Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a wonderful habit of procrastination - which leads to unkept deadlines. Whoops.

OoO

Draco started when the door opened, and then immediately scowled. He wasn't usually caught off guard like that.

Bill frowned at him from the doorway, also catching his surprise. "You okay?"

Draco waved him off. "Fine." He looked back at the work on his table, and tried to figure out what he'd been doing. He was in the middle of Harry's parseltongue journal, and he'd been… He couldn't remember. Draco pushed the journal away in a huff.

It was an uncharacteristic show of annoyance – directly countering the 'fine' he'd told Bill. He wasn't okay. Bill took the hint. He stepped further into the study and shut the door behind him. Draco slumped down in his chair – pleased that Bill had picked up on his frustration, even thought Draco wasn't admitting it verbally. It was too hard to speak the words sometimes. It was easier to pretend that Bill was just being nosey and that Draco was still the fortress of solitude he liked to think he was.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked, taking the seat across from him.

Draco looked at him, and let out a huff of dark laughter. "Everything, Bill. Everything is wrong."

Bill paused. "I can't tell if you're being serious, or if this is normal teenaged melodrama."

Draco waved away his attempt at levity. "I'm serious, Bill. There is something hugely and terribly wrong. I cannot even begin to tell you how wrong it is."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Bill asked.

"I can't even find the words for what is wrong," said Draco. "And there's no point in telling you what it is because – well, because I don't know what to do about it."

And maybe that was teenaged melodrama. Maybe Draco should just spit it out, and yet it was so horrible he could barely even wrap his head around it. The problem had been nagging him ever since their unsuccessful attempt to recover the horcrux.

"Okay," said Bill. He sat forward. "Is it something wrong with you?"

"I'm fine," said Draco, and then at Bill's pointed look, "okay, I'm obviously concerned. And stymied. And frustrated, along with whatever other psychological troubles I'm accustomed to dealing with. But no, this doesn't involve me."

"Okay," said Bill, slightly slower. "Is it something to do with me?"

"No, you're fine."

"About Ginny?"

"She's fine, too. Well – you know, quite more than fine, but I'll refrain from singing her praises as not to make you uncomfortable."

"If you can be sarcastic, I'm not sure this problem is as big as you're making it out to be," said Bill.

Draco sat up straighter, because he needed Bill to take him seriously. He needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do about this. "You're fine, Ginny's fine, and your family is fine. The problem is…not immediate."

"Okay," said Bill. "Does it have to do with the fact that Voldemort still hasn't rejoined his horcrux to himself?"

"Partly," said Draco.

He and the rest of the Order had assumed Voldemort would rejoin his horcrux to himself as soon as he had time to conduct the ceremony. Harry had been dreading his dreams every night since they got back, and still Voldemort had not performed the ritual. The working theory was the Voldemort was going to keep this horcrux a secret – keep it as a failsafe, so that even if he was defeated by the Order, he would still have a piece of his soul to live on.

"Is this a problem that we should know about?" Bill asked. "One that's going to impact the Order?"

"Hugely and irrevocably," said Draco. "And that's why I can't say anything more."

Bill's face constricted. Draco knew the former professor wanted to ask – knew that it was eating at him.

Draco leaned forward. "Bill, I'm not telling you what it is just so I can be mysterious or to tease you. I'm not telling because, if I'm right, the Order is going to fall apart. It's going to be chaos and fear and betrayal and so much pain, and I don't want to give that to you."

Bill met his gaze. "It's not fair to ask you to hold onto something that big yourself. I can tell you're struggling. You haven't been yourself these past couple of days. You're distracted and aloof. You're even more short-tempered than usual. You aren't picking on anyone. Even my mom's worried."

Draco sat back and sighed. "I know. People are worried. But that's fine. I'll be out of the house tomorrow when school starts."

"Is it about school?" Bill asked. "You know, you don't have to go back if you don't want to."

"No, it's not school."

"Then what can I help you with?"

Draco took in a slow breath, and let it out even slower. "The problem is – well, I'm nearly one hundred percent certain that it exists, that I'm not reading too much into things or making it up. And one person is at the heart of the problem, but I don't know what to do about it."

"Who's the person?" Bill asked, and then when Draco shot him a look, "not the person's name, but what's the person like?"

"Gryffindor," said Draco.

Bill nodded. "Okay. Problems with Gryffindors are best solved with the direct approach. You go in, and ask whatever it is you need to ask, point blank and face-to-face."

