Chapter 26: Harry and Blaise

Ginny sat in the corner seat, her eyes trained on the green blur of the countryside speeding past the window. Draco sat stiffly beside her, a book propped open on his lap, and Blaise was draped opposite. His eyes were shut, but Ginny could tell by the lightness of his breathing that he wasn't asleep.

The silence felt physically thick.

Crabbe and Goyle were off somewhere, and Ginny actually found herself wishing she hadn't hexed Parkinson and turned their not-quite-concealed disdain for each other into full-blown enmity. Maybe then Pansy and Daphne would be in the compartment too, laughing and telling inane stories and providing a distraction from the harsh reality of how fucked up their little trio had become in so short a time.

How fucked up everything had become.

Her eyes drifted up to the luggage rack overhead, where this morning's Prophet was practically burning a hole in her train bag. She'd gleaned bits and pieces of what had happened at the Department of Mysteries from Harry, but to read about it – albeit with scant details – in stark black newspaper text had been another thing entirely. Everyone finally knew that Tom was back – there was no denying it now – and Harry was a hero again and Lucius Malfoy was in prison, awaiting trial, and –

She glanced at Draco. He was reading, his expression completely neutral, but cold somehow…constructed. She looked away, the silence suddenly feeling unbearably oppressive, and stood. Without a word, she slid the compartment door back and walked out into the corridor.

Breathing more easily now, she wandered toward the back of the train, hoping to find an empty compartment. The very last one on the corridor had its curtain drawn down, and she hazarded a knock. When no one responded, she peered inside. Good – empty.

She sank down wearily, and the door had just slid shut behind her when someone spoke.

"Ginny."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, and then there was Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak off and looking sheepish.

"Bloody hell, Harry!"

"Sorry," he said, starting to laugh and putting up his hands as she tried to catch her breath. He caught her glare, which only made him laugh harder. "Sorry, sorry," he managed. "I thought you might decide not to come in…then I thought it'd be really awful if I didn't say anything and just let you sit there thinking you were alone –" Laughter. "Sorry I'm laughing…but the look on your face just now…."

She rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "You almost gave me a heart attack! What are you – oh, you want to be alone, don't you? I'll just –"

"No, no, it's fine," he said quickly, recovering himself. "I was just hiding out from Ron and Hermione," he admitted, looking sheepish again. "They've been circling like vultures. I think they're worried that I haven't broken down yet…about Sirius." He sobered, then gave a small shrug and looked away. "Obviously they don't know I already had my due breakdown."

Ginny thought of his shaking body, hunched brokenly at the base of the dungeon wall. She exhaled, all the amusement going out of her, but didn't reply.

Suddenly, he looked up. "Sorry, I didn't even think that you probably wanted to be alone. I can go back – should, actually – they'll be worried I've offed myself," he said, smiling wryly.

"No," she protested, "I didn't necessarily want to be alone…just away from…." She gestured vaguely, then shook her head. "In any case, you should stay…if you want."

He was looking at her inquisitively, but he didn't push it, and she smiled appreciatively. He dug into his pocket. "Chocolate frog?" he asked, and the brightness was only slightly forced.

Her smile widened. "Split it?"

He opened the package and broke her off a piece.

"This is becoming quite a tradition isn't it? Randomly running into each other on the Express and you giving me chocolate frogs."

He bit into his part of the frog. "It's pretty great, as far as traditions go."

"Mm," she agreed, savoring the sweetness. There was nothing quite like a chocolate frog, and since her second year and the Dementors, she'd only loved them more. She paused thoughtfully. "Hey, do you keep in touch with Professor Lupin? I wonder how he's doing."

"He was all right," he replied, "though he's probably not so great now, since Sirius…," he added. "They were friends at school."

"Oh," she replied. "I didn't know that."

"On the upside," he continued, "since Umbridge is discredited at the Ministry, her anti-werewolf legislation will probably be up for review as well."

"Oh," she said. "I didn't know she'd drafted anti-werewolf…." She thought of Lucius Malfoy's party last year, and of Umbridge giggling about how incompetent all of their past Defense professors had been. "Not out of character, though," she grumbled finally. She took a ruthless bite of chocolate. "She was such a bitch."

