Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

A/N: I'm not dead! And neither is this story! Yay!

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

Somewhere I Belong

Chapter 10

Breaking the Cycle

—o—

Ginny listened to the sounds of someone getting ready around her as she drifted in and out of sleep. The shower had run, closets and drawers had been pulled open and then closed. There was the movement of fabrics and the sound of hair being brushed, then the bedroom door opened and was closed softly.

She rolled over, burying her face into the pillows, breathing in deeply. The scent of Draco surrounded her, and she felt an idiotic grin spread across her lips. Despite the circumstance of the night before, Ginny felt elated.

After their conversation she had drifted in and out of sleep, as she often did after a nightmare. Historically, there were times that it was so bad she just got up and went for a run, no matter the time. But whenever she had woken up this time it was to the sensation of being surrounded: by hands holding her firmly against a solid chest; surrounded by the scent that her mind was rapidly associating with safety, and surrounded by something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She hadn't felt the need to run away. And it had been wonderful.

Harry had never been a very snuggly person; he got too warm or too crowded. So if she would snuggle with him it had always been with a time limit, or on his terms. Apparently Harry had snuggled her when she was already asleep, but she had never woken up in the middle of those supposed snuggles to have proof of such a claim. She knew she could sleep like the dead, but you would think at some point over the three years she would have woken up in his arms. So to wakeup again and again to Draco holding her was almost surreal, but also made her feel incredibly secure, more so than she ever remembered feeling before, nightmare or no.

The door opening again drew her from her thoughts, and she listened as someone quietly approached the her.

"Gin," Draco said softly. "It's time to get up."

"Don't wanna," she muttered honestly into the pillow, refusing to open her eyes. She would be perfectly content if he just left her there for the rest of the day.

"You didn't tell me that you were this sort of morning person," he said, sitting down on the bed beside her.

"I'm not. These potions make me really groggy," she replied. "I'm usually accused of being an insufferable morning person."

"Insufferable?"

Ginny nodded. "Singing, kicking people out of bed, going for a run. But now I can't."

"You really are on forced vacation."

"You have no idea."

He snorted.

"If you get up now you'll have time for food before we leave."

"You could have started with that," she grumbled, finally forcing her eyes open properly, turning her head.

She looked up at him blearily, blinking in the light from the hall. He looked as perfect as usual, dressed in Healer robes with glamours hiding any imperfection or hint of sleep deprivation.

"Hi," he said, looking at her intently.

"Hi, back," she replied, turning her face back into the pillow to hide a yawn. "What's for breakfast?" she asked as she looked back up at him.

"You know, I think food is going to have to be my go-to from now on," he drawled, gently brushing some hair from her face. "Perhaps I'll start keeping snacks in my pockets, just to entice you."

"I'm not that easy," she said, scowling at him as a smirk spread across his face. "Well, I'm not."

"Just keep telling yourself that, Weasley," he said fondly, brushing more hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. She felt butterflies go on a frenzy through her stomach and chest.

His fingers trailed slowly behind her ear, then came around so that his hand was holding the side of her jaw, his thumb running so gently across her lips that she barely felt it.

Ginny closed her eyes briefly, trying to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. When she looked at him again there was the oddest expression on his face. It was almost dumbfounded, if she had to give it a name, but that wasn't quite what it was either. She stared back at him, trying to figure it out, smiling ever so slightly.

He glanced away from her, pulling his hand back to himself and sitting back. Ginny felt disappointment go through her, but she tried to ignore it as best she could.

"Do you need help getting ready?"

"Er, no," she said, glancing around. "I should be okay, thanks."

"All right," he said, getting to his feet. "But if you change your mind I'll be on my best behaviour. I am a Healer, you know." There was an odd gleam to his eyes as he stared at her, and she bit at her lip.

"Why don't I trust you when you have that face on?"

"I have no idea, Weasley," he said, a smirk spreading across his lips. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

After he had left the room, and fumbling about for a handful of minutes, Ginny finally got her jeans back on and had ordered her hair. She had taken one look at her camisole and had given up before she even started. There was no way she was getting into her bra on her own, and she didn't quite want to take Draco up on his offer. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, she just wasn't… she didn't even know. This was all so new. She wasn't quite sure if she trusted any of it yet, but at the same time she did.

"You know, I said you could borrow my shirt, not keep it," Draco said as she walked into the kitchen a little while later. He was sitting at a small table in front of some tall windows which offered a breathtaking view of London. There were still lights glimmering in the dull grey morning, peeking through the fog along the Thames.

