A/N - this chapter looks like it's going to be another long one, so here's the first part of it now.

6a.

The summer day was bright and golden. As Harry trudged across the field, the sun warm on his skin and the country air sweet in his nostrils, he felt almost as if the weather and scenery were deliberately mocking him. At that place, at that moment, it was hard to believe that a dark shadow was stretching itself over his world, destroying everything in its path. The building he was heading for, with its crooked chimneys and old stone, was as much a perfect part of this scene as the green trees and fields of corn and the cows that placidly watched Harry and Malfoy as they crossed their field, but it could have already been touched by that shadow.

Which was why they had Apparated to a cautious distance away, rather than to the front door. It strained Harry's patience to the limit, as desperate as he was to discover if his friends were all right, but, despite what Malfoy seemed to think, he did understand the value of caution. He just chose not to use it sometimes.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Malfoy. He was quite a distance behind Harry, due to winding his way through the field, keeping as far away from the cowpats as he could and glaring at them as if they'd been put there to personally offend him. Despite his worries, the sight of him made Harry smile.

The clothes Ant had provided were too big for either of them, but he'd seemed to take delight in putting Malfoy in the baggiest jeans and loudest t-shirt he could find. The t-shirt hung down around his thighs and was a luminous yellow that clashed horribly with his hair and made him look even more sickly and ill. It was also decorated with a large smiley face. It was so hideously inappropriate that Harry had to believe it was revenge for Ant's scorched fingers.

Still, at least Malfoy didn't look quite as naked as he had in his previous Muggle get-up. Harry didn't know why a perfectly ordinary t-shirt and jeans should look obscenely revealing on Malfoy, but he suspected it was because he was more used to the other boy swathed from neck to ankle in heavy fabric. There was something wrong about him in Muggle clothes - wrong in a severely distracting way.

Harry stopped when he reached the hedge and waited for Malfoy to catch him up. The rucksack he was carrying just made the picture even more amusing - he looked like a kid sent to school in his elder brother's once-fashionable hand-me-downs. If it hadn't been for his thoughts on what might be awaiting them at the Burrow, Harry would have thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle. He'd spent enough time in baggy hand-me-downs himself to sympathise with Malfoy, even while he was appreciating Ant's idea of justice.

Ant had given Harry his phone number, with the promise he'd help in any way he could. Harry planned to pass it on to Lupin; an agent in the Muggle world would probably be as useful to the Order as it had been to the Ministry. He certainly understood Ant's desire to do something - anything - to help, to not have to wait passively for Voldemort to attack.

"When you're ready…" he said to Malfoy, who glared at him. The look he gave the stile, and the house and garden beyond it, was no more friendly.

"What is this place?"

"The Burrow," Harry said. "Ron's home."

He waited for some derisive comment about the house, but Malfoy just pulled a face. "So we're going to tea with Weasley and his clan? Wonderful."

Harry managed a smile. God - I wish that was what we were doing… "I thought you'd like the idea."

Malfoy shook his head slowly. "And I thought this day couldn't get any worse. I hate you, Potter." But he was smiling as he said it, one of his twisted, complex smiles. The smile itself seemed genuine enough, but the emotions behind it were unreadable. Harry found himself staring at Malfoy's mouth, wondering how he'd missed noticing how mobile and expressive it was. "So, are we going in, then? Or do you plan to just stand there staring at me for the rest of the day?"

Jolted out of his pleasant contemplation, Harry felt guilt creep over him. After all his impatience - the hasty Apparation, the march across the field - now he was actually here, he was scared to go in, scared of what he might find. Waiting for Malfoy, trying to bicker with him - it was all stalling.

Harry Potter - Saviour of the Wizarding World - trying to put off the inevitable. Pathetic.

He flushed and turned to the stile - then drew back, hand going to his wand, as he heard movement behind the hedge.

But the person who walked past was no Death Eater. Harry caught a glimpse of a small, slim figure scattering grain on the ground, her mane of red hair blazing in the bright sunlight - then Ginny was almost hidden by the squawking chickens surrounding her.

He was so relieved to see her, obviously unhurt - and surely nothing bad could have happened, if she was doing something as ordinary as feeding the chickens - that he forgot caution and leapt up onto the stile.