"People always think that about their bosses," Harry teased, eyes sparkling, and she grinned.

"Touché."

He tipped his frog to her. "I saw her in the Hospital Wing after we got back from the Ministry," he said. "I think Pomfrey gave her something that made her groggy. She hadn't the slightest idea what was going on…didn't stop her ranting and raving like a lunatic though."

Ginny laughed. Now that Dumbledore had been reinstated, none of the students who had defied – or hexed – the old Headmistress were going to be punished, so she could afford to take the matter lightly. "Ranting and raving like a lunatic? Again, not out of character."

He grinned.

An hour and a half later found them in the same compartment, still talking and laughing good-naturedly. They'd bought more sweets off the cart, and Ginny was tossing Bertie Bott's beans across the compartment into Harry's open mouth.

He ducked his head down low to try to catch one and missed it by an inch. "And you call yourself a Chaser!" he said, grinning cheekily, and she aimed the next one at his eye.

"You should thank me. I'm pretty sure that one was Booger."

"Or Green Apple."

"And you would've risked it?"

"Now you'll never know, will you?"

She smirked and leaned her shoulders back against the compartment wall, settling her legs lengthwise on the seat cushions. "You know," she said, glancing at her watch, "I'm surprised the other two-thirds of your little trio hasn't come looking for you yet."

"I could say the same for you," he replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Mm, my other two-thirds isn't afraid I'm going to off myself."

He nodded slowly, looking out of the window. A long pause, then suddenly he to meet her eyes, his expression sober. "If I say something, do you promise not to storm off?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Depends what you say, I guess…."

He laughed lightly, then said, "You should try to fix things…with your family."

"Harry –"

"No, hear me out. I hate to play the lonely orphan card here –" He smiled boyishly, and she couldn't help the smile that twitched at the corners of her own lips. "– but a week ago, Sirius was the closest thing I had to a family," he continued. "Sure, your parents have been incredible to me, but they'll always be Ron's family first, you know? More than mine."

He met her eyes to see if she understood, and she nodded.

"Anyway, Sirius was like family to me, and now…well, now he's gone, and I just think–" He paused, took a breath. "I know things have been rocky for a while, but a family's not something you can afford to take for granted, and you've got a good one, Ginny."

She didn't know quite what to say, and after a moment he shrugged. "I just thought you ought to hear it from someone. And Malfoy and Zabini…." He made a face, and she almost laughed. "Well, they don't exactly have stellar family lives, do they? So I didn't think you'd be getting it from them."

She thought of Lucius and Narcissa. They loved their son, in their own way, but Harry was right. The Malfoy house was nothing like what the Burrow had been when she was growing up – warm and cozy and nurturing. "You're right about Draco," she replied. "I don't know about Blaise, though his mum doesn't seem particularly…motherly. I'll have to get back to you after this summer."

He looked up, surprised. "You're staying at Zabini's?"

"Yeah."

He looked curious, but held his tongue and just nodded slowly. "Safer, at least," he said finally.

"And neutral," she added, meeting his gaze significantly.

"You're going to have to choose eventually, you know," he observed.

Now she rolled her eyes, and he laughed. "Heard that one before, then? It's the truth, though. You're a Slytherin."

She made a face at him. "Slytherins can be neutral."

"Not if they're also Weasleys."

She swallowed. This conversation had gotten a lot more serious than she had expected. "I don't want you to think…I mean, I realize it sounds horrible – talking about being neutral to you of all people. But it's hard for me, because of…." She trailed off, but he was nodding like he understood, even though she was fairly certain he didn't. She felt a rush of affection for him.

"I get it, Ginny," he said. "But you will have to pick sides eventually, one way or another. Especially now that everything's out in the open." He paused, then grinned broadly, his eyes sparkling. "Now, I won't pretend I'm not biased…."

She laughed aloud.

Just then, the train began to slow for its entrance into King's Cross. As it came to a halt, they split the remaining sweets between them, and Ginny shoved her half into her robes pockets as she stood. "This was nice," she said, and he smiled brightly.