"I'll give it back," she said dismissively as she glanced around the kitchen. It was all modern lines and steel and grey, filled with Muggle appliances and punctuated by healthy looking green plants and a bowl of fruit. Despite the time she had been spending with him, the space still surprised her. It all just looked so not Malfoy. But then, that was part of why she was here, wasn't she?

When she looked back at him, he was arching an eyebrow, getting to his feet. She felt a grin tug at her lips. "Eventually," she concluded.

"Am I going to have to keep an eye on my wardrobe?" he asked, walking the short distance towards her, taking her hand loosely in his. After a moment's hesitation, he leant down and pressed his lips against hers briefly, making her heart thud against her chest.

"Only if you have more shirts like this," she said, smiling up at him as he pulled back. "It reminds me of home." He frowned at her. "I mostly grew up in hand-me-downs that were about five sizes too big," she elaborated with a shrug.

"Is that why you walk around in those huge sweaters all the time?" he asked, and sadness welled up within her. She wondered at how someone could ask about them so casually when they meant so much to her and her family. But he didn't know. Couldn't know.

"Sort of," she said softly, smiling up at him, though she knew it didn't quite reach her eyes. "The sweaters were Fred's. So they're more about remembering him than home… though I suppose that's tied up in there too."

Draco stared at her for a moment, confusion flickering across his face before his eyes widened slightly.

"Your brother," he said simply.

"Yah," she said, then looked away towards the table. "You said that there was food?"

When she glanced back up at him it was to find him frowning. But after a few moments he just nodded, his hand again finding the small of her back. He silently led her over to the table, helping her onto the rather high stool before taking a seat across from her. There were eggs and toast and an assortment of fruit on her plate, and after Draco gestured at her she began her attack.

"So, how are they?" he asked, as though the surprised expression on her face didn't give it away. How could eggs taste so good?

"Amazing," she said honestly. "How did you learn to cook so well?"

Draco looked pleased for a moment then glanced out the window. "I've got a lot of time on my hands."

Ginny observed his profile: the straight line of his nose, which was almost too long; the pointedness of his chin under pale pink lips; how his light coloured hair couldn't quite cast shadows across his face. She wanted to ask him about it, to talk about the time he had on his hands. About how he didn't seem to have much of a life—that he didn't seem to really live…

"I thought that you read the paper in the morning," Ginny said, more to distract herself from her thoughts than anything else.

"Hmm?" Draco asked, looking back at her. "Oh, I do. It's just rude to read when you have guests."

"You don't need to change your routine like that for me," Ginny said, automatically. She didn't like formalities like that.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," he replied with a slight smirk, returning to his food.

"You think there'll be a next time?" she asked, but couldn't keep the stupid grin off her face as she said it.

"Are you saying that there won't be?"

"No," she replied, filling her mouth with food so that she couldn't say anything else right away.

Draco shook his head, his lips twisting as he tried to look at her seriously, but failed dismally.

Ginny smiled back at him, and continued to busy herself with eating as much of the food as possible. When she had finished she moved to clear the plates, but Draco caught her hand and stood up beside her.

"Leave them," he said.

She glanced up at him, only to find his expression neutral once more. His eyes searched hers for a moment.

"I—" he cut off and pressed his lips together. Then he leant down and pressed his lips firmly against her forehead.

Ginny blinked in surprise, then closed her eyes. His lips lingered on her skin, so she slipped her hand around his waist, stepping into his space, moulding her body against his. She rested her ear against his chest and his heartbeat filled her ear, steady but quickening. A moment later his arms came up around her as well, his chin again coming to rest on the top of her head as it had the evening before.

"I really do fancy you, Weasley," he said, the sound rumbling through his chest as he spoke. That stupid-arse grin tugged at her lips, but she tried to keep it to herself.

"I'm rather fond of you as well," she replied.

"Only rather fond?" he asked, leaning back so he could look at her, his eyebrow arched. She tilted her head back, trying to hide her grin, her eyes locking with his.

"Hmm, maybe a bit more," she replied, closing her eyes as he brushed his lips against hers.

About twenty minutes later, Ginny found herself sitting at the kitchen island in her flat. She was waiting for the kettle to pop, while absently poking at her lips. Her fireplace flared to life, and she glanced over her shoulder, mentally sighing before turning back around and putting tea into the ball.

"Care to tell me what this is about?" Ron demanded, throwing the Daily Prophet down beside her.