Ginny dropped the basket of grain and spun around, wand in hand.

"Impedimenta!"

She was definitely getting more powerful, Harry thought vaguely, as he lay on the ground and waited for his vision to clear and his limbs to work again. That hex had felt like he was being hit by a lorry - he must have been thrown back a good ten foot. As the one who'd taught that spell to her, he knew he should feel proud, but he just hurt too much.

He managed to lift his head off the ground, then almost wished he hadn't. Ginny and Malfoy were facing each other over the stile, wands raised. Their poses were very different - hers tense and guarded, wand arm stiff and held straight out, and his loose and confident, wand arm back and held like a poisonous snake preparing to strike - but the looks on their faces were identical. Two pretty faces - two very ugly expressions.

Another girl, one Harry didn't know, hovered uncertainly behind Ginny, holding a frying pan like a sword, a constant stream of words coming from her mouth.

"Is it them? Have they come for me? Oh god - have they come for me? They have, haven't they? They've -"

"Aggie," Ginny said firmly, "everything's all right. Please go back inside." Her voice rang with certainty and seemed to have a calming effect on the nearly hysterical girl.

"Are you sure?"

"Just go inside." Ginny didn't take her eyes off Malfoy once, not even to check that Aggie was doing as she was told. She looked beautiful and formidable, and Harry was proud of her.

My perfect ex-girlfriend…

He sighed and struggled to his feet, every muscle hurting.

"Harry, are you all right? I'm really sorry about the hex, we're just all really on edge around here at the moment."

"Put the wands down, both of you. Now."

"I will when she does, Potter," Malfoy drawled, and Ginny's gaze flicked between them. She looked puzzled.

And if Malfoy had still been a Death Eater, he would have had her just then.

"But -"

"It's a long story," Malfoy said. "But the short version is - I was stupid enough to save Potter's life and now I'm stuck with him. And I could have just hexed you into oblivion."

Her brown eyes flashed with that fine old Weasley temper, and Harry was just starting to think he'd have to physically get between them, when Malfoy lowered his wand. "What the hell." He spread his arms out and sneered at Ginny, who just looked even angrier. "Go ahead, little Weasel princess. Take your best shot."

So Harry found himself in the strange position of standing in front of a smirking Draco Malfoy, looking at the point of Ginny's wand as she threw every insult she knew in Malfoy's direction, including some even Harry had never heard before. At least it isn't hexes she's throwing. And I'm really glad Mrs Weasley can't hear this. Though she isn't a fan of the Malfoys, either - she'd probably agree with most of it.

"Are you all right?" he said, as the tirade ended. "The Death Eaters haven't been here?"

The question seemed to throw her. Ginny blinked and looked at Harry as if she wasn't really seeing him, but something else. Something much worse. "Only your new friend," she said eventually. She looked to the front door. Aggie was peering out fearfully. "And I'm fine."

"Who is she? One of your friends from school?"

"Aggie's mum works with Dad at the Ministry. Her dad's a Muggle…was a Muggle." Ginny looked over Harry's shoulder at Malfoy, and her fingers tightened on her wand. Her voice shook. "Aggie was at home when they came for him."

Harry didn't know what to say. Even Malfoy was, for once, thankfully silent. Neither of them asked for any details.

Harry looked back towards the house and the girl, only to see her being moved gently out of the way by Arthur Weasley as he came outside.

"What's all this noise about, Ginny?"

The relief Harry felt was like a tide rushing over him. All the horrible things he'd imagined - everything he'd expected - seemed to be washed away by the appearance of this thin, bespectacled man in his worn robes. He vaulted over the stile. If Mr Weasley was safe and unharmed, then surely -

Then he noticed the forlorn look on Ginny's face, and the way that Mr Weasley was looking at him. He wore the same kindly, curious expression when he looked at Harry as he did when his gaze shifted to Malfoy. Something wasn't right…

"Friends from school?"

"Arthur! Your dinner's getting cold. Come back inside." Mrs Weasley came out; listening to her gentle fussing over her husband made Harry feel tired and cold. In recent years her fussing had felt rather overbearing, but he would give anything for a bit of that now.