"Have a good summer, okay?" he said, sliding open the compartment door. Outside, students were milling around the corridor, slowly making their way to the exits. "And be safe."

"Harry," she said, holding him back in the doorway. He turned and met her eyes. "Write to me, yeah?"

His smile widened. "Of course. And I'll be bored out of my mind at my aunt and uncle's, so you better write back."

When she finally wound her way back to the front of the train, Zabini was leaning against the doorway of their compartment, his arms folded casually across his chest and his eyebrows raised just a fraction of an inch.

"What?" she asked as she slipped past him and grabbed her train bag off the rack, though she knew perfectly well why he was looking at her like that.

"Nothing," he replied, voice neutral.

She glanced around the compartment, realizing it was empty. "Where's Malfoy?"

"Already left."

"Oh." The flash of disappointment that she felt surprised her. Had she really expected him to wait and say goodbye? She shook herself and slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "There's probably already a wait for the Floo."

They met one of Blaise's House-elves – Priscilla, who reminded Ginny forcibly of Gerald – on the platform, and she unloaded their trunks and escorted them to the Floo. The grate didn't empty out into the foyer as it did at Draco's, and they emerged instead into a large open-air pavilion attached to the house.

"Is Mother in?" Blaise asked, turning to Priscilla, who nodded.

"She's in the small drawing room."

"With?" he prompted.

"Mr. Winslow."

He didn't seem surprised, just nodded and directed Priscilla to bring their things upstairs. "This way," he said, motioning for Ginny to follow him inside.

She'd never been inside the Zabini manor – they'd held the funeral for Blaise's stepfather in the gardens behind – and she realized that she'd been expecting it to be a close replica of Malfoy Manor.

It wasn't.

Blaise's home was much more comfortable, more inviting. They passed through the foyer, which was floored with brown stones and dotted with wooden tables holding elegant flower arrangements, and headed down a corridor to the drawing room. The door was slightly ajar, and Ginny could hear Aradia's tinkling laughter filtering out from inside.

"Mother?" Blaise said, knocking lightly before pulling the door open and striding inside.

"Blaise, darling!"

The room was all warm tones – lush burgundy carpet, velvet settees, mahogany wood – and Aradia, who had stood to give her son a hug, fit into it perfectly.

Ginny had seen her before, of course, at several of the Malfoys' parties last summer, and again at the funeral. She'd assumed at those events that it was the woman's tall frame and perfect hourglass figure that turned heads, but now, up close, she realized it was much more than that. In the golden evening sunlight coming in through the windows, Aradia's skin almost seemed to glow. Her long, dark hair fell in deceptively careless waves down her back, and her full lips were always tilted into an easy smile.

She was gorgeous, but somehow managed to seem charming and approachable. For some reason, Ginny had expected Aradia to be an ice queen, imperious and cold. But she realized now that she was much more dangerous than that.

"This is Xavier Winslow," she said, gesturing to the stately-looking man on the settee across from her.

"We've met," Blaise said, smiling and extending a hand. Watching him, it was suddenly very clear to Ginny where he'd learned his charm. "Last summer, at one of Lucius Malfoy's parties."

"Now, now," Winslow said, smiling broadly and shaking Blaise's hand, "it's probably best to put any past associations with Lucius Malfoy out of our minds, my boy."

"Of course," Blaise replied, nodding solemnly, and Ginny shivered at the cold politics of it all. Last summer, invitations to Lucius's parties had been as highly sought after as World Cup tickets. But now that his star had fallen, everyone would pretend they'd never really known him.

"And Mother, this is Ginny Weasley."

"Ah, yes," Aradia said, turning to Ginny. She was smiling, but for an instant, Ginny could see something cool and detached in her eyes – something calculating. It was gone a moment later. "I've heard so much about you."

"Thank you for letting me stay for the summer," Ginny said. "You have a beautiful home."

Aradia laughed. "Gratefulness and compliments," she said. "A winning combination, particularly with men." She glanced flirtatiously at Winslow, who flushed with pleasure. "That will serve you well in France, my dear."