Ginny glanced down to see herself and Draco strolling down Diagon Alley, hand in hand, laughing about something. She smiled faintly. The Draco in the picture was glancing up at the real her and smiling more. Damn him and his smile.

"Hi, Brother," she said, turning to smile at him. "I'm doing great this morning, how are you?"

"Not that great, Gin," Ron said, scowling. "Especially when Rose wakes me up to show me the paper and ask why her aunty is secretly dating someone named Malfoy."

Ginny glanced back down on the paper, and, sure enough, the caption under the picture said exactly that.

"Hmm," Ginny replied. "Interesting. I wasn't aware that we were." Well, prior to when this picture was taken at least, she thought, carefully keeping a straight face. And frankly, it hadn't been a secret: it had been more like accidental dating…

"What the hell, Gin!"

She sighed and turned to look at him properly.

"You saw us together yesterday," she told him. "Why is this"—she waved her hand towards the paper—"such a surprise?"

"Because you didn't tell me you were dating the git!"

"No," she said slowly. "I didn't."

"Why not?"

She stared at him pointedly. "Because you might have reacted just like this?"

"Ginny!" he all but shrieked, his face contorting with anguish, shaking his head no.

"Ron!" she finally snapped. "It's the bloody Prophet! I believe a couple of months ago they were insinuating that I was sleeping around with half the men on Puddlemere United. Why weren't you over here in a snit then?"

"Because that was just tosh."

"And this isn't?"

"You look so damned…"

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"Happy," he said grudgingly.

"Right," Ginny said slowly, nodding her head. "And this is a bad thing because…?"

"Because he's bloody Malfoy, that's why!" Ron burst out. "He's had it out for me and Harry since he met us! And he's a bloody Death Eater!"

"Was," Ginny said flatly.

"What?"

"He was a Death Eater, Ron. He isn't one anymore."

"Just because he tried to—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence in that tone," she snapped, slamming her hand flat down on the counter before she realized she'd moved.

To her slight surprise, Ron shut his mouth, but it didn't stem the anger that was simmering under her skin. It set something off in her mind.

"What kind of person do you take me for?" she demanded. "Do you think that I am incapable of deciding who is good enough to be in my life?" She silenced the voice reminding her that she had had to say this very thing to the blond in question. "Don't you trust me?"

"But he's Malfoy," Ron said weakly, his face turning pale, though his ears were beginning to burn red.

"Yah," Ginny said shortly, putting her hand on her hip. "I know."

"And you're dating him."

"I never said that." Really, she hadn't. "We went on a date. With Luna."

"Luna wasn't in the photos," Ron said, shaking his head, gaining solid ground once more. "And she wasn't at Fred and George's shop."

Ginny felt a pang go through her at his use of Fred's name. It had been almost a decade, and they all still did it. To not mention Fred when talking about WWW seemed an insult to the whole establishment. He was still there, in a way. Always would be. She was pretty sure it was part of the reason George hadn't closed shop after the war, though most people understandably would have.

"No," Ginny said, pushing thoughts of Fred aside for a second time that morning. "She wasn't. We went out on our own afterwards."

"See!" Ron burst out.

"So what?" Ginny finally snapped, throwing her hand up into the air. "So I get along with the ferret! Big deal! He's changed, Ron. A lot. Something you might want to look into doing yourself."

Ron opened his mouth, his expression scandalized, then his face crumpled into a stubborn pout.

"I knew there was something going on when they sent him that damned letter and not Dad," he said mutinously. Then he grimaced, looking a little ill. "I'm going to end up related to the damned git, aren't I?"

"What?" Ginny choked, but Ron's expression didn't relent at all. "I don't know how you got that idea into your head. I don't see how one date leads to that."

"It's not the date," Ron grumbled, leaving the kitchen and walking back towards the fireplace. Ginny glanced at the clock and realized that he must have been late for work. "It's the damned look on your face during the date. It's the same one you used to wear around Harry, but happier."

Ginny turned completely in her seat, staring at him dumbstruck.

"And the worst part is," he continued, grabbing some Floo powder. "He's got the same damned look on his face too." He shook his head, his ears brilliantly red. "But you're right: it's your life, and you're an intelligent and rational person. I just don't like it."

Ginny opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her brother had already disappeared into the green flames. So instead she looked down on the paper he had left, and, smiling faintly, got up to get the scissors.

