Interlude

July 2007

Nine years. Nine years and three months, since he'd last seen her. Since he'd been home.

Not that this was his home. This was Ginny's home, at least, according to the Daily Prophet's employment records, it was.

His home—Harry's home—was gone. Left behind, three years ago.

Harry stared out at the extravagant townhouse. He stood across the street, in the grassy square that stretched down the block. Beneath his Invisibility Cloak, no one could see him, staring at the house.

He hadn't wanted to see anyone, really, talk to anyone, because he couldn't be sure if it was really safe for him to come back now. It had been nine years—nine bloody years, you'd think it would be safe enough to return—but he had to be sure. There was too much at stake now, things he couldn't risk.

So he needed to see someone—talk to someone—someone he could trust, someone who could fill him in, answer his questions, catch him up, without telling anyone else he'd been there. He'd ruled out going to the Burrow, because even if Ginny was there, it was likely many other Weasleys would be too, especially Mrs. Weasley. And as much as Harry would have liked to see her—to see all of them—he knew he couldn't, not now. It had to be Ginny, and Ginny alone.

So he'd snuck into the Daily Prophet offices, got into their employment records, and found Ginny's address. He knew that she worked for the newspaper now; he'd seen her Quidditch articles in a couple of recent papers. So he'd found her address and tracked her down. To this massive townhouse in London. He had no idea what Ginny was doing, living here, how she'd come to live in this great house, but there was no doubt that this was the place.

He crossed the street, his heart hammering in his chest. He was extremely nervous about seeing Ginny after all this time. What would it be like? What would she say? What would she be like? All these thoughts ran, scrambled, through Harry's head, as he walked up the steps to her house and took off his Invisibility Cloak. Trying not to think about it too much, he reached out—before he could second-guess himself—and rang the doorbell.

Then he waited. And waited. And waited.

He rang the doorbell a second time, and was just beginning to think that there was no one home—it wasthe middle of the afternoon, on a weekday—when the door swung open.

Harry blinked. Ginny stood before him. There was a male, somewhat old, house-elf standing just behind her. But Harry's eyes were all for Ginny. Not so much because she was just as beautiful as he remembered—though she was—but rather because she had her wand out, pointed straight at him.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Her face was white, but her hand didn't shake, and her tone was resolute.

"Erm—" Harry glanced around, and then looked back at her. "It's me, Ginny. Harry?"

She swallowed visibly. "Who are you really?" she asked, her words coming out from between clenched teeth.

"Harry," he repeated. When she didn't move or lower her wand, he went on, "It's me, Harry Potter, who practically grew up with you since I was eleven years old. We went out sixth year, and even though I haven't got a tattoo of any kind on my chest, you told Romilda Vane I had one of a Hungarian Horntail, and that Ron had a Pygmy—"

"Harry?" Ginny dropped her wand as though her arm had gone limp. She stared at him, her face so white now, she might have been a ghost. Somehow it made her red hair, tied back from her face, even brighter, like a blazing fire. The look in her brown eyes was an odd mixture of disbelief, fear, and relief. She took a step back, though whether because she wanted to get away from him, or because she was inviting him in, Harry wasn't sure. Tentatively, Harry assumed the latter, and took a slow step into the house, as though expecting her to toss him out. He didn't want to be rude, but the less time he spent standing out in the open, the better.

"Erm." He glanced behind him. "Sorry, but I don't want to be seen and—"

"Merlin, Harry, it is you!" Ginny suddenly threw her arms around him, and Harry was so relieved, that she believed him and hadn't immediately reacted badly, that he put his arms around her as well, holding her tightly for several long seconds. For a moment, it was so wonderful to be back—to see Ginny, to be welcomed back—that he just stood there, holding her, taking it all in.

But then she let go of him and stepped back, and as Harry let his arms fall from her and to his sides, an inexplicable sadness, coming from so many different places, washed over him.

Ginny's eyes were a bit wet, but she hastily dashed an arm across them and said, "Tasher, please close the door." The house elf standing back a ways hastily went to shut the door.

"Does Miss Ginny and her guest require anything?" the house elf—Tasher—asked politely. "Some refreshments?"

"What? Erm—yes—" Ginny blinked rapidly, looking between Harry and the house-elf, as though she were still processing Harry's appearance. "Bring something into the sitting room, why don't you?"