"France, Mother?" Blaise said, taking the question right out of Ginny's mouth.

"Oh, Xavier has been incredibly generous, and has invited us to spend the summer at his chateau on the coast. It's absolutely gorgeous." Gratefulness and compliments, Ginny thought wryly. "So you'd best not unpack," Aradia continued. "We leave tomorrow. I've been telling Blaise all year that I've been dying to get out of Britain for a while, haven't I, Blaise?"

Blaise nodded.

"And especially now that things are getting so complicated here…." She gestured vaguely toward the Prophet lying next to her glass of red wine.

Ginny's thoughts drifted. France for the summer? Blaise was smiling agreeably, but she could tell that he was just as surprised by this turn of events as she was. She supposed it would do no harm, and getting away from everything for two months would be a relief…but she couldn't help feeling a pang of regret that she wouldn't see Draco all summer.

As they left the drawing room half an hour later, Blaise laughed a little to himself. "Dying to get out of Britain for a while…things are getting complicated here…," he muttered, shaking his head amusedly.

"What?" she asked.

"Just my mum," he replied. "Ever since the rumors about the Dark Lord started cropping up again, she's been meaning to take some of the money and invest it on the continent. Leave it to her to find someone with a chateau on the coast."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "If she's been meaning to invest on the continent for a while, why not just take the money herself? Why wait for Winslow and his chateau?"

He turned to her. "Different kind of investment," he said, and when he smirked he looked so much like his usual self, without the anger or the brooding or the awkwardness that had inserted itself into his expression over the past few weeks, that she couldn't help smiling back.

The next night, she had just pushed her trunk into the large walk-in closet of her newly-assigned bedroom at Winslow's chateau and was in the process of pulling on her pajamas when there was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" she called out, buttoning the last button on her top.

"It's me," Blaise replied, and she crossed the room to open the door. "I just came to see how you're settling in," he said, stepping inside and shutting the door with his heel so he could lean back against it.

She sank down onto her bedspread and folded her legs beneath her. "I'm fine. The house is beautiful."

Blaise gave a non-committal shrug, and she laughed. "You, I see, are not so easily impressed."

"I've seen better," he said. "The town's nice, though, or so I've heard."

She paused, considering, then said, "Should we go see it tomorrow?" She honestly wasn't sure what his answer would be. There was really no reason for her and Blaise to be at odds – they were both angry at Draco, not at each other – but their friendship had taken strain anyway, and she didn't know if –

"Yeah," he said firmly, meeting her eyes, "unless you want to rot in this house."

She smiled broadly.

"I saw a chessboard in the library on the way in," he commented. "You know, if you're in the mood to lose miserably at something."

"Oh-ho!" she laughed. "That's big talk, Zabini."

"Hardly. I'll get the board."

He turned to leave, but she suddenly felt the urge to say something…just to get it off her chest. "You could've told me, you know," she said, and he halted with his hand on the door handle. "Up front. Probably would have saved us a lot of trouble."

He turned back slowly, and his face twisted into something between a wry smirk and a grimace. "You know, I've been thinking about it," he said soberly, "and I actually think it would've caused more trouble."

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, and after a moment he looked up and grinned. "So. Let's get to the inevitable, shall we?"

For some reason, Draco had expected the Manor to feel different. Its owners were disgraced – his father was in Azkaban, for Merlin's sake – and his Aunt Bellatrix and her husband were staying…. Somehow, he'd expected the house to reflect all of the changes. But when he came out of the Floo into the foyer, everything felt largely the same.

Gerald bowed low. "Welcome home, Master Draco," he said. "Your mother would like to speak with you. She's in the library with Master and Mistress Lestrange."

Draco's expression hardened. He'd hoped to put off seeing Bellatrix and Rodolphus for at least the rest of the evening. They made his skin crawl, though maybe that was just the memory what it had been like in Azkaban the last time he'd seen them, when his mother had taken him for a visit. He shivered, then felt a pang as he considered what his father was going through now.

He shook himself. There was nothing for it, so he crossed the foyer and exhaled once before knocking on the library door and walking in.