Draco blinked at him. "It is that easy, isn't it?" he realized.

"What were you planning?" Bill asked.

Draco shook his head. "A hundred roundabout and indirect ways of questioning." He carded a hand through his hair and let out a half-laugh. "Simplicity. It ought to be the Gryffindor motto."

"And what will you do when you get your answer?" Bill asked.

Draco pursed his lips. "I haven't the faintest."

"A problem for another day, perhaps?" Bill asked.

Draco nodded.

Bill nodded as well and stood up. "Now come in for dinner. Mom's made us a big send-off meal for all you students."

Draco looked back at his work on the table, the parseltongue journal he'd been neglecting, the knife that had been pushed to the side, the scrawling notes for the Veritaserum that had all but been forgotten.

"Hey, Draco." Draco looked up. Bill was looking at him, eyes concerned. "You'll tell me what it is, won't you? If not now, than someday?"

Draco nodded. "You'll be the first when I do tell. Once I… once I figure it out."

"Okay," said Bill. "Now come in for dinner. No sense worrying on an empty stomach."

Draco followed Bill in for dinner. It was a large affair. He couldn't tell if it was because the adults were sad that they'd be sending the students back to school, or if it was because they were celebrating that fact. Certainly it'd free up some room in the house.

Conversation over dinner mostly focused on expectations for the remainder of the school year, and Mrs. Weasley trying to make sure everything had been packed. "We're leaving for King's Cross bright and early," she lectured her kids. "No packing in the morning, you hear me?"

Ron rolled his eyes and got a sharp tongue-lashing. Ginny nodded dutifully, and then shot Draco a wink and a grin. He had to shake his head back at her. Practically Slytherin, that was.

Draco retired to his room after dinner under the pretense of packing, but he'd already been packed ever since they'd first heard that Hogwarts was being re-opened. Although, now he wasn't planning on traveling back to school – at least, not before solving this rather important matter. Now he just needed an excuse to skip the first day…

There was a knock on his door, pulling Draco out of his thoughts. He turned as Charlie poked his head in. "You got mail." He handed over a letter.

Draco nodded his thanks. He'd redirected his mail from the manor to the Order Headquarters, and the Order was used to delivering him vast quantities of mail at odd hours of the day. Being heir to the Malfoy Estate and business came with a great deal of written correspondence.

Pansy peeked out over Charlie's shoulder. "Hey, Draco."

Draco raised an eyebrow, because Pansy was wearing jeans and a button down flannel shirt – to be sure the flannel shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a great deal of cleavage – but the point still remained. Pansy. In flannel.

She grinned at him, like she knew what her wardrobe was doing to his brain cells, and jumped on Charlie's back. Charlie let out a theatrical 'oof', but obligingly carried her back downstairs. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose because sometimes he was completely baffled at the way life turned out – and that particular pairing was one of them. He understood why it worked. Theoretically it made perfect sense. And yet, in practice, he was still as shocked as the rest of the Order – well, okay, not that shocked. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's faces upon discovering that Charlie was dating Pansy were the perfect example of 'thunderstruck'.

Draco turned his attention to the letter at hand. It was from Advocate Preston, who was handling his case against the ministry.

Curious, he opened the letter and scanned the contents. Something heavy and constricting lifted off of his chest, and he hadn't even realized it was there until he was suddenly breathing easier. The letter informed him that Lucius's body was being released from Azkaban. It would be sent to the Manor for burial in the family cemetery.

Draco dropped down onto his bed. He took in an easy breath, and then another. It was a welcome peace – one that he needed. He shut his eyes and slept until morning.

He wasn't quite expecting the level of chaos that came the next morning. He shouldn't think it was that difficult to see five students off to school, especially when most of them were self-sufficient – well, at least Draco was self-sufficient, but apparently lots of noise and banging of doors and exasperated sighs were part of the norm for the Weasley family. It started well before Draco actually got downstairs and continued upon his arrival in the dining room.

"Oh, good, you're up, Draco," said Mrs. Weasley, looking half frantic. She was both trying to serve breakfast to the adults and direct the movement of luggage that that already gathered by the door. "Do you need any help getting your trunk downstairs?"

Draco took a hasty step back as Ron ran past him, shouting something at Fred and George. Apparently they'd hidden all his underwear. Hermione was the next to hustle in, looking for her monster of a cat.