She noticed him. Her eyes glowed with relief and love, and he felt a bit better. She didn't say anything to him, however, just "yours too, young lady - get inside," to Ginny.

"Is it cottage pie?" Mr Weasley asked, as his wife steered him deftly back inside the house.

"What's wrong with him?"

Ginny sighed. "Twenty-four hours without any kind of word from him - Mum was going mad with worry. He just turned up this morning, calm as anything, like he'd just had a good day at the office. Something was wrong, though, everyone could see it. Ron and Hermione were still here then, and Dad didn't even recognise her. It took long enough for him to recognise his own kids - he kept going on about us all growing up overnight -" She looked down at her hands, at the wand being twisted between slim fingers, and bit her lip. A couple of moments later, she continued; she even managed a passably casual shrug. "Anyway, Mum checked his wand, and the last spell it'd done was Obliviate."

Harry stared at her, horrified. Ginny shrugged again, as if the movement made it all so much easier. "We don't know how much of his memory's been wiped - possibly years. Mum reckons the spell was done in a hurry."

"He did it to himself?" Harry imagined himself as Mr Weasley, trapped as the Death Eaters overran the Ministry. Would he have had the courage to do that - to turn his wand on himself so he wouldn't be forced to betray his friends? Or would he have tried to fight, and been taken away and interrogated anyway, with his secrets intact and ready for extraction by Veritaserum and Cruciatus?

Again, Harry found himself lost for words. His attempts at expressing his sympathy sounded feeble. Fortunately Ginny was saved from them by her mother, who came rushing back out of the house. She went straight to Harry and hugged him tight.

"Thank heavens you're safe, dear - we were all so worried." She fussed over him for a moment, then frowned at Malfoy, who remained out in the field, carefully separate from the reunions. He gave her his best smirk.

"It's a long story," Harry said.

"Do you trust him?"

"Yes."

"Well, I hope you're right to do so, because Remus left this for you, just in case you turned up here." Mrs Weasley pressed an envelope into his hand. "Take care, Harry."

"I'm really sorry about Mr Weasley," Harry blurted out, because he really was and he had to say something, however useless and pathetic.

She just smiled at him and said, "why? You didn't do it, did you? Arthur's alive. We have to be thankful for whatever mercies we can."

Ginny watched her mother go back inside, then managed a smile for Aggie as she waved at her from the window.

"You know, she's not even my friend - just one of the girls that used to hang around Michael. But she came here, because I'm a Pureblood and I was in the DA, and somehow that's a magical combination. She thinks she'll be safe here."

"She will be. You're strong. You'll look after her."

Ginny's smile was gone. Her lips twisted, as if she wasn't sure whether to smile or cry.

"I miss the DA," she said unexpectedly, and managed a twisted smile. Her eyes were bright with what could be unshed tears. Harry tensed up. He was no good with tears. "It was such a good game, wasn't it?"

He smiled back, but his heart wasn't in it. "Not for me."

"I suppose not."

Harry felt suddenly awkward. He felt as if he should be doing something, but he didn't know what. The silence stretched on, and Ginny's eyes never left his face.

He did care about her, it was just -

There was a very meaningful cough from behind him. "Just kiss the girl, Potter, then we can be going."

Ginny reacted as if she'd been slapped; Harry spun around and glared at Malfoy, who shrugged. "If you're shy, I can turn my back."

Malfoy's face was carefully set into an expression of complete innocence, but his eyes glinted. Harry looked at his mouth, at lips that twitched as if they wanted to curl into either a smile or a sneer, and wanted to hit him.

Arms slipped around him from behind and gave him a quick hard hug. "Take care of yourself, Harry."

He spun round, to return the sentiment, to apologise for Malfoy, to apologise for himself - to apologise for not being able to be all that she needed - but he found himself speaking to thin air.

The door slammed behind her as she fled into the house, leaving Harry standing alone in the garden with just the chickens pecking around his feet for company.

Well, not just the chickens.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Potter certainly knew how to over-react to a bit of gentle teasing, Draco reflected as he was shoved back into the hedge. Sharp bits of twig jabbed into his back through the thin cotton of the ridiculous shirt, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

"Don't. Start."