"Draco!" his mum said. "Good, I was beginning to worry." Narcissa was as polished as ever in a long-sleeved white dress and with perfectly coifed hair, though when he looked closely he could tell that her eyes were ringed dark beneath her make-up.

"Mother," he said, returning her hug. He wanted to ask about his father and about whether or not a trial date had been set, but Bellatrix and Rodolphus were observing him keenly, and he wasn't about to discuss that in front of them.

"Say hello to your aunt and uncle, Draco," his mother said sternly.

"Forgive me," he said, smiling stiffly. "Where are my manners?"

"Manners are useless," Bellatrix said with a snort. She turned back to her sister. "Now manners are something your husband has in abundance, Cissy."

Narcissa shot her a warning glare, but Bellatrix just gave a small cackle of laughter. "Don't get your knickers in a knot, Cissy," she said, looking like she was enjoying her sister's discomfort immensely. "It's something at least, though as I said, manners don't count for much when loyalty and dedication are lacking."

Draco felt a flash of anger, and he noted that Rodolphus, who was laughing along with his wife in between casual sips of scotch, was sitting in Lucius's usual armchair. He resisted the urge to scowl. "I wasn't aware you thought so little of my father," he said instead, voice hard.

"Son," – Draco balked at Rodolphus's use of the word – "everyone thought that little of your father." The man took another lazy sip of amber liquid, looking amused.

"Everyone who was worth their wand, anyway," Bellatrix said. She met his eyes, one thin black eyebrow arched. "Those of us who were truly loyal to the Dark Lord went to Azkaban for our beliefs. Your father renounced his Mark with the flimsiest of excuses and carried on accumulating wealth and influence for more than a decade. If anything, his getting caught at the Ministry is a bit of poetic justice. Disloyalty gets its due reward."

Draco clenched his fingers around the edge of the table behind him. "If true loyalty entails rotting uselessly in prison for years on end rather than working to control resources and positions of power," he replied coldly, "then I think the Dark Lord could use more disloyal followers, don't you?"

Bellatrix's gaze hardened, and Draco had to force himself not to flinch back. "Raising a little traitor, are you, Cissy?" she asked, turning to Narcissa. "Or does disloyalty run in the Malfoy blood?"

"Again, you seem to be confusing loyalty for idiocy," Draco replied.

She met his eyes, held his gaze for a long moment, and then did something unexpected. She barked out a loud laugh. "At least he's not a coward, then," she mused. Strangely, she sounded impressed. "Still," she continued after a pause, cocking her head to consider him as if she was looking at him for the first time, "if you don't want to be labeled a traitor, Draco, you should watch what you say…and whom you associate with."

"What?" he said, caught off guard by that last bit. She must be talking about Ginny, he realized, but how could she know about his social life? His friends?

At the look on his face, she laughed again, then answered his question almost as if he had asked it aloud. "If you think the Dark Lord doesn't have eyes and ears at Dumbledore's excuse for a school, maybe you aren't so smart after all."

His mind raced as he wondered who it was – it could be any number of fellow Slytherins…Snape perhaps?

"This fallout with Arthur Weasley's daughter is for the best, son," Rodolphus put in.

Merlin, Draco thought, whoever it was certainly delivered up-to-date information. That meant Snape was out – so a student…. He shook himself. That wasn't the important question. No, who it was wasn't nearly as important as why in the world The Dark Lord cared about his relationship with Ginny Weasley.

He realized that they were waiting for him to respond. He straightened his robes, then looked Rodolphus in the eye. "Don't call me that," he said flatly. "I am not your son." And with that, he strode from the room.

Two months later

Draco sat down on the low, stone bench, glancing warily down the length of the room to where a pair of black-swathed Dementors hovered by the door. He shivered and pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. He could already feel the warmth being sucked from his body.

There was a rattle of chains, and he looked up to see his father sinking onto the bench opposite. He could see through the wall of iron bars that separated them that Lucius looked terrible…more degraded than Draco would have thought possible in just two months. His face was gaunt; there were deep, dark pockets beneath his eyes, and his usually pale skin had turned sallow.