"I'm actually not going to Hogwarts today," Draco said, and even as loud as the room had been, it suddenly went silent. Everyone turned to him, startled.

"You're not going back to Hogwarts?" Ron asked, completely forgetting his fight with the twins. "Can you do that?" He appeared suddenly struck by a thought and turned to his mother. "Can I do that?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Mrs. Weasley chided. "And of course you're going to school, dear," she told Draco. "But if you're feeling a little queasy, I can get you some peppermint tea, if you'd like."

The thought of him having pre-school jitters was so laughable that Draco couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. "I'm fine, but thank you. I'll be skipping the first day or so of school." He held up the letter he'd received last night. "Lucius's body was released from Azkaban. I'll be burying him once I can make the arrangements."

There was a brief moment of silence, and Draco watched the Order try to process that piece of news. Their expressions filtered first to an immediate frown of distaste at the mention of his father, and then shifted to contrite, because Lucius was dead and they wanted to support Draco, but then their faces did a weird twist as they remembered it was actually a good thing Lucius was dead, and they didn't need to feel that bad about it, and so they settled on cautious sympathy.

All except Bill, who immediately pushed the chair next to him out from the table, and Draco sat next to him while the rest of the table figured out what to say.

"We're very -," Mr. Weasley started, and then stopped. Draco figured he was going to say 'sorry for your loss', and then realized that would be untrue.

"We're very sorry that you lost your father," Bill said, in a very tactful and honest way. "Will you need us to help you with anything?"

"Not this morning, no," said Draco. "Maybe tonight though?" He shot a look at Bill, who nodded.

"Of course."

Draco nodded back, grateful for that. "I'll need to head out now. But I'll be back later."

"We'll let Dumbledore know," Harry said. He was the only student sitting at the table, apparently the only student apart from Draco who didn't need guidance to pack his things. But then again, Harry also didn't have any parental support. Draco got a sudden mental image of a tiny Harry Potter, waiting for his aunt and uncle to unlock the cupboard beneath the stairs, and then quickly placing all his school belongings in his trunk, hoping not to forget anything before the cupboard was slammed shut and locked up again.

Draco also got a sudden flash of anger that had a lot to do with the monumental problem he'd been worried about for the past several days. But he simply shot the boy-hero a quick nod of thanks, even though it was unnecessary. Draco was going to see the Headmaster very shortly. Not that anyone knew that was where he was actually headed.

Draco stood. "I'll be Flooing over to the Manor for now." He paused, because Ginny wasn't down yet, and he did want to see her off. But he was short on time. He needed to get to Dumbledore before the school officially opened.

He glanced to Hermione. "Tell Ginny I said goodbye?" Hermione and Ginny were close – he figured it'd mean more by asking Ginny's best friend to pass along his message than having her brother or mother relay it.

"I will."

Draco paused for one more moment, because something wasn't setting right with him. A strange sense of foreboding filled his mind - but Draco didn't put much stock in precognition, or even prophecy. It was far more likely he was unsettled because of the problem at hand. He shook the feeling off, tossed Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped through to the Malfoy Manor. From there, he threw in more Floo powder and requested entry to the Headmaster's office in Hogwarts.

He stepped through, trusting that he'd caught Dumbledore in his office, trusting that the Headmaster would recognize that a Floo from Malfoy Manor would be important.

Sure enough, it only took a moment for him to be allowed to step into the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, papers and schedules spread out over the surface – all the last minute decisions and plans for the remainder of the school year.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Draco, but gestured for the seat in front of his desk.

"What brings you here, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco took the offered seat, and then paused because this direct sort of confrontation felt foreign to him. Sure, he'd directly threatened and attacked people before. But rarely had to addressed a problem so bluntly. Dumbledore waited for him to find the rather Gryffindor candor.

Draco took in a breath and then said, "You chose to save Hermione instead of the horcrux."

Dumbledore learned forward and steepled his fingers. "You think I made the wrong choice?"

Draco shook his head. "I think that if the goblet had truly been the Horcrux, you would have caught the goblet and let Hermione fall."

Dumbledore tilted his head to the side. "What led you to this conclusion, that the goblet is not a horcrux?"

"Because had the Dark Lord retrieved his horcrux, he would have immediately rejoined himself to it. He already has control of the elements, and the power of flight. If he had another piece of his soul reclaimed, his power would be incredible. He would not give up that opportunity." Draco stopped, and waited for Dumbledore to say something, but the Headmaster was silent. "Am I wrong so far?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "And please, continue."