Tasher scurried off. Harry watched him go, a bit puzzled. For the first time, his eyes left Ginny and traveled around the house he now found himself in. The walls were a shining, pristine white, as was the large, grand staircase on his left, and the banister it led up to, on the first floor. Everything was very elegant and fine, from the polished mahogany tables, to the lamps hung on the wall, to the dark wooden door on the left, to the paneled, glass doors that were propped open behind Ginny. It was a big house, but Harry did not see or hear anyone else within it.

Before he could ask Ginny any questions, however, Ginny stepped up to him again. She had an odd look on her face, and for a moment, he was half-afraid she was going to try to kiss him. But then, her eyes narrowed, and she reached out and punched him, hard, squarely on his chest.

"Ow." Harry stepped back, half-fearing another hit. "What was that for?"

Ginny let out a breathless laugh. "For being gone so long, you prat! Without any word at all! Where have you been? In hiding all this time? You were set up somewhere, weren't you, with a Secret-Keeper? Did Hermione ever find you?"

"Hermione?" Harry shook his head. "No. Is she—"

"Come on." Ginny shook herself slightly, as though still trying to make sense of him being there. "Come in here, we can sit down and you can tell me everything." She led him back through the glass doors, into a large, open sitting room, which went back quite deep. Large windows were set in the back wall, letting in plenty of light, though it was shaded, it seemed, through a roofed terrace out back.

Ginny sat on the end of a long sofa, and Harry seated himself on the right and slightly across from her, in a comfortable armchair. He looked at Ginny, still not quite able to believe that he was here with her. She looked thin, he thought, thinner than he remembered her, and he saw, now, that there was something wan about her face. It was…off, about her. Ginny had always been so vibrant, so strong, but there was something almost fragile about her now. He wondered what she'd been through, to make her look so drawn. And he wondered, guiltily, if it was anything he could have prevented, if he'd been here.

But then, sometimes things happened you couldn't stop, even if you were there. That, Harry had discovered, was almost worse than knowing you could have done something, if you'd known. Knowing, being there, and still not being able to do anything—that was worse.

"So," Ginny said, settling in comfortably in the sofa, "you haven't seen Hermione at all?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Was she looking for me?"

Ginny nodded. "She took off here about a year ago looking for you—well, she'd been looking for you before that, too, I think. She actually left Grimmauld Place and went off into hiding about four years ago, but that was really just because she didn't want to be alone after—" She faltered. "Well, after—"

"Oh." Harry nodded. "After Ron left, you mean."

Confusion colored Ginny's expression, replacing an anxious look that had been stealing over her face. "What?" She blinked, shaking her head. "You know that Ron—" She broke off, her eyes going wide. "Wait—Harry, have you—have you seen Ron?"

"Of course." Now Harry was confused. "He's been with me, these past few years. You didn't know?"

Ginny gaped at him, her mouth moving soundlessly, open and shut, like a fish. Her eyes were so wide it was slightly alarming. "He's—Ron—he's been—all this time—he's been with you? Harry, are—are you sure?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, feeling a little insulted that she thought he might've been mistaken. What did she think, that he'd imagined Ron living with him these past four years? "I mean, if he were an imposter or something, I think I would have noticed after all this time—"

Ginny was now looking at him as though she were trying very hard not to scream. Her hands were twitching, as though she very much wanted to punch or strangle someone. Harry wondered whether he should perhaps put some more distance between them.

"And—" Her words came out a bit choked. "And he couldn't—did it never occur to my stupid, idiotic, prat of a brother—to maybe, you know, send his family some word that he was even alive?"

"What?" Harry blinked in astonishment. "You mean, you didn't know? Don't tell me you thought he was dead!"

Ginny sucked in a deep, long breath. She shut her eyes for a moment, holding a hand over her forehead. "Merlin," she whispered. Then, with great effort, she opened her eyes and looked around at him.

"Yes, Harry Potter, we all thought he was dead! Well, I didn't," she amended. "There was never a body, and I refused to believe—I thought, in fact, that he might have gone off with you. But of course everyone else thought he was dead! He never sent any word otherwise, and he just disappeared, during the attack on the Ministry! The last anyone saw him was Tracey, and she saw him being overwhelmed by Death Eaters, before she was knocked out—"

"Well." Harry coughed. "Yes, he was taken captive by the Death Eaters, but he escaped and came to find me—apparently, they were going after him a lot already, see, to get him to tell them where I was—"

"So he was your Secret-Keeper?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "So he knew where to find me, see. Not that it matters anymore, we left that place years ago—we've been on the move a bit, that's why we didn't want to send any owls or—"

"Forget owls, what about a Patronus?" Ginny demanded, her eyes a bit wild.