But when he spoke, his voice still held its usual haughtiness. "Draco," he said, pushing a stray piece of blonde hair behind his ear. "I had expected a sooner visit." He fixed his son with a hard, accusing look.

"I'm sorry, Father," Draco replied. "I've been busy meeting with your lawyers, and there have been quite a few financial obligations to attend to." He smiled wryly. "It seems that many of your friends have suddenly remembered debts you owe them and want them settled immediately."

Lucius laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, they'd like our business transactions settled before they cut off all contact, I'm sure."

"Exactly. I've settled everything, though there are a few claims I'd like you to check." He withdrew a short list from his pocket.

Lucius scanned it and handed it back. "All are fine except the last," he said. "Tell Dulwich that I see no reason to reimburse him for losses sustained through his own stupidity."

Draco re-folded the sheet of paper and pocketed it. They were silent for a moment, and he observed his father, realizing that the man looked significantly thinner beneath the gray prison-issue clothes. He felt a pang of pity. "Father," he said, moving to reach between the bars for a reassuring squeeze of the hand or…something, "Are you all right in here?"

Lucius jerked away, and Draco stiffened, drawing his hand back into his lap. "Sentimentality will get you no where, Draco," he said harshly. "You had best squelch those impulses, or else our family reputation will never survive my imprisonment."

"I think it's your imprisonment that's doing our family's reputation the most harm right now, Father," Draco retorted, "not my sentimentality."

"Watch your tone," Lucius replied, eyes flashing. He paused. "No," he continued after a moment, "we can still be salvaged. Our options are simply more limited. We can no longer hope to play both sides. We must throw our entire weight behind the Dark Lord and hope that he prevails."

Draco thought about what Bellatrix had said about his father's loyalty and wondered if his father was deluding himself into thinking they still had any options left.

But Lucius was still speaking, and his eyes were suddenly fierce with something like desperation. "Draco," he said, "there will be repercussions for my failure to retrieve the Prophecy from the Ministry."

"The Prophecy?" he asked. Somehow, in the midst of all the drama that had surrounded his father's capture at the Ministry, Draco had never stopped to wonder what Lucius had been doing there in the first place.

But Lucius spoke over him. "I don't know what form the repercussions will take, but my failure, coupled with your exploits during your second year…." Draco swallowed a retort. "Whatever the Dark Lord asks of you, Draco," Lucius continued, "you must do it. It's the only way our family will survive this war with any kind of power intact."

"Gerald," he said, standing and swiping the particles of soot off his pant legs, "bring me a chocolate bar. Now."

Gerald bowed low and moved off, leaving Draco alone in the foyer. He exhaled heavily, trying to shake off the lingering effects of the Dementors, even though he knew he wouldn't feel right for the rest of the night. He glanced up at the tall windows. Outside it was pitch black. He must have been in Azkaban for longer than he thought.

The House-elf returned with the chocolate bar, and he bit into it, feeling a small measure of relief flood his body. He thought involuntarily of Ginny, who had carried a chocolate frog in her pocket every day during her second year, when the Dementors had been guarding the castle. He shook himself. The last thing he needed right now was to think of Ginny and how they hadn't spoken or written to each other all summer.

He started toward the staircase, then stopped in his tracks. There were voices coming from the dining room, and the low murmur sounded out of the ordinary. He moved a bit closer, until he could make out some of the words.

"– her loyalty, my Lord?"

Draco froze. That was Bellatrix, and she must be speaking to –

"Dumbledore is up to something…." It was the Dark Lord. "…sneaking around, digging into things he has no business…." Draco strained to hear, but the Dark Lord's voice was low and quiet, and he could only hear bits and pieces. "…parts of my past that I would rather stayed buried."

"And what does…." That sounded like Rodolphus. "…she have to do with it?"

Draco moved even closer, until he was just a few feet away from the double doors that led into the dining room. Between them, he could make out a bit of the room, but Bellatrix was standing a few feet in front, and her back blocked his view.

A heavy sigh of impatience, then, "Eventually, Dumbledore will share his plans with Potter…he always does. And when that happens, we will need someone close to the boy to pass on the information to us…." More murmuring that Draco couldn't make out. "…none of Potter's friends can be turned, and there are no other…."

