A/N: Okay. Here goes. I know it has been a looooong, long time since I last updated. Suffice it to say that I owe my readers and reviewers a HUGE apology. I am determined not to let this fic go unfinished. I promise that I will not abandon it again. I'm in it for the long haul this time! :]

Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone who continued to read and review. This one's for you.

p.s. A note on the world of my fic: As I began this story after OotP, the events of Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows did not occur in my world. Three years have passed since Ginny's graduation from Hogwarts. In those three years, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Order defeated Lord Voldemort. I might be getting more into the details about it later… but until then, this story is not about Harry's struggle with Voldie. Harry has other things to be dealing with in my world…

p.p.s. The chapter titles are from "Spring Came," a poem by Kendra Peters that I stumbled across randomly online. :] Harry Potter, unfortunately, does not belong to me either, but I love J.K. Rowling for creating him and his world.

Chapter 10: Crocus and Aconite

"Where's the bedroom? Where's the bedroom?!" Ron croaked at Andrea, who floated serenely in the air behind him as he raced through the halls of Malfoy Manor. "I swear, if you don't help me, I'll find a way to kill you again!"

"Sir? Mistress's Brother, Sir?"

Andrea's undoubtedly snarky reply was cut off by the squeaky cry of Ebby the house elf. Ron, on the other hand, who was quite distracted by his sister's present condition, ran right into Ebby, sending her flying. She skidded to a halt several meters away on the marble floor of the manor's entrance hall.

"Ebby! Ebby, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you, I swear…" Before the elf could reply, Ron, who was carrying Ginny's unconscious body over his shoulders, went bouncing down the hall toward her. "Please, Ebby, it's my sister, she's—she's gone all cold and—and she won't wake…?"

The elf's eyes widened as she stood up and dusted herself off, but, fortunately, seeing as how Ron was completely beside himself with worry, her head was in the right place.

"Sir should take her upstairs. Sir must lay her on the bed in the first room on the right. Ebby will go fetch a Healer. Ebby knows where he lives."

Ron mouthed soundlessly at her as she turned on the spot and disappeared with a crack.

"Well, do you think gaping like a fish is going to revive her?" Andrea scoffed at him. "I think you should listen to the blatantly more intelligent elf."

Ron bounded up the stairs without replying, although at a different time he might have recognized that, to an ancestor of Malfoy's, being called inferior to a house elf was an insult worth dueling over.

The door to the room on the right of the upstairs landing burst open as Ron leapt toward it. Immediately in front of him stood a vast four-poster bed with blankets of silken green. Taking his sister gingerly down from his shoulders, he laid her down on top of the blankets, his mind still blank with shock.

With her hair fanned out against the dark fabric, Ginny looked as white and still as a marble statue. Ron's first impression was of an effigy on a tomb. Just as his knees collapsed beneath him, a wooden chair appeared by the side of the bed, and he sank into it, overwhelmed with shock and sudden fatigue. Reaching out, he brushed his sister's curls away from her face.

"Ginny," he whispered. "Ginny, please, hold on. I'm here, I'll protect you… I won't leave… I promise." He dropped his hand to her own and was shocked at how cold it felt to his touch—like the glass of a windowpane in winter. To his amazement, tears pricked his eyes, and he fought down a bitter stinging sensation in his nose and throat.

Ginny was almost lifeless. A few minutes longer and she could have died. And Ron—Ron had been upstairs, clueless, brooding over how to apologize for all the pain her own family had caused her. She could die still, without ever knowing how sorry he felt—how sorry they all would feel, when they knew.

And Draco—Draco was nowhere to be found.

-&-

Draco hadn't been on his own since his sixth year of Hogwarts—since after his father went to Azkaban and his mother fled the country. At first, he had no idea where to go. Of course, he hadn't thought to pack anything—he'd poured all his mixed-up thoughts into that letter to Ginny and then left as quickly as possible. He had been scared that she would catch him, yet wishing at the same time that she would. But now it was too late, and he was gone. It felt horrible to be alone—well, to be away from her.

And Alice.