"Well, I thought Ron did send a Patronus." Harry shook his head. "I thought he said—I don't really know what happened, Gin. I'm sorry," he said, suddenly feeling guilty all over again, even though it was not, really, his fault. "We should've—I dunno—"

"Oh, Harry, it's not your fault," Ginny said crossly. "It's Ron, the stupid git—honestly." She shook her head. She grabbed a pillow, sitting on the sofa beside her, and bunched it up in her arms, hugging it. "The thing is, we got word about a year ago—the Ministry found out, from Bellatrix Lestrange, that Ron had escaped them alive. So everyone's sort of been hoping—the whole family, I mean—but, well, we still hadn't had any word, so…" She trailed off with a shrug.

Harry felt terrible. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he said. "I really didn't know—I mean—but then—" A horrible thought occurred to him. "Hermione—did she think, too, that Ron was—was dead?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes, but she eventually came to believe that he might be alive because—erm—" For some reason, Ginny went a bit pink, and she glanced around the room nervously, as though expecting to see someone listening in. "Well, someone—I mean, some evidence was found, in the Riddle House, and—well, the point is, when she went off looking for you, a year ago, I think she was hoping she'd find Ron with you, too."

Harry nodded. He sat back in the chair, looking around. He wasn't quite sure what to say. He knew Ginny probably had other questions, but he wasn't eager to answer them, wasn't eager to share everything he'd been through, the past several years. So, instead, he voiced the question he'd been thinking of since he arrived. "Ginny," he said, frowning slightly, "where did you get this house? And the house-elf? I mean, I know you've been working for the Daily Prophet, but I didn't think they paid this much," he said jokingly.

Ginny didn't smile, however. She looked a bit uncomfortable. "Erm—Harry—so you've been reading the Prophet? Keeping up with things?"

"Only lately, really," Harry admitted. "I was able to get papers more often when I was still, erm—living at the house, the one with the Fidelius Charm, you know. But like I said, we left there about three years ago, and we've been on the move, so we haven't really had much news. It's only the past six months or so I've been getting the Daily Prophet more regularly."

"Oh," Ginny said. She looked a bit strained. "Well—erm—a lot has changed around here, you know. I mean—I mean, not everything, of course. Fred and George are still living in their flat, above their shop—except, George is married now, to Diana Bradley, and they have a son—"

"Really?" Harry felt a grin spread across his face. "I knew he'd gotten married—that was in the Prophet—but I didn't know he had a son! That's great!"

"Yes, he's five now, or he will be. His birthday's in a couple weeks." Ginny smiled a little, but it was a weak smile. "And, er, Bill and Fleur have a daughter too now, Victoire—she's three now, well, three and a half—"

"That's great—"

"Yeah, and, erm—well—let's see—" Ginny sort of stuttered off, looking very pink now, for some reason. She cast around, as though unsure what to say. Harry looked at her for a moment and then, unthinkingly, he glanced down at her hands, which were fluttering uneasily in her lap. A glint of gold there caught his eye, and it was a small shock to him, this realization.

"And you got married too," he said.

"Wh-what?" Ginny looked up quickly, looking slightly panicked.

Harry pointed at the gold ring on her left hand. "You're married too, aren't you?" he asked.

"Oh—well—" She swallowed, looking a bit distraught. Harry wished she wouldn't, but she was probably worried what he thought. The truth was, although he was surprised, the first thing he felt, really, was relief.

Because if Ginny had moved on, then maybe it would be okay that he had, too.

"Yes—I did get married." Ginny swallowed, twisting the golden band around her finger. It was an elaborate ring, gold and set with diamonds. Elaborate, just like this house. Whoever she married must be well off, Harry thought. "And, well, the thing is, Harry—I—"

"Excuse me, Miss Ginny." Harry and Ginny looked around at the squeaky voice, and Harry saw, with a start, another house-elf, standing at the back of the room. "Miss Fleur is Flooing for you, Miss Ginny, in the parlor."

"Oh." Ginny leapt to her feet, still looking quite flushed. "Okay." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Ginny, reading his mind, assured him, "Don't worry, Harry, I won't say anything about you. She probably just wants to know if I can watch Victoire sometime—I'll be just a minute."

