Disclaimer: I own the plot and a few characters. Rowling and various other companies own the Harry Potter characters and settings. No infringement was intended in the creation of this story.

Author's Note: This is the third story in a series of three. If you haven't already read my previous works, 'It May Be Rainin' and 'The Road To Nowhere' I suggest you invest the time. They're fun, I promise. Or, If you're into that sort of thing, you can take it from here and completely confuse yourself. I leave that choice to you my readers.

Chapter One

What You've Become

"Run to your dreamin'

When you're alone

Not what you should be

Or what you've become

Just get heavy on with

Diggin' your ditch

Diggin' a ditch where madness gives a bit

Diggin' a ditch where silence lives

Where all these disappointments

That grow angry out of me will die…"

Dave Matthews Band: 'Digging A Ditch'

                "Are you going to be all right?" Ron asked, placing a tentative hand on Ginny's shoulder.

                Ginny swallowed hard and nodded.

                It would be a hard year for her.

                But it would be nothing, she reasoned, compared to her past month, hunted by Voldemort only to betray an innocent and sweet little girl, helpless against his deranged whims. Rehabilitation had been a real hell too.

                She was struggling and apparently it showed. Her brother, and Harry even, had counseled her to keep her distance from Draco. She knew that they harbored little of their once fervent hatred for each other. The recent events had put an end to their juvenile quarrels. But it was optimistic of her to think that they would put aside all differences.

                Ron would still hate him for blaming the whole situation this summer and the death of his sister on her. She knew Ron was only doing what any protective older brother would do. He didn't want her hurt. But it was too late for that. She was hurt and it wouldn't stop anytime soon, whether Draco were around to exact the punishment or if she just dealt it out to herself. She was responsible for all of this. She had all of the information right in front of her. She'd seen it all and hadn't put it together fast enough. And it cost Lucy her life, a life Ginny wouldn't have given up of her own free will.

                She wanted Draco to know that she hadn't voluntarily given his sister over to the Dark Lord. He'd poisoned her. But it was an easy out. She'd had a hand in the death whether voluntary or otherwise. That was how Draco would see it, and it was quite fair, Ginny reasoned.

                She would have to accept the fact that she'd lost him. She just hadn't reached that point yet.

                Stepping onto the platform and beholding that gleaming scarlet engine, she found herself searching for that familiar blond with the infuriatingly elitist sneer on his face.

                Her heart leapt painfully as she saw him.

***

Imogen stepped onto the platform of nine and three quarters and shook her head. Same old shit, she thought hopelessly to herself.  She just didn't feel like humoring the staff by taking their remedial classes. But that was part of the deal. She had to carry out the normal activities of a fourth year student if she wanted to remain at Hogwarts. And she did want to remain at Hogwarts. She needed to be here, if only to make sure the people she cared about were all right, safe. She buried all of her loathing and reservations about the upcoming year with a sigh and heaved her bags on board.

She didn't have anyone to say goodbye to at the station.

Just as well. She got first choice of compartments that way. She wanted nothing more than to be by herself and think.

Imogen smashed through the first compartment door she came to.

Occupied. A boy with a toad had already gotten there.

She shook her head as he offered to share and moved on.

The next one down was empty and so she claimed it and immediately shut the door.

Rummaging through her trunk, she quickly produced the documents that had consumed most of her final days of summer.

She felt only a little twinge of guilt at having taken them right from under Draco's nose, but only a little. She knew his habits and whenever he was out for the count she knew he wouldn't wake up.

They'd spent most of that evening when she came to visit in silence. She stared anxiously at him and he stared wearily at the floor. Then he'd found the alcohol. Gin, Imogen thought it might be. She watched in complete apprehension as he consumed the entire bottle, praying that this would not become a habit with him.

He'd forgotten that she was there, she noted with pity, when he'd curled up on the sofa clutching the empty bottle.

That had solidified the decision for her.

No matter how many other things she'd had on her plate this time, she was coming back to Hogwarts. She didn't think she could go through the painful process of losing another person she loved. And he seemed to be nearing the edge of self destruction. So here she was, on the train back to Hogwarts, only because Draco was in trouble.

After he'd passed out she padded silently to the lower chambers of the house, knowing exactly where it was she was headed even though there were only a few torches lighting the way.

Into her laboratory, Imogen stepped, the ridiculous feeling that she was trampling over a dead girl's memory, her place, her things. This was Lucy's laboratory.