"Master Draco."

Draco started. He whirled to see Gerald standing behind him, an envelope held between his slender fingers. Draco strode quickly away from the doors, back toward the staircase. "What?" he demanded testily.

"This letter just arrived for you, Sir," Gerald said, his voice betraying no emotion. Draco wondered if Bellatrix or Rodolphus had ordered the House-elf to keep away eavesdroppers. It was just the sort of job Gerald relished. Then again, whatever it was that the Dark Lord, Bellatrix, and Rodolphus were planning, maybe he was better off not knowing.

He scowled and nearly snatched the envelope from Gerald's grasp, then headed upstairs to the privacy of his room. He tossed it onto his mattress and went straight to the shower. He needed to wash off the sense of dread that had seeped into his skin at Azkaban.

Half an hour later, in his pajamas and in bed, he ripped open the envelope.

Malfoy,

It's been a while. Sorry I haven't written before – Weasley and I are in the south of France with my mum and her latest flame. How's your father, and how are you?

Blaise

The letter was short and sweet, and it made its point. Blaise was extending the olive branch. So either he'd gotten over Weasley, or the two of them had gotten together and were now snogging each other senseless somewhere in the south of France. The thought of the latter sent an irrational jolt of anger through his body.

He tossed the letter a little harder than necessary onto his bedside table and extinguished the light with a flick of his wand. But he would write back first thing in the morning. Whatever was happening on the continent, Draco appreciated that Blaise had written.

He stared up at the bright imitation stars that dotted his enchanted canopy. He'd been trying not to think about Weasley all summer, and with his father in prison, Bellatrix and Rodolphus in the manor, and the finances to be settled, it hadn't been as difficult a task as he'd expected.

But Blaise's letter forced the issue, because it threw into stark relief the fact that Ginny hadn't written. Not for two months. It was the longest they'd gone without speaking since she'd been Sorted, for Merlin's sake.

He didn't know what she'd wanted him to say to Blaise that morning. Sure, maybe he should have been a bit more delicate, but if he'd gone full the other way and declared undying love or something, what would that have done to their friendship? He'd been honest, at least, and since when did Ginny Weasley need him to sugarcoat things?

He made a frustrated sound. If she wanted to tear down their friendship over a stupid night and a few off-hand words, so be it. He hadn't been willing to beg for her forgiveness at the beginning of the summer, and he wasn't willing to now.

But for all his self-righteous determination, he felt a deeper sort of emptiness than even the Dementors had been able to instill.

Their friendship had been so unlikely in the first place, so impossibly delicate, that he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that it was collapsing over something so seemingly trivial.

But fuck. He missed her.

Especially now, when everything was going to hell.

He thought of the bits of conversation he had overheard this evening and wondered vaguely what the Dark Lord was planning. Something about Dumbledore digging into his past and Harry and having someone close….

But before he could figure any of it out, he had already fallen asleep.

A few weeks later

Ginny's room was a complete mess. It was the day before the start of term, and early tomorrow morning they had to Apparate back to London and then Floo from the Apparition Point to King's Cross to meet the Express. She'd taken everything out of her closet and was in the process of getting it all back into her trunk.

"How much free time does Potter have?" Blaise asked incredulously, holding up a tall stack of envelopes bound together with twine. "He's written you half a tree's worth of letters."

"Don't you dare," Ginny said, glaring as Blaise made to open one. "Haven't you ever heard of privacy?"

He sighed theatrically and tossed the stack back into her trunk. "And what's this?" he asked, holding up another envelope, which looked much more official, sporting the Hogwarts seal and all. "Ah, right," he said, tapping it against her bedpost, "Your Prefect letter. Why do all of my friends have so much fucking disciplinary power?"

She grinned. "You're one to talk, Captain," she replied.

They had gotten their letters on the same day two weeks ago – Snape had made her Prefect and Blaise Quidditch Captain. They'd had a good laugh over how Urquhart, who'd been boasting about what a great Captain he'd be, would take the news.