—o—

Draco moved about the ER, keeping his eyes fixedly on the wound he was cleaning. He had been keeping a very close eye on his work all day, and had even taken his lunch in his office, closing the door to keep everyone else out. While he had been able to hide the morning's ridiculous paper from Ginny, he hadn't been able to hide it from anyone else, including his bloody co-workers. Or the patients in the hospital.

"I just can't believe it," several had whispered behind his back, the fragile truce they had established no barrier against their opinions. "How could someone from such a good family pair up with him?"

"He's changed," someone else had whispered. "But I still wouldn't trust him like she is."

"It's Stockholm Syndrome. Has to be. Why else?"

"She's way too good for him"—that one Draco wholeheartedly agreed with.

"He's got her under some sort of spell; it's the only explanation."

He heard whispers that were worse, many the same, but few that sounded anything positive. Which was fine. Really. It wasn't like he had expected much different from people. However, he didn't want her to hear any of these things. He didn't want her to be pulled down with him. It was bad enough that she was wasting her time on him.

He sighed, glancing at the runes as he worked. Luckily, or not so luckily given the content, he had plenty in his mind to keep himself distracted. What Ginny had told him about Riddle had shocked him. Once again the foundation of his life, his childhood, was shifting beneath his feet, and he was helpless to do anything about it. His hatred towards his father and Potter seemed to reach a crescendo as he thought about her eyes when he had first managed to wake her. Despite his father's role in it all, he had a feeling he hated Potter more than his father somehow.

How could he not realize that she was having nightmares? She hadn't been quiet last night. And she had sounded so scared. He had been afraid that someone was in the room with them, attacking her beside him. How could Potter have slept right through that? Or worse yet, considered her scared whimpers and cries nothing to be concerned with?

But then, their marriage, and her nightmares, would have been right after the war. Everyone at that time had had nightmares, as he personally knew all too well. But damnit, he didn't want to be charitable towards the git. He wanted his righteous anger and to continue to live in a world where Potter was a right arse. It was bad enough that he had come into his own life and made things better.

So with another glance at the runes he pushed the thoughts from his mind and instead focused on how he had woken up this morning: in his bed, warmer than he remembered ever being, with red filling his vision, tickling his nose. His heart thudded once, hard against his chest, as the sensory information rose again in his memory, and he struggled not to smile. Despite everything, if he could wake up like that for the rest of his life, he would do near anything. And that, given his history, was a terrifying thought.

"That should do it, Gail," Draco said to the little girl whose scratched up arm he was mending. "No more jumping out of trees, okay?"

"Okay," the little girl replied, nodding her head. Her father helped her down from the bed as Draco proceeded to explain what the man would have to do for her over the next couple of days. Then he was left alone, with no distractions and the whispering he really didn't want to hear.

He glanced around, hoping there would be a patient, but there were none in sight. So with a sigh he began cleaning up after himself. Something the nurses typically did, but he couldn't handle being idle right now.

"Hi, Draco," he heard Luna say dreamily a short while later. He turned to find her approaching him, leading along a man with a bloodied arm wrapped in a tea towel. Surprise flashed briefly across the man's face, but was gone so quickly Draco thought he must have imagined it.

"Loon," he said, frowning as he looked from her to the person she was with.

He wasn't a handsome man by any means, and he had an air of awkwardness about him that screamed Hufflepuff. But he did have striking features, including a pair of intensely dark blue eyes behind plastic framed glasses. He was thickly muscled but lanky, standing nearly a head taller than Luna, making her look more willowy than she normally did. His clothing was awkward as well, Muggle jeans and a sweater that looked a couple years out of style.

He wasn't at all what Draco had expected. But, come to think about it, he never knew what to expect when it came to Luna. He wondered what about this man's soul attracted him to her.

Draco leant forward and kissed her cheek, glancing her over. Despite the state of her companion, she looked fine.

"This is Rolf," she said, gesturing towards the other man.

The infamous Rolf Scamander moved to shake his hand then realized that he was still holding the towel.

"We'll have to do this later," he replied cheerfully in a heavy American accent that startled Draco. He had assumed he was British. He supposed that explained his fashion sense, or lack thereof. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Draco said, then gestured towards his arm. "What happened?"

"Reg bit him," Luna said, a small frown on her face, as though her bloody teacup dragon couldn't have possibly been the vicious, murderous creature he actually was. Draco made a point of avoiding her animal room simply because of that monster's presence therein. Which made him a little sad, because the idea of a teacup dragon was quite appealing. The reality, however, not appealing at all.