Suddenly, Draco's self-esteem plummeted even lower than he thought it could possibly fall. Already angry at himself for pulling Ginny away from her family and her best friends, he realized how much more horrible it was for him to have left her—because now she was truly alone. And, on top of everything, he'd left behind his firstborn child.

Draco, who had, when he first ran away, Apparated into the all-wizard village near Malfoy Manor, paused in the town center. For a moment, he hesitated. He knew he was making a terrible mistake. He knew, deep down, that Ginny might not even ever forgive him, because now, of all times, was not the time to leave.

But that knowledge was buried deeper beneath his history with Ginny's family—and with Harry Potter. Draco knew that he was the worst, the very worst, person for Ginny in her family's eyes. He also knew that he might never treat her family the way Ginny wanted him to; he just couldn't. He'd spent all his life hating them.

And then, even if her family could learn to accept him, and he her family… there was still Harry Potter.

And at that thought, Draco decided that he could not go back. His deed was done. Ron was at Malfoy Manor; Ron would comfort her. And then, perhaps, she would realize how happy she finally was—to be back with her family, to be loved by many people instead of only one. And then she would forget him.

Miserably, Draco cast about for a single person other than Ginny whom he could go to. He realized that, in stark contrast to her life, he had no one—he had not been forced to give anyone up when he took a Weasley as his wife. The selfishness of his own decision bore down upon him until he could stand it no longer.

Then, in desperation, he realized where he could go. There was one friend who had stood by him—and Ginny—from the beginning.

As Draco Apparated out of the town center, he had no idea that just a few meters away, inside a little cottage with a bone on a sign hanging in front, Ebby the House Elf was Apparating with a Healer back to Malfoy Manor, to try to save Ginevra Malfoy's life.

-&-

Ron jumped and knocked his head on the top of the bedframe as Ebby Apparated into the room. The Healer, a tall, balding, brown-haired man with a wan yet friendly smile, strode forward immediately and shook Ron's hand.

"I'm Robert Cole, of Eastwicke Village. I'm the Healer for the wizarding families in these parts." His glance fell immediately to the bed. "This is Mrs. Malfoy?"

Ron jumped before realizing that that was, in fact, his sister's name. "Yes. I found her locked in a room in the dungeons. She's been out cold…" His voice trailed off. The Healer dropped his hand and crossed to the other side of the bed, reaching for Ginny's hand and searching for a pulse.

"Her heart's still beating, but barely," he said. He put a hand to her forehead. "We need to try to warm her up and then revive her."

As if she had been waiting for these words, Ebby bounded across the room and opened a trunk in the corner that Ron hadn't seen before, pulling out a creamy-white nightgown with ribbons at the collar and cuffs.

"Ebby with change Mistress," she said. "You men wait outside."

Ron stood up and followed the Healer out into the hall. The door shut loudly behind them.

"You are obviously related to Mrs. Malfoy in some way," said the Healer bluntly, glancing over Ron's freckles and obnoxiously red hair.

"I'm her brother," Ron said. "I was here to visit when… when a ghost in the manor told me where Ginny was."

The Healer raised an eyebrow. "And where is Mr. Malfoy?"

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably. "He's—gone. On a trip. I'll send word to him right away."

Robert didn't seem to believe him, but only hesitated a moment before continuing on. "Very well. I advise you to do that as soon as possible. I'm not sure how long Mrs. Malfoy will be unconscious, but depending on how she responds to treatment, it could be for a very long time."

" 'Treatment'? Ron repeated. "What do you plan to do?"

Robert glanced sadly at the door. "I've never seen anyone so deeply unconscious before. I highly doubt that she's in this state solely due to cold—there must have been some kind of magical interference. I can only think of one way to treat her: with small, repeated doses of aconite."

"Aconite?" Ron questioned. He was in far too much shock to remember his past ten years of magical training, much less his first Potions class.

The Healer looked at him in surprise. "It is used to revive any who have tasted the Draught of Living Death."

-&-

Draco had been to this house many times in his childhood; he knew immediately what to do. Walking up the gravel path onto which he had just Apparated, he craned his neck upward, meeting the blank stone eyes of the gargoyle positioned just above the hefty wooden front doors.

"I am Draco Malfoy," he said, careful not to blink. "I'm here to see Blaise Zabini."

-30-