Blaise glanced at his watch. "Damn, I lost track of time. Have to go."

She looked up from the blouse she was folding. "Where?" she asked curiously.

He smirked. "What's that you were saying earlier about privacy?"

"All right, be dark and mysterious," she replied, rolling her eyes amusedly. "See if I care."

He grinned and left the room.

An hour later, she'd just finished packing when one of Winslow's House-elves knocked lightly on the door. "Dinner is ready, Miss Weasley."

"Thanks," she replied. "Have you told Mr. Zabini?"

"Not yet, Miss. He wasn't in his room. I was going to check the parlor."

"It's all right. I'll go get him," she volunteered. The parlor was on the way to the dining room, and anyway, she was curious about where he'd gotten off to.

She took the stairs two at a time, then crossed into the parlor, her bare feet moving soundlessly over the parquet flooring. "Blaise?" she called, scanning the length of the room. She didn't see him and shrugged to herself. Maybe he was in the –

She heard a sound – something like a laugh? – coming from behind the door at the end of the parlor, which led to another room beyond. She walked over, but didn't hear anything else, and pulled open the door.

And saw Blaise, with his belt buckle undone and a girl that Ginny didn't recognize up against the wall, her skirt pushed up around her hips.

"Fuck," she swore. "Sorry." And then she slammed the door shut and left the room as quickly as she could.

Later that night, she was reading by the dim glow of her bedside lamp when Blaise knocked lightly on her doorframe.

"Get a good view earlier?" he asked cheekily, settling beside her on the bed.

Ginny set her book on the nightstand and shot him a look. "Not particularly, but I rinsed my eyeballs out with bleach, and now I feel much better."

He laughed, crossing his right ankle over his left and leaning back against the headboard. He turned his head to look at her, and she noted that their faces were mere inches apart.

"So," she said after a moment, forcing herself not to turn away, "girlfriend?" She found that she was whispering, like they were talking about something secret.

"Not that I'm aware of," he answered conspiratorially, whispering too, and she smiled.

"Mm, typical. And how long have you been…?"

"Three weeks maybe?"

She barked out a mirthless laugh. "Thanks for letting me know," she said dryly, switching back to a normal volume. She froze. She'd meant it to sound light, teasing, but she realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth that in the context of everything that had happened, it sounded accusatory.

Blaise's eyebrows went up, and his grin slipped. After a pause, he met her eyes. "You didn't expect me to still be mooning over you, did you?" he asked, and his voice had an edge to it.

"No, no," she said quickly, "that's not what I –"

But even as she protested, she realized that maybe some part of her was a bit disappointed. She didn't fancy him, but she had, during her third year. Or at least, she'd fantasized an inordinate amount about snogging him.

And it had only been three months since he'd said he fancied her, enough to ask her to Hogsmeade, and they'd spent so much time together this summer…. An irrational, selfish part of her was disappointed that she was apparently so easy to get over.

He seemed to read her hesitation in her eyes. He grasped her chin and tipped it up so she was looking at him, and for one crazy moment, she thought he might kiss her.

But then he spoke. "I like you, Ginny. Fancy you, even," he said, his voice suddenly incredibly serious, and her breath hitched. "You're funny and strong and dead sexy."

She managed an eye-roll at that, and a smile ghosted over his lips.

"But I've done a lot of thinking this summer," he continued, "and the fact of the matter is, I don't play second fiddle to anyone."

Her brow furrowed. "I wouldn't be asking you to," she said softly.

He held her gaze, deep, deep black on brown.

"Yes," he replied, "you would. And if you don't know that, then you and Malfoy are blinder than I thought."

Author's Note: Sorry if this chapter felt a bit filler. It's necessary set-up for the next one, which will be MUCH more exciting, trust me. Fair warning, though – you'll probably have to wait for a while. I'm headed back to school, and I have a crazy few months ahead. And I mean, CRAZY. Law school applications and thesis-writing and trying to figure out my class schedule. Wish me luck…I'm gonna need it!

Oh, and don't worry – I haven't forgotten about Draco's mission…far from it. I've just put it off, so stay tuned, and in the meantime, please review!