"It was entirely my fault," Scamander said airily, a goofy grin on his face that Draco instantly disliked. "I was distracted when I shouldn't have been."

"Still, he shouldn't have done that," Luna said, shaking her head. "He's usually so sweet-natured. I'm going to have to have a conversation with him."

"There's no need, Luna," Scamander assured her, his tone grating on Draco's nerves. It was just too… cheerful? "It was my fault. I knew better than to make so much noise."

Draco just watched them, wondering if he had stepped into some alternate reality. A reality where someone other than Luna thought that creature was cuddly and loveable. Reg was as cold-hearted as the Dark Lord, and as attractive to boot. Why she kept it around he had no idea—though he supposed he couldn't really comment, because she kept him around too. But, to be fair, he was a lot prettier.

"Well, let's get it checked out," Draco said, and led them both over to an empty bed. He and Luna both helped Scamander up onto the bed, who thanked them happily, and the nurse brought over a rolling table for the man to rest his arm on. When Draco pulled the towel away it was to reveal several long gashes.

"I knew that thing was a terror," Draco muttered, shaking his head as he poked and prodded the bloodied mess that was Scamander's arm. Surprisingly, the other man did not flinch, and Draco wondered if he was dumb enough to get mauled on a regular basis.

"It's a good thing you came in when you did," he said after a few moments of silent investigation. "Reg not only mauled your arm, but his venom is in your system as well. Much longer and you might have had permanent damage."

"See, I told you we should come see Draco," Luna said, smiling at both of them in turn.

Draco nodded absently, stepping away and calling a nurse over to get some anti-venom.

When he turned back Luna was pushing Scamander's hair back, offering him a smile that made Draco's chest ache, something odd twisting in his gut. It wasn't jealousy that he was feeling—he knew that emotion very well; it was something else, and it wasn't entirely comfortable.

"I saw that lovely photo in the papers this morning," Luna said, glancing over her shoulder, as though she knew what he was experiencing. "I'm really happy for both of you."

"It seems like you're the only one that is," he bit out before he could stop himself. He resumed his station and began to get to work.

"People don't like that you're together?" Scamander asked.

"That's the polite way of putting it," Draco replied, glancing at Luna who was watching him with her wide eyes. "Though they're at least being somewhat discreet about it."

"The Malfoys and Weasleys have a long history of being terrible to each other," Luna said absently, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. "And as people usually do, they're having trouble with the fact that the status quo is changing."

"The Weasleys were that family heavily invested in the Order, weren't they?" Scamander asked frowning slightly. Draco glanced up and swore he could almost see smoke coming out of the man's ears from how much effort that thought required.

Luna nodded. "Yes, both parents and all seven children were members. And their uncles were as well, when it had originally been started."

"Seven children?"

"Six now," Draco said, not looking up again. Ginny's eyes flashing with grief were fresh in his memory. And older memories of that horrible cry of pain he had heard her pompous brother make when it had happened, before he himself had run in terror.

There was an awkward silence.

"Luna told me what you did for Ginny a couple months ago; it was quite brave of you," Scamander said, filling it cheerfully. As though his opinion actually meant something to Draco.

"It was self-preservation," Draco said bluntly, still not looking up. And really it had been: for his career; and his heart (he realized that now).

The silence Scamander had chased away returned, and this time it was even more awkward. Draco was suddenly very aware of what his hands were doing, how his wand felt against his skin. How his sleeves moved as he worked.

"Here you are, Sir," the nurse said, and Draco resisted the sudden overwhelming urge to kiss her for the blessed distraction she offered him. But he didn't need to be in the papers for workplace sexual harassment as well. So instead he thanked her and got to work dabbing the potion onto the wound, while instructing Scamander to drink from the other vial.

Draco watched the runes as the potion got to work, and right away he could see a difference in the level of poison in the wizard's system. He felt a slight sense of relief. Yet at the same time, if the git had died, he wouldn't have to deal with him and his stupid accent or his stupid goofy smile. He glanced sidelong at Luna. It just wouldn't register in his mind that this was the sort of man she would fall for, yet her expression plainly said that she had. He seemed so… simple. Luna was anything but simple.

"I keep forgetting how many eveilebs are always flying around in here," Luna said startling him. He glanced over to see her waving distractedly at the air. Draco watched as Scamander turned his attention towards her, smiling a pathetically besotted smile, and offering her his free hand. The only thing going for Scamander in that moment was that his attention was solely for Luna. "They always get caught in the lights."