Brushing the idea from her mind with a small laugh, she quickly proceeded to collect the notes that had been left there. Everything was open, left the way it had been just before she'd disappeared.

Into a bag Lucy's precious notes went.

She made a cursory scan of the room. She'd left no other important documents behind. The last Dark Arts book that had given birth to all of Lucy's brilliant plans was nestled behind a loose stone at the base of the wall. She pried it loose and shoved the book into the bag as well and left the underground lab and its ghosts.

She thought about leaving directly but felt hot tears forming in her eyes. She couldn't do it. To just walk out on him like that was painful.

She crept into the sitting room where she found him still curled up on the sofa, asleep and frowning. He'd dropped the bottle. She could see its neck as it half rolled out of sight under the piece of furniture.

Holding her cropped hair back out of her face she bent and kissed his forehead.

"I'm sorry I had to leave you, Draco," she sobbed quietly and then left before she'd had the chance to wake him up. 

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she set her jaw and went to work. She had to figure out how to modify this potion.

***

                Draco winced painfully at the harsh morning sun and wondered with great regret what the hell he was doing here. He'd pondered many ways out.

                First he'd thought of the obvious: suicide. But he was somewhat of a pragmatist and ruled that out, saying that if he wasn't successful in his first attempt what would make the second any more special. He was never one for repeating himself.

                His mind automatically went to the next logical option, which was of course, get the hell out. He could easily leave. Leave school, home. Leave it all. Go someplace warm. Fiji. But Fiji wasn't enough to make him forget what he'd left behind. And so he stayed.

                Now that he was here and forced to board the train that would mercilessly whisk him off to a hell of his own fashioning, he couldn't remember these very logical reasons for staying.

                The train's whistle sounded loudly, nearly forcing him to his knees with the unexpected pain of it all. Jesus! He felt like he was having a bloody aneurysm.

                His head pounded with the dim realization that he'd had a little more to drink than was necessary for a peaceful night's sleep. He cursed and massaged his temples.

                He couldn't take this shit, he thought, shaking his fuzzy head.

                He began to turn and proceed back out of the station.

                He didn't feel like going to school. He didn't fancy seeing her again.

                That would be worse than this horrid hangover, he feared.

                Her voice stayed him though.

                "Draco?" Ginny's voice sounded unsure over the din of the bustling station.

                He turned slowly. He didn't want to be having this conversation. The conversation. Not with her. Not with his head in such disarray.

                "Not now, Ginny," he said as he brushed past her and on to the train, looking for a compartment to pour himself into and pass out again. He noticed with slight alarm how bad she looked and even more regretful at the hurt look on her face as he was avoiding her.

                She would have to get used to it, he reasoned. He would be doing a lot of avoiding this year. And if she were smart, she'd leave it at that.

***

                Ginny had said she was going back out to the platform to say goodbye to her mother once more before they were off. Hermione noted, with anything but surprise, that the small redheaded girl wasn't headed back to the train after she'd embraced her mother. She was off in the direction of Draco Malfoy who stood at the platform entrance, seeming unsure about something.

                Hermione watched on as her friend neared and spoke. Malfoy pushed past her, leaving her there, looking after him. Her face contorted and crumpled as she dissolved into tears and regret. Hermione shook her head mournfully. If she didn't feel awful for him having just lost his sister, she would have hunted him down and tried out some new hexes on him for making her cry.

                She got up from her seat and headed for the door, just as Ron and a pale-looking Harry had entered. Harry was just as solemn and regretful as Ginny most days. She understood that, though. They had all been through the wars, but Harry was weighed down with the guilt of losing Lucy.

                She smiled at him and he looked back with immovable features and blinked.

                "Where are you going?" Ron asked, shoving Crookshanks to one side to clear some room for himself.

                "Nowhere," she answered quickly and then added more convincingly, "I'll be back. It won't take long." She quickly exited the compartment as to head off any more questions on the subject.

                She pulled a sliver chain from the pocket of her school robes she'd already changed into. Dangling at the end of that delicate chain hung a fleur-de-lis, beautifully worked in silver and sapphires. 

                It was Lucy's necklace and it belonged in the care of her brother. Hermione didn't feel right about keeping it a second longer.

                She quickly pushed through scores of first years. Peeked through the open doors of each compartment and flung open those doors that were closed, eliciting some very hassled comments. She ignored all of it.

                At the back of the train, she found him.

                She opened the door of the next to the last compartment and found a familiar but not recognizable lower year Slytherin girl with cropped black hair and strikingly blue eyes staring at her curiously, distracted from some papers or notes she'd been looking over.