Harry nodded, watching her hurry out of the room. The house elf—this one was female—scurried off after her. He shook his head, wondering that she had twohouse-elves. Not even the Malfoys had had two house-elves, so far as he knew, though he supposed they could have afforded them.

He got to his feet, looking about the room more closely. It was a very nice room, but, Harry thought, it didn't have much of a lived-in feel. There was hardly a personal thing to be seen, no pictures, nothing, save for a blue cardigan hung over one of the chairs beside a table.

He wandered off to the left side of the room, where two doors stood open, revealing a much smaller room, which was cramped with bookshelves and two armchairs. He supposed this was a sort of library. Harry stepped inside. There was a book sitting on one of the armchairs; he picked it up and read the title Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. Had Ginny been reading this?

On the left side of the library, there was another door, which just barely stood ajar, open only a crack. Considering that it was more closed than open, Harry thought he probably shouldn't go in this room—probably shouldn't even peek in—but Ginny was still upstairs, and Harry was becoming more and more curious about Ginny's life here. Who had she married?

Stepping past the armchair, he eased the door open and stuck his head in, looking inside.

It was a dark study. There was a very large desk, which took up most of the room, carved from black, polished wood. There was a single lamp in the room, one that probably didn't give much light, Harry thought. There was also a window, but there were curtains closed against the light from outside. All sorts of papers and books littered the desk, nothing special. Harry was just about to shut the door and leave the dark room when an object on the desk caught his eye. It was a picture frame, but it was face-down, as though it had fallen over forward—or as if it had been deliberately placed that way.

Overcome by curiosity, Harry stepped forward and picked up the picture frame, turning it over in his hand.

The photo in the frame depicted two people, smiling back at him. One of them was Ginny. Another was a small, blond boy, barely more than a toddler. The photo looked like it had been taken outside. Ginny was sitting on the grass, and the blond boy was in her lap, laughing and squirming, as she held him tightly in her arms. She looked much happier than she did now—her bright red hair hung loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes were dancing and mischievous, just as he remembered them.

Harry frowned, staring at the photo, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Who was the boy? Was this…Ginny's son? Did she have a child? The thought made Harry feel strange, that so much could have changed since he'd been gone. But then, it had been nine years, and things had changed for him, too.

It was strange, though. True, he hadn't seen much of the house, but it didn't look like a house that had a child living in it. It was too clean, and there wasn't a child's toy or book to be seen. In Harry's experience, things were often all over the place where small children lived, but then, maybe that was just his experience.

And the boy himself—he looked nothing like Ginny, with his blond hair. His skin was fair too, but not a trace of a freckle anywhere, that Harry could see. Maybe this was Bill and Fleur's child? No, Ginny said they had a daughter, that couldn't be right. He didn't think this could be George's son either; George had married Diana Bradley, who had dark hair. Harry stared at the child in the photo. There was something familiar in his face, in his features, but he couldn't really say what.

Puzzled, Harry placed the photo back on the table, standing it upright. As he did, he spotted another frame on the other side of the desk, facing slightly away from him. This was one was upright, displaying its photo. Harry reached for it and picked it up.

The frame held a photograph of Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry felt as though his blood had turned to ice in his veins. He stared at her pale face. She looked back at him with a hint of a smile marring her haughty expression, though her eyes were cold. Harry had heard about what had happened to Narcissa Malfoy; that had been nearly five years ago. She'd been hit with some dreadful curse that put her in a permanent coma.

Harry's thoughts were racing. Who would have a picture of Narcissa Malfoy in their study? In their very dark study…someone who was living with Ginny, someone who was…married…to Ginny….

Slowly, Harry picked up the first photograph, of Ginny and the small boy. He stared at the little boy, at his blond hair, which was not so pale as his father's, at his grey eyes, which were exactly like his father's…

"Harry?"

Harry gave a start, looking around, but he was too shocked to feel guilty. Slowly—with both photographs still in each of his hands—he wandered out of the study and into the library. When he stepped out into the library doorway, Ginny, who stood in the sitting room, looked around and saw him. "Where were you?" she asked, sounding more curious than upset.

"I was—I know I shouldn't have." Harry's voice came out hoarsely. "But—I was in that room—" He jerked his head to the side, indicating the study. "The door was open a little bit and I—" He half held out the photo of Ginny and the little boy. "It was—Ginny—I…" He trailed off as Ginny came towards him. She was frowning now, but she looked puzzled, not angry. She took the photo from him and looked at it.