"Is that so?" Scamander said intently. "I don't think I've ever seen an eveileb before."

"Oh, you can't see them without special glasses," Luna told him, smiling happily. "But you can feel them moving the air, if you know what to pay attention to."

Draco watched them, a bad feeling growing in his stomach. How long would this last? How long until she realized that this bloke just wasn't for her? Because he wasn't. He couldn't be. How many issues would she get from the inevitable breakup? How much of the Luna he knew and loved would shift towards sadness and bitterness because of this idiot? Why did she have to go and get herself involved with him? What was wrong with being single?

He stopped at that. He could ask himself the very same question. He knew better than to be with someone like Ginny, and yet here he was arse over teakettle, barrelling towards some unknown future that he knew he was helpless to avoid.

To distract himself he glanced down on Scamander's arm, which was now pink and intact. Waving his wand to check the Runes once more, he nodded.

"There shouldn't be anything wrong, but you might want to take it easy for a couple days while the poison works its way out of your system. It might make you queasy or groggy." He glanced at Luna. "And maybe stay away from Reg, he's a bit of an arse."

"He's lovely," Luna said, shaking her head but smiling happily, getting to her feet. She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Draco."

He nodded his head at her stoically, then almost blinked in surprise as Scamander held out his hand to him, smiling happily. After the slightest hesitation he accepted.

"Thank you, Healer Malfoy," he said, his grip startlingly strong despite his recent injury. "Hopefully the next time we meet will be under better circumstances."

Draco nodded, though a small part of him hoped that they wouldn't meet again at all, but he just politely said his goodbyes instead. Luna smiled happily at him, and he knew she was the only reason he was being civil. It wasn't his place to tell her how to live her life. Even if he hated what she was doing with it.

The rest of the afternoon passed by uneventfully, filed with whispers and not-so-covert glances. However, after Scamander's visit Draco had even more to think about and thus could almost distract himself from them all. It wasn't until he was on the street, dressed in muggle clothes, heading towards the restaurant, that he allowed himself to even think about what was ahead. Spending actual time with his mother was something he avoided quiet adamantly. And time talking about his father was another story entirely.

There was an ache in his chest that he couldn't quite explain as he approached the door of Lustre. It was one he had frequently felt when spending time with his family over the years, though he had never managed to explain it when he was younger. He still couldn't, and it bothered him; the sensation and the lack of explanation. He usually just assumed that it was nervousness.

Draco walked into the building. Inside, the warm diffused lighting attempted to be inviting but only achieved pretentiousness. The hostess, standing behind a podium, began to smile warmly at him, but the expression faltered when she realized who he was.

He balked inside, as he always did, but on the outside remained calm and indifferent. It still threw him every time it happened, but lately the incidents were becoming less frequent. However, when it did happen they felt that much more poignant.

"Do you have a reservation?" she asked him cordially, though he could tell she wanted nothing more than to turn him away. When he had first returned to England, he would wonder what his family had done to earn such a response from each individual; he had long since realized that it was best not to think about it: he never wanted to hear the answer. Never.

"Under Malfoy," he drawled indifferently, even though inside he was once again struck by how far his family had truly fallen in this new world. No one would have dared asked his father if he had a reservation. Now he often found himself wondering if they would even serve him.

The hostess led the way to a table near the back, away from the windows, and much too close to the loos. At least it wasn't in the alleyway.

His mother was already sitting there, a cup of tea in front of her, a menu set open on the table. She looked up as they approached, and smiled slightly. It was the most he had seen her smile in a very long time, and that awkward feeling in his chest throbbed.

He thanked the hostess, effectively dismissing her, then kissed his mother firmly on the cheek, ignoring the butterflies that threatened to take over the knots in his stomach.

"Draco," his mother said, looking at him closely. Her eyes lingered on the lapels of his suit. "How wonderful to see you."

"You too, Mother," he replied, sitting stiffly in his chair. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said. "How are you?"

"Exhausted," he replied honestly, wondering why he bothered.

"You don't look exhausted," she said, her eyes again examining his face.

"Glamours do wonders," he said with a shrug, the knots tightening.

"I still don't understand why you would waste your time working like this, Draco," she said. "You should be managing the estate."

"You've been doing a fantastic job of it yourself," he said honestly, shrugging away the implications of her words.

"It's not something that I enjoy doing."

