bit him," said Harry.

Dean rolled up his sleeve to show him the scar.

"Werewolf?" Draco demanded again. "What, are there vampires now too?"

"Well…," said Harry. He trailed off, and looked a little sympathetic to his plight.

And then the door opened, and a very large man stepped through. A very large man with a very large beard, and someone that large couldn't be possible, could he?

"That's Hagrid," Bill whispered in his ear. "He's half giant."

"But of course," Draco snapped. "Giants and werewolves and vampires – and what else? Unicorns?"

Bill was suspiciously silent.

"Fuck this," Draco spat. He scooted his chair back.

"Oy, you're back, Draco," the large man greeted him. "Glad to see you!"

"Likewise, I'm sure," Draco managed, and then he strode out of the room and kept walking.

That turned out to be a mistake, because he didn't know where he was going. And the manor was big. No, more than big, it was the size of a shopping mall. He walked down far too many halls, and then ran into what must be some sort of refuge wing. Children were running in the halls and shouting and playing. A few parents were watching them, and then they stared at him, like he was a ghost.

Were ghosts real, too?

"Draco!"

Draco stopped and turned. Bill was jogging after him. Draco waited for him to catch up and glared a little.

"I'm sorry," Bill apologized. "I know it's a lot to take in. That was… we'll take it slower next time."

"Next time? Next time I lose my memories, you mean?"

Bill sighed a little. "No, tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll take it slow. I'll explain as we go. And Harry and Hermione can help. They didn't know about magic until they got their acceptance letters."

"Acceptance letters?"

"To Hogwarts," Bill explained. "But, how about for now, we just get you to your room and you can get some sleep?"

"Do I have my own room?" Draco asked.

Bill laughed. "Draco, you have a suite of rooms."

"Oh," said Draco, not quite knowing how he rated that luxury, but pleased none-the-less. "Yes, that sounds good."

"Come on," said Bill. "And I'll give you a bit of a tour on the way there, huh?" And for some reason, Bill found that funny, but Draco didn't know why. Bill pointed out where the family wing ended, which Draco made a mental point not to visit again, and then Bill pointed out which was the dining room used for meetings, and what dining room was used for regular dining. And he pointed out where the rest of the Order was living, and also directions to the dungeons, which was creepy.

And then they reached Draco's room.

"We'll catch up tomorrow," said Bill.

"Yeah, sure," said Draco.

Bill left. Draco turned to the door, reached out to the door handle, and it immediately swung open. Almost as if it was waiting for him.

Draco stepped inside and stared for a moment.

The room was huge. And the bed was… well, it was even larger than a California King. And there was a small sitting area in the room, as well as a very large bathroom and a study, all attached.

There were personal items in the room was well. Draco poured over them like they could return his memory, but he didn't remember winning any of the trophies. There were several for thestral riding (what was a thestral?) and even more for dueling (which sounded dangerous). And there were books – a lot of books. Make that a ton of books. The titles were foreign and just plain odd. Draco wondered if reading them would answer some of his questions, or make him more confused.

At the very least, he needed to sleep. He showered and changed into sleep clothes he found in the wardrobe. He was bigger than the clothes – a little taller and heavier, and wow – he must have been a skinny kid, because he was trim now, and these clothes looked ridiculously small. The seams expanded to fit him, which weirded him out a bit. Magical seams, apparently.

Draco dropped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was carved and gilded with gold accents. He contemplated the fact that this was his life now.

And then the door was flung open. Draco rolled off the bed, startled, and a young woman rushed inside.

"Wait – Ginny!" Bill called after her.

Draco had just enough time to realize that this was Ginny and to get an impression of her face – pretty, dark eyes, red hair – and then she was in his arms.

He caught her, of course he did, and then her lips were on his, and her hands in his hair – and he was caught off guard for a moment. And then his brain caught up and he returned the kiss because this… this was good. She kissed him like she was drinking him in, and her body was warm against his, and he could feel her trembling a little.

"Ginny," Draco heard Bill say, somewhat urgently in the doorway.

She pulled away just a little and stared up at him. Draco took in her face. Her eyes were a bright brown. She had a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her lips were pink with a cupid's bow, and her hair was a gorgeous red-gold. She was altogether captivating.

"Hello," Ginny said, her voice no more than a whisper.

"Hi," Draco whispered back, and he didn't know her yet, but oh, how he wanted to.

"Ginny," Bill said again, this time sounding pained.

"I missed you," Ginny said again, still that same whisper.

And Draco couldn't say it back, not really, because he hadn't missed her. He'd missed the idea of her, sure, but not her in particular. He reached up and touched her face.

She tipped her head to the side, and her eyes searched his, like she was looking for something. Draco knew what she was looking for. Recognition. She pulled back half an inch.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

"No," said Draco.