"I know you have weird moral standards, Potter, but you are allowed to kiss your girlfriend - that's the whole point of having one."

"Ginny's not my girlfriend." Potter's hands were twisted up in the yellow cotton, and he was invading Draco's personal space to the point that he could feel his breath on his face. Instinct told him to shut up and let Potter calm down, but instinct didn't have any control over his mouth, which just kept talking.

"Well, you're allowed to kiss her anyway. Unless she dumped you. Aww - did she dump you, Potter?"

"No!"

"You dumped her? Well - that's blown your reputation for chivalry. Shag-em-and-leave-em-Potter - whoever would have thought it?"

"We didn't -" Potter scowled and let him go. "It was for her own good. It's not safe for her to be around me."

Draco pulled himself out of the hedge and made a point of straightening his clothes. "I agree with that. If this is what you're like with me, I'd hate to see you in a relationship. Poor girl was probably covered in bruises." Potter opened his mouth to protest, but Draco had already decided to take pity on him. "I'm joking, Potter. Where's your sense of humour?" Besides, the conversation was getting boring - who the hell wanted to talk about the orange-haired princess? He'd heard enough about how beautiful and fantastic she was from Nott and even Zabini - he thought he'd puke if he heard it from Potter too.

He snatched the crumpled envelope from Potter's hand. "Let's see what your friend left you."

The only thing in the envelope was a folded-up piece of paper - a paper that wouldn't unfold. It felt glued together. Draco eventually gave up on it and handed it back to Harry. "Some gift."

"It is." Ink flooded up to stain the paper beneath Harry's fingertips, forming words. School Lane, Heath, Yorkshire.

"Shall we move on?"

A few minutes later, they walked down a quiet lane, away from a sleepy little village, and wondered what to do next. The lane was shaded by trees and surrounded by fields. It was pretty, but they'd walked up and down it twice and seen nothing but those trees and fields.

"This is a wild goose chase."

"No." Potter stared at the paper, and if he was willing it to write more, it wasn't responding. "This is Lupin's hand-writing."

"Lupin?" Draco said casually, but inside he felt a faint pang of alarm.

"Professor Lupin - you must remember him? He taught Defence against the Dark Arts."

"Oh. The werewolf." Careful, careful - stay calm - think of the humiliation of Potter seeing you scared…

Potter gave him a quick glare, as if he'd read more into those innocent three words than Draco had intended. Pre-emptive jumping to the defence. I suppose that becomes a habit when you're friends with a werewolf.

Though how anyone can actually be friends with a werewolf… Aunt Bella only likes Greyback because she gets to watch him tear people apart. I doubt Potter's into that kind of thing.

Well, I suppose he could be…

"Got something."

Draco looked up. Potter stood in the middle of the road, the folded paper opening up like a flower in his hands.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. It just opened…" Potter's words trailed off, and he stared into a field as if it had suddenly acquired magical riches. Flame licked at the edges of the paper. "Read this - quick!"

The paper blackened. Draco ran over, saw the words The Old Schoolhouse dissolve into flame. Potter swore and dropped the burning paper, but it seemed Draco had seen just enough.

He looked at the field Potter had. His view was now blocked by an old brick wall topped with wrought-iron railings. A rusty metal gate hung half off its hinges, and through it he could see a large brick building. It was a bit of mess - there were cracks in the walls, most of the windows were broken, and the roof was missing half its slates.

Potter pulled out his wand. Draco thought the gate would fall of as he touched it, but it swung open, without so much as a creak. He took his own wand out and followed him.

The paving stones beneath his feet were cracked, grass and weeds competing with each other to swallow them up. This had once been a playground, but the climbing frame was broken, lying in rusty pieces on the ground, and the swings that creaked in the breeze had rust-covered chains and paint peeling from their seats. The air was still and heavy.

"So, where are your friends?" He didn't know why he whispered, just that the place felt dead. Dead for a long time.

Potter shook his head. "I don't -"

Draco felt the alarm rather than heard it, as if all his senses were an elastic band that had just been twanged.

The still air was broken by the cracks of several people Apparating into it. Draco stood in a circle of strangers and tried to pretend he wasn't bothered by all the wands pointing in his direction.

Now's definitely the time to let Potter do the talking…