"And I don't enjoy working in the ER," he told her bluntly. "But when you have the skills you need to use them."

The waiter arrived, and his mother ordered some wine, and he ordered himself a coffee.

"Why don't you get something more appropriate for lunch?" his mother asked, after the waiter had walked away.

"I did," Draco replied flatly. "I do not drink Mother, I've told you this."

She nodded, the same unconvinced expression on her face that she always wore when they discussed such things.

Draco glanced around the restaurant, already wishing fervently that he had never arrived, and that the end of this meeting would rush to greet him. Why had he thought it was a good idea to actually show up? He could have just said an emergency came in and he had to work late. There were hundreds of excuses that he could have used, any of them would have worked. And yet, here he was…

"So when are you seeing Miss Weasley again?"

Draco snapped his attention back to her, keeping his expression completely neutral. His mother, master of the same skill, was doing the same.

It occurred to him then just how ridiculous his family was. What would life have been like if they had cast off this proper aristocratic British bull and just been normal, emotional people? If demonstrations of love were actual affection rather than purchases? He somehow imagined a life like the one Ginny grew up in, though maybe with a few less tattered and hand-me-down things.

"I thought you didn't want me to have anything to do with a Weasley," Draco said dryly, trying to keep the rancour from his voice.

"I didn't," his mother replied promptly. "But the picture changed my mind."

"What does the picture have to do with this?"

"I haven't seen you that happy since you were fifteen."

"And my happiness matters to you?" It slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Draco! Of course it does," his mother cried quietly, startling him. He hadn't seen her this animated in… years. "Your father and I risked everything for you—I risked everything for you. All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy. It's… pained me to see you so miserable."

Draco stared at her, startled out of neutrality. His heart pounded against his chest, and words played on the tip of his tongue, but a response just wouldn't come. Then he frowned. Who was she to say that? To suddenly give a damn? Where had she been for the past decade? He'd been all alone. He was forever alone.

"Why haven't you done anything about it then?" he snapped, whispering furiously at her. "Why haven't you said anything?"

"Because you won't talk to me! You won't even come home!"

Again he stared at her, dumbstruck. He glanced around nervously, but no one seemed to have noticed their whispered conversation. Which was odd to him, because it felt like they were shouting.

"I… I can't go back there," he stuttered, something cold and unpleasant shivering down his spine. "Not after…"

"You think you're the only one who feels that way?" she nearly hissed. "I've been in that mausoleum alone for the past decade. Do you think I wanted to be there by myself?"

"Then why didn't you leave?"

"Where would I go? What would have happened when your father was released? He'd return to an empty, gutted ruin of what was once our home."

"Why would you care what Father came home to? He doesn't—"

"I still love him, Draco," she said, cutting him off, sounding almost desperate. "Nothing could change that."

"Nothing?" Draco scoffed.

"Nothing."

Draco stared at her. He wanted to be repulsed by this; he wanted to believe that his mother was a fool, a victim even, of a man who had bent her mind until she knew nothing else—and yet he couldn't convince himself of any of it. His mother had never been anything but her own woman. She might have been swayed by his father, but he knew she never did anything without seeing some benefit for herself in the actions. But that wasn't why he couldn't convince himself. It was because he knew that if it were Ginny… there wasn't much she could do to make him walk away… and even then…

Draco leant back in horror, feeling a stab of guilt as pain flashed across his mother's face. But he couldn't correct himself. He couldn't tell her what he was appalled by. It was his own thoughts, his own sickness that was alarming him. His own willingness to forgive the unthinkable… even though if Ginny did things like his father then she would no longer be his Ginny; her unique Ginny-ness came from the strength and purity of her heart which constantly overrode the darkness within her—darkness that he was learning she had full right to have changed for, but hadn't. Hadn't because she was so bloody strong willed. Nothing could defeat her. Even when she was sobbing in his arms she was strong. For her to lose all that, something would have to go terribly wrong. And still he would love her, like a damned fool.

"Draco…" his mother said slowly, reaching out for his hand once more. He started ever so slightly, coming back to the present. He looked at her blankly, taking in her expression. A curious mix of… sadness and concern? The guilt grew in his chest.

"Mother, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

Narcissa's face was cast in blue shadows, and a moment later a familiar sparrow flitted in front of him.

"Draco," the Chief's voice said through the Patronus. "I need to speak with you as soon as possible."

Draco stared at it for a moment, then nodded his head, a sudden weight in his stomach. "I'll be right there, Chief," he said evenly, calmly. His tone a perfect coverup for the anxiety coursing through him.