Instantly, all the color drained from her face. She looked between Harry and the photo, looking stricken. "But—where did you get this?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Harry pointed. "It was in there."

Ginny pushed past him, stepping into the dark study. Slightly taken aback by her reaction, Harry followed after her. In the study, he peered around and caught sight of her expression. She looked utterly miserable, looking around the room, her eyes traveling over the desk and the shuttered window and the bookcase. She swallowed visibly, looking down at the photo. "I didn't even know he still had this picture," she said quietly.

"I—it was face down on the desk." Harry felt, suddenly, as if he were intruding on something very private. He almost forgot his shock at the thought of Malfoy being married to Ginny, for Ginny looked so distraught that it was upsetting him.

"Well, that figures," Ginny said angrily, though her voice still shook, as though she were suppressing tears. But she set her jaw firmly, and placed the photo back on the desk, facedown, just as it had been before.

"Ginny…" Harry said weakly. "There was this one, too."

He held out the photograph of Narcissa, and Ginny took it, glancing down at it. She stared at it for a moment, and then looked back up at Harry, looking grave. Harry thought that she might be, only just now, realizing what hehad realized, as he'd looked at that picture. But Ginny only calmly placed the photo down on the desk and said, "Did you hear what happened to her?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"It's awful," Ginny said softly. "Whatever she was, she didn't deserve that. I've seen her in St. Mungo's and it's horrible, like she's just sleeping, only she won't ever wake up."

A rush of Harry's shock returned at this, and maybe, even, a little bit of anger. He tried to keep his voice calm and steady as he said, "Any why did you go see her in St. Mungo's?"

Ginny sighed. She looked at him wryly. "C'mon," she said, stepping past him, "let's go back to the sitting room and talk."

Harry closed the study door as they left. He followed Ginny back through the small library, but he stopped short when they reached the sitting room, not sure if he could go any further. One of the house-elves had brought refreshments and set them on a table, a fine silver tray with little sandwiches and the makings for tea. But Harry didn't want tea, and he didn't want to sit down. "Ginny," he said, and he knew his voice sounded strangled, but he couldn't help it. "I don't—that photo. Malfoy—"

Ginny turned around sharply at the name, but Harry kept going.

"Malfoy—he lives here, doesn't he? Draco Malfoy. That's his study."

Ginny looked at him for a moment. Harry stared at her, taken aback, once again, by how brittle she looked, how small and thin, how her eyes were red-rimmed, even though she hadn't been crying, how lifeless she seemed. It came to him, then, with a surge of fury, that Malfoy must have done this to her, taken all the life from her, crushed her like this. He felt his hands clench into fists at his sides.

"I knew he was out of prison," Harry said stiffly. "I knew he'd been given a few years—"

Ginny nodded. "Yes, he's been out for years now—"

"And you—you're—" Harry shook his head, glancing down, again, at the ring on her finger. "Ginny, are you…married to him?"

In spite of all the evidence, he was still half-hoping she would say no. But she closed her eyes, as though it caused her great pain, and said, "Yes. I'm married to him."

Harry nodded numbly. He tried to take it in, but it just didn't make any sense. "And you…you have a son?"

"No," Ginny said sharply. Then her eyes widened, as if she had shocked herself with her own vehement denial. She hunched in on herself, looking miserable. "I mean, yes—I did—we did—but he's not—" She sighed, looking around, and then sat down heavily on the sofa.

Harry watched her, tilting his head slightly. She was clearly upset, so upset, and he didn't want to make it worse, but he had nothing to say, nothing to say except to demand how she could have possibly married Malfoy, had a child with him, lived with him. So he kept quiet, and waited for her to talk.

"He's not my son," she said quietly, taking him by surprise with this news. "I mean, not biologically. He's Draco's son. But I raised him, I've raised him since he was a baby, only—" She took a deep breath, and looked up at the ceiling, as though that might make this easier for her. "Only we l-lost him."

Harry felt as though he had been punched in the gut. "You—he's not—"

"Oh, he's alive and well," Ginny said, and considering this was good news, she could not have sounded more wretched. "But we don't have custody of him anymore. His grandmother—his mother's mother—she has him now." Ginny lowered her head into her hands for a moment, before taking another deep breath and looking over at Harry. "We don't even get to see him," she said softly, looking pale and grim.