"At first, I didn't understand why you didn't tell the Order that the goblet wasn't a horcrux," said Draco. "The only reason not to tell them, would be if the final horcrux is something unobtainable, or something truly terrible."

"And that would be?" Dumbledore asked. His face was serene – as if Draco wasn't unraveling the horrible secrets that he had been keeping for so long.

"And Ginny couldn't sense the horcrux when we were in the vault," Draco said. "Not until Harry picked it up."

Draco stopped, because he didn't like unraveling the truth, not when it was this terrifying.

"Keep going," said Dumbledore.

"Harry Potter is the final horcrux," Draco said. He took in a measured breath and felt the tension in his body build.

"And what else?" Dumbledore prompted again, almost gently.

Draco tried to continue, but the words hitched for a moment. He forced them out anyway. "The only reason you wouldn't have told the Order this, the only reason you wouldn't tell Potter, is if you can't figure out how to separate Potter from the horcrux. And if they can't be separated, then when Harry kills the Dark Lord, Harry will also die."

It felt worse to speak his realization out loud, but Dumbledore simply folded his hands together. "It's worse than that. You know that it's worse than that. Don't hide the truth of the matter now, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco glared at the Headmaster, because how dare Voldemort scold him for feeling overwhelmed at this dark, tremendous truth. "Harry won't be able to kill Voldemort while he's still a horcrux," he said icily. "And Voldemort won't be able to kill Harry. They're in symbiosis together. And you haven't told anyone this because you don't know how to separate them. Which leads us to the conclusion that if Harry can't kill Voldemort, than he isn't the savior you made him out to be. So what, in the name of Merlin, are you going to do about it?"

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "Bravo, Mr. Malfoy. You put it all together."

"Don't congratulate me," Draco spat. "What have you been doing to figure out how to disconnect Potter from the horcrux?"

The Headmaster's eyes sparked. "What have I been doing? I have been doing everything in my power to save that boy, but the fact of the matter is, there is no undoing it. Not that I can find. Harry cannot be separated fro the horcrux."

Draco felt irritation well up in his chest. "Then what's the next step?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the Headmaster asked. "When a solution becomes impossible, look at the problem again. That's what I've been doing. Do you know what the problem is, Draco?"

Draco rolled his eyes. Of course he did. "We have a savior that can't save us."

"Precisely. We've been trying to fit Harry into the shoes of the savior because he is the Boy-Who-Lived, because he defeated Voldemort before, first as a baby - ,"

"Which was really more of his mother saving him," said Draco, feeling the need to be contrary, because he was annoyed, so Dumbledore should be as well.

"Exactly," said Dumbledore – and Draco blinked in surprise, not expecting to get agreed with. "His mother saved him," Dumbledore continued. "And during his first year, when Harry defeated Voldemort, it was mostly due to the fact that Voldemort couldn't touch him – again, his mother saving him. The second year he defeated Voldemort mostly because he is the horcrux, and therefore has imbibed some powers form the horcrux."

"Parseltongue," said Draco. And now it made sense why Draco's readings said that Harry actually shouldn't be speaking parseltongue when he was.

"His third year he fought off Dementors- but not really the Dark Lord, the fourth year, well, that was also due to the fact that Voldemort can't kill him because of the horcrux, and his fifth year was more of a team effort, and his sixth year – well, there wasn't much of a showdown then, was there? You had the most excitement that year, I think."

"What are you getting at?" Draco asked.

Dumbledore sighed. "We've been trying to fit Harry into a position that may not be his. And at the time it made sense, but there's also the matter of the prophecy." ,"

Draco snorted, and Dumbledore caught it. "So you've heard it then."

"Potter may have recited it to me."

"So you know what's wrong with it," said Dumbledore.

Draco started, again, not expecting the Headmaster to agree with him. "It's bullshit. The whole part about 'one can't live while the other survives' has some serious logical flaws."

"Because they're both living and surviving now," said Dumbledore. "When I first heard it, I didn't think much of it. Prophecies are known to be vague things. But the more that it appeared that Harry could not fill the prophecy the more I started questioning it. And the source of it."

"Who gave the prophecy?"

"Trelawny."

Draco shook his head in disbelief. "That old coot?"