His mother's eyes flicked from him to the bird as it flew away.

"Does your employer always refer to you by your given name?" she asked, an odd expression flitting across her face before it too was gone, replaced by the semi-cold mask he knew so well.

It was as though the past few minutes had never happened, that the woman sitting across from him had never actually revealed her capacity for human emotion. Again the guilt clawed at him, along with that horrible, yet familiar, feeling.

A part of him, now that it was gone, wanted nothing more than to continue to sit in the previous moment, before the Patronus had arrived, see where the conversation would go. Bask in the light of a woman he hadn't seen plainly since he was a child, when everything had been simpler.

Only when there's something very wrong or very right, he thought, but shrugged instead of speaking.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said, rising to his feet, placing his napkin on the table. "But I have to leave." He put some money down, enough to cover whatever she would have.

She stared at him, then reached out and caught his hand with surprising strength.

A thrill of sensation went up his arm, and he stared blankly down at the point of contact. Her hand looked older than he remembered. When had she gotten so old? He finally glanced up at her face, noticing, now that he would allow himself to see, the lines around her mouth and eyes, the shadows she hid, to near perfection, on the skin around her eyes. The almost too pallid complexion. They had both been suffering, hadn't they? Had they wasted all this time, thinking they were each alone, when they could have been there for one another? Would that have been possible?

He briefly contemplated how she would have reacted to where he had been, what he had done, when he had left the country. But it wouldn't work. He couldn't see any universe where that would have been a possibility. Which perhaps was unfair to her, for not allowing her the opportunity to prove herself to him, to be someone he didn't think she was capable of being. But he had been in survival mode for so long, that it wasn't fair to himself either to think of those possibilities. What was done was done. All they could do was move forward.

"I know things have been hard, Draco," she said softly, as though she was terrified of the words. There was a slight tremor in her grip. "And I'm… sorry that I haven't been there for you. I was too caught up in my own misery. And by the time you came back, I… I didn't know what to do. You've grown up into someone I don't know."

The ground twisted under his feet. His ears rang. He wanted to tug his hand free, but he remained frozen, staring at her.

She pursed her lips and let go of him, pulling her hand back and placing both in her lap.

Draco wanted to say something. He wanted to tell her… he didn't know what. So instead he nodded his head slowly then turned and walked away, feeling her eyes on his back and his own stinging as he made his way out of the restaurant.

—o—

"You wanted to see me, Chief?"

The Chief looked up, and with one glance at the old wizard's face, Draco knew something was terribly wrong.

—o—

Ginny felt a chill as the throw blanket she had snuggled under was pulled back. She had taken off her sweater, and her tank top didn't offer much protection from the damp cold of London.

As she realized what was happening she stiffened in alarm blearily trying to open her eyes.

"It's just me, Gin," a voice said gruffly, as arms slipped under her shoulders and knees. His scent surrounded her and she felt herself relax before her mind had completely caught up.

"What're you doing?" she asked as he picked her up, his heat radiating into her as he settled her in his arms.

"Taking you to bed," he told her.

"Why?"

"I need to hold you."

He maneuvered her down the hall and into the bedroom, walking over to the down-turned bed. He carefully placed her on it, pulling the blankets up around her.

She watched him with heavy eyelids, blinking slowly, as he took his clothes off, folding them neatly and placing them on the chair in the corner, until he was only in his pants. He then walked to the other side of the bed, placing his wand on the bedside table, and crawled under the covers. He gathered her against his chest, pulling her right leg over his hips. Burying his face into her hair he rubbed his face back and forth across the top of her head.

"You okay?" she asked, her bunk hand sliding across his scar.

"Yah," he said, pressing his forehead against the top of her head. "Just a bad day. Go back to sleep. I'm fine."

Ginny nodded, kissing his chest, the potion pulling her back down once more.

—o—

A/N: Thank you so much for being patient with me! I honestly didn't mean for this chapter to take this long. I decided this and the next two chapters needed to be re-written, then school overwhelmed me. (I ended up writing about 43,000 words worth of papers this past semester. O.o; So… much… philosophy). But I am now done my (second) Undergrad, and am going to start my Master's in the fall. Yay. So the plan is to have this thing finished and ready to post, so at least I won't leave you waiting anymore. I think there's 5 or 6 chapters left? Fingers crossed that it will happen. I hope all of you are doing well! I'm looking forward to hearing from you again!