And suddenly, it made sense. Well, not Malfoy and Ginny—Harry still didn't understand that—but Ginny, how she was now, how broken and sad and empty she seemed. Because Harry couldn't imagine it, having a child taken from him, but he thought, dimly, that it had to be awful, the most awful thing. Even though he was still confused about so much of this situation, Harry felt the anger drain out of him in an instant. Letting out a heavy breath, he sat down beside Ginny on the sofa.

"I'm sorry," he said wearily. "I'm really—I'm so sorry, Ginny. I—that's horrible."

Ginny only nodded. She pulled one foot up onto the sofa, hugging her knee to herself.

"When—when was this?" Harry asked tentatively.

"A year ago," she said hoarsely. "It'll be exactly a year ago, next week."

"I'm sorry," he said again, He couldn't think what else to say.

Ginny shot him a knowing glance, and he was glad to see there was something like a smile, tugging at the corner of her lips. "You still want to know, though, don't you," she said. "About me and Malfoy? How we ended up together?"

"Together," Harry echoed, trying not to sound too confounded and disgusted by this. "You're not—you really…together? I mean—well, you're married, I suppose, so…"

Ginny sighed. "It's actually far, far more complicated than you could ever imagine," she said wearily. "I—when Will was born—that's our son—well, Malfoy was in hospital, at the time, so I took care of him. And then he was out of the country for several months, because he was doing some work for the Order—"

"For the Order?" Harry spluttered. "Malfoy? You can't be serious."

"Yeah, well." Ginny snorted. "He's not exactly loved by the Death Eaters, you know. A good lot of them have wanted him dead since he got out of prison, and having Will—" Her voice tightened. "Well, he wanted protection, you know. For himself, for Will. So we convinced him to help the Order out a bit, in exchange for us helping him out. Anyway—" She flicked a strand of hair out of her face "—when he came back, he still needed someone to look after Will, and, well, I volunteered. I was sort of attached to him by then, anyway—Will, I mean—so…" She shrugged.

Harry grimaced. "But—you and Malfoy—I mean—"

"He has changed," Ginny said sharply. "I won't try to convince you of it—I know from experience, with my family, there's no point. But even they have accepted that I've married him, and that I—well." Her cheeks went pink again. "That I have a life with him, and—"

"You care about him," Harry said quietly.

Ginny nodded silently.

"Do you…" Harry swallowed "…love him?"

Ginny looked up at him. She looked flustered. "Harry—I—look, I'm sorry, but—it's been nine years, and I—well—"

"No—no, Ginny, please," Harry cut in desperately. "I'm not—I know. Believe me, I didn't expect to come back after all this time and find you waiting for me, really, I didn't. I'm not—I'm okay with that. Really. And, well, in other circumstances I'd be really happy to come back and find you happily married, but, well, it's just that it's—"

"—Malfoy," Ginny finished. "It's Malfoy. And anyway—" She laughed bitterly. "We're not exactly happily married. Not anymore."

Harry looked up at her. "But…you were happy with him? Before?"

Ginny nodded, rather emphatically, which took Harry by surprise. "Yeah. Yes." She shook her head, looking half-amazed to hear herself say it, and half-regretful to find it all gone. "There were about three months there where—I mean, we had worked everything out, and we got married, and we had Will, and we lived here—" She gestured around at the sitting room. She sighed. "And then we lost Will," she said miserably. "And it all went wrong."

Harry shook his head, still trying to understand. "Was there a bad custody battle? That can be nasty—"

"No," Ginny said clearly, taking him by surprise. "No, there was nothing. There would have been, I suppose. When we first heard—we were bent on fighting it, both of us. But then—" Ginny shut her eyes, and she looked as if she were trying very hard to remain calm. "Draco talked with Lillian Moon."

"Who?"

"Will's grandmother. Carina Moon, do you remember her? She was Will's mum, but she died when—"

"—when she gave birth!" Harry cut in. Ginny looked taken aback. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—but Ron, he was there, he delivered the baby! I didn't realize that was—he told me she'd been going out with Malfoy, for the Order, but he said the baby wasn't his—"

"That was a lie," Ginny told him. "Draco and Carina decided on it together. To keep him safe, you see, because all those Death Eaters had been coming after Draco. Which brings me back," she said sadly, "to how it all went wrong."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, perplexed.

Ginny rested her head to the side, laying her cheek against her knee. "Draco talked to Lillian Moon," she told him. She sounded tired, resigned. "And he was already worried—he was already worried that we could lose him, because Will has been in danger because of Draco…" Ginny sighed bitterly. "And somehow, she convinced him of it, you see. Lillian Moon. She convinced him that Will would be safer with her."