"At the time, she was very convincing. But upon further investigation, she admitted to stealing it from one of her ancestors. There is Seer blood in the line – and Sybill happened across an old journal of prophecies in the attic, prophecies that had been recorded for generations and generations."

"The original wasn't in English, was it?"

"No. It was Latin."

"Did you translate it more accurately?"

"Most of it works out to be the same. Of course, in Latin, there's a bit more specificity in the 'live' and 'survive' lines. It works out to be 'Neither will flourish while the other survives'."

"I figured as much," said Draco. "What else?"

Dumbledore hesitated. "The birth month could be different."

Draco shot him a look. "What do you mean, could be different?"

"Depending on who originally wrote it and when, well, you know he different calendars that wizards have kept."

"What are you thinking it is?"

Dumbledore looked at him, his eyes serious. "What month were you born?"

Draco shook his head, confused. "You have my birth records for school, what does that -?"

"How many times has Lucius defied the Dark Lord?" Dumbledore asked.

And Draco finally realized what the Headmaster was asking him. For a moment, he couldn't quite comprehend it, and he laughed, once, a loud, harsh burst of laughter that immediately betrayed how shocked and confused he was, because he didn't laugh, not really.

And then he saw that the Headmaster wasn't laughing, that he was looking at Draco with a grave and somber expression, and Draco finally understood how serious the Headmaster was, and his stomach dropped.

"No," he said.

"I thought Harry was the one," said Dumbledore. "But he can't fulfill the prophecy."

"I don't fit. I don't fit it."

"Your father has defied Voldemort more than once," said Dumbledore. "According to the old Moon Calendar, you were born in the seventh month."

Draco shook his head, feeling slightly sick. "No."

"He marked you, Draco."

Draco's eyes shot to his arm. The knife, and his scar. It looked like a snake.

"You are far more powerful than Voldemort realizes," said Dumbledore.

"That's ridiculous. I'm not – I'm not the savior."

"Harry can't be the savior either," said Dumbledore, and Draco looked up at the Headmaster, and saw he was deadly serious, and suddenly he was angry. Draco was so angry he felt a flush over his skin, almost like he was on fire.

"How dare you?" he snarled at the Headmaster. He grabbed the arms of his chair, afraid he might lunge at Dumbledore and strangle the old man. "How dare you mold and manipulate that boy into your fucking image and then throw him away like he's nothing?"

"I never wanted this," Dumbledore tried to defend himself.

"No!" Draco bit back, and now that the initial shock was over, the heat faded from his body, leaving him frigidly cold. He stood, smoothly, and stared down at the Headmaster. "I will not let you throw Harry Potter away simply because now it's inconvenient for you to have pinned your hopes on him. How many years did you let him rot before saving him from his relatives? How many life and death scenarios did you throw at him? How many secrets did you keep – all because you felt it would better him, make him stronger, smarter, turn him into a general, a savior at the age of seventeen? And now, oh – you were wrong? And he has to die? And you want to pin it all on me now? A boy you detested? A boy who was raised in the very pit of the viper you're trying to destroy, a boy you hardly took notice of? Dared not even to throw a lifeline to? Now I'm your savior?"

Draco took in a breath. Dumbledore was staring at him, expression conciliatory, like he was mollifying Draco by letting him vent. Draco leveled a finger at him. "If you breathe a word of this to Potter – if you make him doubt, for the smallest of seconds, that he is not the savior I swear I will kill you and throw you from the astronomy tower – do you understand me?"

Dumbledore looked at him, pityingly. "There's no arguing with the prophecy."

"Then you don't know me well at all," Draco said. "Because I'm very good at arguing."

"What will you do?" Dumbledore asked.

"I'm going to find a way to separate Harry from that horcrux. Then, I am going to personally ensure that Potter provides the killing blow – even if I have to fight the whole rest of the war myself. Because I'm not your savior. I'm nobody's savior. I'm too far-gone trying to save myself, but Potter – Potter's a savior, regardless of whether a prophecy says it or not." Draco gave one last, hard look at the Headmaster. "There was a time when you believed that too."

And then he turned on his heel to stride out of he room, and his exit was only marred by McGonagall bursting into the office.

"There's been a Death Eater attack!" she cried. "On the Hogwarts Express!"

OoO

Ginny woke up, half dazed, half confused, and really, really cold.

She pushed herself up and looked around. She was in a bare room. There was a door in front of her, and a window behind her. She pushed herself to her feet. She felt dizzy – and sore – and for a moment she couldn't quite remember what had happened.