He watched her fight to keep a neutral expression, but he could read the devastation there.

"Are we," he asked, "by any chance, married?"

She laughed once, the way someone laughs when they first hear bad news because they don't know what else to do. And then she stepped back. Her hands rose to cover her face, but he could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," said Draco, lacking anything better to say. It was the wrong thing to say, because that made her sob, and then she was whirling around and running out of the room. Bill chased after her and the door swung shut behind them.

Draco let out a heavy sigh and flopped back onto the bed. He stared back up at the ceiling and fell asleep with the overwhelming sense of wretchedness at having disappointed a whole house full of people. And he didn't even know who those people were.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Ginny listened to Bill's story about finding Draco. She listened to his theories about his memories. She listened to him make wild speculations about the code. She listened to his platitudes and words of reassurance, and then she went to her room, shut herself up in the shower, and cried.

She cried for a full hour, drowning her tears in hot water and lavender-scented bath soap.

And then, after that hour, she felt a little bit better. Once the initial disappointment and grief and hurt had passed, the logical side of her brain kicked in.

Draco was alive. He was alive when Ginny had feared the worst – had, in fact, been told to believe the worse, by none other than Draco himself in the letter he'd sent her a year ago.

But he was alive. And she believed what Bill believed, that Draco had wiped his memories himself. And there was no way that Draco, genius that he was, would have wiped his memories without a way to retrieve them again.

She looked at herself in the mirror. "Be happy," she told herself sternly. "Draco is alive, and everything will work itself out in the end."

She nodded once, and then rummaged around for some clothes to wear. But what did one wear when they were seeing their boyfriend for the first time in five years and said boyfriend had amnesia? And it was late at night. She couldn't exactly dress up for the occasion.

She settled on comfort over fashion, leggings and a soft, over-large sweater. She braided her hair and debated whether or not she should put make-up on. A glance at the clock told her it really was too late, so she left her room and walked next door to Draco's.

She knocked on the door. There wasn't an answer, so she pushed the latch and stepped inside.

She had kept Draco's room the same. No one had changed a thing. Sometimes she came in to sleep on his bed – when she was worried or frustrated or scared. She'd even sprayed his cologne to keep the room smelling like him.

She gently shut the door behind her. The lights were still on and Draco was lying on his bed. Not properly though. He was sideways on the bed, pillows to his left. She could see that his eyes were open, but he didn't move, just stared at the ceiling. He'd been sleeping, that much was apparent by his loose-limbed sprawl.

She crossed over to the bed. "Sorry to wake you."

His eyes finally slid over to her. They were tired and dulled and full of pain, and so much more expressive than she'd ever seen him. It was both foreign and impossibly familiar.

She crawled up onto the bed and sat beside him. He returned his gaze to the ceiling. "I don't remember you."

His voice was flat and instantly recognizable. Ginny felt the urge to grab his hand, but refrained.

"I know," she said instead.

He reached a hand up to scrub at his face. "I don't know anyone."

"Bill told me."

He sighed and then propped himself up on his elbows to look at her. His expression was so frustrated and exhausted and so Draco, that she immediately wanted to make him laugh. It was an urge she often had when Draco was at his most serious, so she leaned in and asked, "Am I hotter than you pictured?"

For just a moment, he stared at her, and then he dropped back onto the bed and laughed. He laughed long and hard, and Ginny's breath caught just watching him. He'd never looked so easy and careless before, so free of expression. She couldn't help but laugh as well.

He pushed himself up and sat in front of her, both of them cross-legged, their knees touching. "I was afraid to picture you," he said. "But yes, much hotter."

"Well, good," said Ginny. "I'd hate to disappoint."

He watched her for a moment and Ginny watched back.

"This is weird," he finally said. "I feel like… I feel like I need to learn you all over again."

"That's fine," Ginny said. "I probably need to learn you too."

"Bill says we can probably find my memories," said Draco, and then his face screwed up, almost boyish in distaste. "But… I don't know. I guess I don't have much faith in something I don't understand."

"That's very like you," Ginny said.

"Are you… or rather, how upset are you that I'm not myself?" Draco asked. And then he glanced away, like he didn't want to know her answer, but she could see himself tensing, preparing for the worst.

Ginny reached out and grabbed his hands. He looked back at her, and didn't shy away from her touch.

"You're still you," Ginny said. "You're still the same, I can see that. You're just… a little more comfortable, is all."

Draco didn't look entirely convinced. She lay down next to him. He had no problem pulling her close so that her head rested on his shoulder.

"I miss you, of course," she said. "And I'm angry that you left. And that I thought you were dead. And obviously this was not the re-union I was hoping for, but you're here now, and we'll get your memories."

"Just like that?" he asked.

"Just like that," she agreed.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Yay Ginny and Draco, back together... sort of. Please leave a review on your way out!