"And you don't believe that?" Harry said quietly.

Ginny lifted her head to shake it vehemently. "No. No. Harry, for one thing, she's—Merlin, she's a piece of work, that woman. The Moon family, you know, they've been like the Blacks—not Death Eaters, but always predisposed to Voldemort's way of thinking. Although Draco seemed to think she had changed, Lillian…" Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. But even if that's true, I don't believe—I won't ever believe—that Will is any safer with her than he would be with us."

"But Draco does believe that?"

Ginny looked grim. "I think he does." She ran a hand over her ponytail. "Anyway, so Draco gave him up to her. Willingly. And it was all decided without me."

Harry couldn't fathom this. "But, you said you've been like his mum—"

"I am his mum," Ginny said adamantly, and for a moment, she was like the old Ginny, the one Harry remembered. But then she seemed to deflate again. "Only I'm not. Not really. I never even adopted him. So I didn't get a say. By the time Draco told me, it had already been decided."

Harry shook his head. He felt anger rising up again, this time for Malfoy, all for Malfoy. "That's horrible, Ginny. If you've been his mum, how could Malfoy just make that kind of decision without asking you?"

"I think he thought—" Ginny spoke quietly now, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I think he thought that, if he told me, I wouldn't let it happen. But…it was more than that." She wasn't looking at him, but Harry saw an anguished look come over her brown eyes. "I found out later…a few months later…it was more than that."

"What do you mean, more than that?" Harry prompted.

She tossed him a quick look. He was surprised to see the look on her face, panicked, like a deer caught in a predator's sights. She seemed to hesitate, as though not sure what to say. "There was—Lillian Moon—" Her voice dropped, and now she was whispering, and Harry had to strain to hear her. "She…had something. On Draco. About me." She looked absolutely wretched. "She threatened him, or rather, she threatened me, to him…" She trailed off, shutting her eyes and shaking her head.

"She had something?" Harry repeated. "You mean she blackmailed him? But Ginny, what could she possibly have? And if you know this, why haven't you—I mean—"

"For one thing, it doesn't change anything, for Draco," Ginny said, and her voice was quite steady now. "In the end, he really was convinced that giving Will up would be safer, for him. But…" Ginny shook her head. "Oh, Harry, but don't you see? If he was thinking about me, at all, when he decided this…" She bit her lip. "If it was at all a factor, for him, then it's m-me—it's my fault—"

"Hang on," Harry interrupted. He leaned forward. "Before we get into thatbit of ridiculousness, because it definitely wasn't your fault—"

"But—"

"—what is it, exactly, that she was blackmailing him with, about you?" Harry frowned. "What could she possibly…" He trailed off, studying her, taking in that panicked look in her eyes. "Did you…do something?"

"I—not—it's—" Ginny blew out a long breath. "What she thinks…it's partly true, and partly not, but I—look, the specifics don't matter. What it comes down to is, the way she said it—Harry, I talked to her, that's how I found out. I talked to her, and she told me, exactly what she'd told him, about me. And he thought, well…he really thought I was in danger, Harry. And—" She bit her lip. "It just…it changed things, for me, you see? Because I had been so angry with him… and now…" She trailed off helplessly.

Harry understood. And he was surprised, because, as she told him this, he found a…grudging, reluctant…respect for Malfoy. At least in this. Because if this was true, then Malfoy had wanted to protect Ginny, had tried to protect Ginny.

But for Ginny, that made it all worse, of course. Because she felt responsible now…and, apparently, it made her less certain in her anger with Malfoy, which Harry felt was a mistake. As far as he was concerned, Malfoy still could have at least talked to Ginny about it. The prat.

"So…" Harry put aside his own anger for Malfoy, because that wouldn't help her, not now. "Have you talked with Malfoy? About any of this? Does he even know that you know…about the blackmail?"

Ginny smiled humorlessly. "No," she said ironically, and he felt, beneath her tone, that she was hiding some pain, some sadness. "Because we don't talk, see. Not anymore. Not since Will left. We don't talk…ever."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean, not ever? You live here together, don't you?"

"Yeah, well." Ginny shrugged. "It's a big house. Very easy to avoid someone, in this house. Although—" She shook her head. "We actually don't avoid each other, not always. I mean, in some ways, we do. I have my own bedroom now, on the top floor—"

"I really didn't need to hear that," Harry muttered.