And then she did. She had been at the station for the Hogwarts Express. There had been an explosion and an attack. There had been barely enough time to draw her wand before someone had grabbed her and then –

And then it went dark and she woke up here. Wherever 'here' was.

She tried the door first, even though she knew it would be locked. She didn't bother wasting her energy banging on the door. She went to the window instead. It looked out over a deserted, rocky beach. From the yellow of the sand and the orangey-brown of the rocks, she wasn't in England anymore.

She wasn't surprised to hear the lock turn on the door behind her. Whoever had grabbed her would have been waiting for her to wake up. Ginny turned – and she was surprised to see the figure in the doorway.

"Hello, Ginny," said Claire.

The blonde woman stalked in. Her hair was nearly twisted back, her expression cruelly smug.

"Why am I here?" Ginny asked.

Claire stopped in the middle of the room. She pointed her wand at Ginny. "You are a problem of mine."

"How so?"

"The Dark Lord thinks of you fondly."

Ginny couldn't help but flinch. She silently cursed herself for it, wishing she could be a bit more unreadable.

"Your boyfriend thinks of you fondly as well," said Claire. "And the Dark Lord thinks of him quite… viciously."

Ginny tried to school her expression into one of blankness. "Does Thomas know that I'm here?"

She saw the way the name irked Claire, the way Claire's expression turned a little violent. Yes, Ginny had a weird connection to Voldemort – or rather, Tom Riddle. Tom – who wished that his name had been Thomas. The full name, not the diminutive form of it.

"I told him," said Claire. "He'll come to visit you, once I'm done with you."

Claire stalked closer, and Ginny refused to back up, refused to show her fear.

"He only said not to kill you, not to cause any permanent damage – do you know why?"

Ginny bit the inside of her cheek.

"It's because Draco doesn't know you're gone yet. And a game of hide-and-seek is more fun once the seeker knows who he's looking for. And it gets even more fun when the taunting starts. If we go too fast, the game will be over before it can begin."

Claire lunged forward and grabbed her, and Ginny tried to fight back , but Claire had a wand, and Ginny didn't.

"Crucio!" Claire shouted, and Ginny dropped in pain. She screamed, her muscles on fire, lightning shooting through her nervous system. She would have fallen completely to the floor, but Claire yanked her head up by her hair. Claire's wand flashed down, and then the pain stopped, and Ginny dropped fully to the ground, her muscles deadened with the curse. Her face smacked painfully into the cold stone of the floor. Claire stepped back, and Ginny could just lift her gaze to see her hair – her long, red hair – held in Claire's hand.

Claire shot her a triumphant smile. Ginny lifted one trembling hand to the back of her head. Her hair was gone – chopped short in the back. Ginny could feel the ragged, shorn ends, could feel her bare neck. Claire held her hair up liked a trophy.

"I'll send this to him," said Claire. She looked at the hair, then back at Ginny. "It will look better with some blood on it."

She stalked forward, grabbed Ginny again, and her wand struck out. A cut appeared on Ginny's arm, long but shallow – and it hurt, it hurt more than it should, some kind of stinging hex on top of the curse. Ginny clamped her mouth shut over a scream. Claire grabbed her arm and dragged her cut-off hair through the blood, staining her hair even redder.

Claire stepped back with a malicious grin. "I'm having fun now, Ginny. And it's jus started."

Claire strode out of the room, the door clanging shut behind her. Ginny curled in on her self, her hands reaching up to her head. It was easy to feel her skull now. Her neck felt bare and cold and naked.

Her hair being chopped off was worse than the Cruciatus. It was worse than the cut on her arm. Claire had taken her hair, had stolen a piece of her. Ginny took in a ragged breath, feeling like she was going to cry, and hating herself for it. She would not cry. She would not show weakness.

She pressed her head against the stone floor, and the necklace that had been tucked in her shirt slipped out. A rose-cut, pale pink diamond.

The necklace from Lucius.

'He may be able to find you,' Dumbledore had said.

Lucius was dead – but if it worked on blood magic, surely Draco could trace it, couldn't he?

Ginny wrapped her hand around the diamond. 'Find me," she whispered. "Find me."

OoO

So much for two weeks, huh? Blerg. Alright - I'll try for two weeks again for the next chapter, cross your fingers, knock on wood, etc.