"—but in other ways—Harry, we still have meals together, for Merlin's sake. Dinner, always, and sometimes breakfast. But we don't talk. At all. Not more than is absolutely necessary, I mean, like to say that I'm going out for groceries and does he need anything, things like that. We don't even make small talk. We don't ever talk about anything. Not anymore."

"That—that's mad." Harry shook his head. "Ginny, what a horrible way to live."

"Yes." And she suddenly looked tired, so, so tired. "It is."

"Well—why do you put up with him?" he demanded. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, and he couldn't hold this back anymore, this rage for Malfoy. "What's his problem, anyway? He takes your kid away from you, and then he won't even talk to you?"

"Oh, don't," Ginny whispered. "Please, don't—"

"Well, I mean it! How can you stand it, Ginny? Why don't you do something about it, leave, or something—"

"Because!" Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose, looking frustrated. "Harry, he's not doing it to hurt me. Don't you get it? He's doing it to hurt himself. To punish himself! He hates himself, don't you see?"

"Malfoy? Hate himself?" Harry snorted. "Yeah, right. If he had that kind of conscience, he'd never have done what he did back in sixth year—"

"For one thing," Ginny interrupted, her eyes flashing, "I told you, he's changed. And for another—that's exactly my point, Harry! It's not like Malfoy, the way he's been acting, this self-loathing he carries around all the time—it's not like him at all, and to be honest, it terrifies me!"

She was on her feet now too, facing him down. And though Harry was taken aback, to hear her so staunchly defending Malfoy, a part of him was also glad, because this was Ginny, fighting and resolute. For the first time since he'd walked in, she seemed alive.

"He feels guilty, Harry! For everything! He feels guilty for ever raising Will in the first place, for keeping him when he was born, because he thinks he's put Will in all this danger, just because he's his son! And yet, at odds with that, he feels guilty for giving Will up, because that's hurt me, and deep down, he must know it's probably hurt Will too, being away from the only parents he's ever known! And he won't let me in—" Her face suddenly crumpled, and she looked sad, and defeated, and helpless.

"He won't let me talk to him, he won't let me help him, because he doesn't want to be helped. He doesn't think he deserves it. So he's shut himself off—if there's one thing Draco's good at, it's shutting everything away—just like Will, just like he packed up all his things, and all the photos, anything that's a reminder of him—" She spoke bitterly now. Without warning, she threw her hands up in the air, and collapsed back onto the sofa. She took a huge breath, and buried her face in her hands.

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure what to say. Tentatively, he sat back down on the couch beside her, though he kept some distance between them, a few feet. When he finally spoke, he spoke honestly. "I'm sorry, Ginny, but—I can't feel sorry for him. I just can't. If Malfoy's finally grown a conscience, then he shouldfeel guilty, for everything he's done. I just wish—" He shook his head, his tone frustrated. "I just wish you weren't all mixed up in it. Because you're miserable, Ginny, I can tell, I could tell from the moment I walked in, even before you told me any of this—"

"But that's not Draco, Harry," Ginny said wearily. She turned her head to look at him, and he was relieved to see that she wasn't crying. "It's just—I'm just so tired of this. I wish he would let me forgive him, because I'm tired of being sad. Because it's…it's exhausting."

Harry nodded slowly. And then it washed over him, unexpected, without warning, as it always did—his own sadness, opening like an abyss before him, unending, forever. It felt as though someone had reached inside him, grabbed a fistful of his soul, and made a fist, slowly drawing the life out of him.

"Yeah," he heard himself say, as though he were listening from very far away. "I know it is."

Harry didn't stay much longer, after that. He asked Ginny not to tell anyone that he'd been by. She agreed, though she seemed upset by this, upset that he wasn't sure yet, if he would come back, for good.

He hadn't even really asked her everything he'd meant to, gotten all the answers he needed, but it felt like enough, what he had learned. All he felt, now, was that so much had changed—maybe too much. How could he simply come back to that?

Of course, there were other reasons, he knew, other reasons he was avoiding it, coming back. But he ignored those reasons, pushed them away. All that mattered was that he needed to get back. Back to his current, makeshift home. Back to Ron.

And back to his daughter.

End Notes: Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing! It really helps to know people are enjoying and appreciating this story. Since this was just an interlude, I will try to get the next full chapter out very quickly.