                On the other side of the compartment lay a figure dressed in gray, face hidden under a black school cloak. She'd had the feeling it might be Draco only by noting his shoes—Gucci.

                "Is that Draco Malfoy?" she asked the girl who nodded interestedly and curiously.

                Not wanting to wake him and then have the uncomfortable task of explaining how this necklace had come to be in her possession, she merely bent and twisted the silver chain loosely around one of his wrists that hung off of the seats he was asleep on. He would find it when he woke up, she told herself.

                Imogen eyed all of this from her seat and smiled behind her notes.

                Hermione thanked her and she nodded.

                Imogen watched as she left and then stared briefly at the charm dangling from Draco's wrist before returning to her notes.

***

                Ginny watched the retreating from of Draco as he quickly boarded the train. He'd winced at the sound of her voice and then scowled. He hated her.

                Ginny was in no doubt of that.

                She fought with herself for a few very brief moments before giving in to the urge of self pity and, with several first years looking on and pointing, her calm composure melted into big crocodile tears. She admonished herself for her weak facade. Really what could she expect from Draco? He didn't owe her anything. He never said that he loved her—and it was clear now that he didn't.

                She wiped the tears from her face and with angry resolution, she promised never to open herself up to this kind of pain again.

                With a cleansing, deep breath she stepped determinedly onto the train and into her compartment, followed closely by Hermione who greeted her with a sympathetic smile. Ginny brushed it off and picked up Crookshanks, cuddling him like a favorite childhood toy, she curled up in one of the compartment seats and went to sleep, caring not how many inquiring eyes were on her. It wasn't Ron nor Hermione's business if she were talking to Draco, or if she was upset. She'd have to get used to handling things on her own someday, and now was as good a day as any to start.

***

                Harry watched in disappointment as Argus Filch carried out the traditional chores of Hagrid's, floating the first years across the lake. He looked as if he despised his added duties.

                Other than that very major change the school looked just about normal, Harry thought to himself as he made a cursory scan of the Great Hall. Then, he noticed that the Headmaster's chair was vacant. That was a violent change. Dumbledore was still in the hospital, Harry learned, the last time Sirius had updated him.

                Professor McGonagall broke into his thoughts as she came up behind him and Hermione and announced that she wished to see the both of them directly after dinner. Harry looked to Hermione who suggested with a shrug of her shoulders that she hadn't the slightest idea why he was being called to her office. In all probability, Hermione would be asked to serve as Head Girl. They might have already sent her a letter, but with all that had happened in the past week and a half, she might not have accepted yet. Harry then had the strange idea that she might not accept the position. She'd nearly given up Prefect because of Parvati Patil's death. Maybe she was meaning to decline.

                Harry shrugged as well and sat, watching the Deputy Headmistress as she performed double duty in sorting and opening remarks. He was almost glad he would have the chance to talk to her after the feast. He wasn't sure if there would be another convenient time to say what he had to say.

                As the first years had been sorted and dinner completed, the students were instructed to go immediately up to their dorms. McGonagall had a way of instructing the entire hall of roughly five hundred students or so with her stern voice. Her command brought with it the underlying assumption that anyone caught disobeying would wish fervently they hadn't been.

                Harry continued up the stairs with Ron as Hermione branched off from them in the direction of the Transfiguration teacher's office. Harry had instructed her to tell McGonagall that he would be along shortly. He'd had something of Professor Dumbledore's that he wanted to return immediately.

                Ron inquired after Harry as to what he thought McGonagal would want him for and Harry could only shrug. He wasn't in the least bit curious either. He wanted only to return the sword of Gryffindor, which he stole, to its rightful owner and to say what he had to say. Whatever she had to tell him wasn't of any concern. She could have given him a weeks worth of detentions for all he cared at the moment. He would have shrugged and asked where to report. It wouldn't have bothered him one way or another.

                All he wanted from this term was to blend silently into the background and be miserable by himself.

                So far, he guessed, that wouldn't be too easy. As he'd entered the common room of Gryffindor Tower, he realized with extreme annoyance and ungratefulness that nearly everyone was staring at him and whispering.

                They'd all read the Daily Prophet no doubt and were all in a fanatic sort of awe. If they knew the real story behind his reasons for killing Voldemort, he'd bet they wouldn't be so keen on bestowing so much attention and silent praise on him. He felt like a hack, a sham.

                Lucy deserved all of the gratitude. She was the one who'd given her life after all. She hadn't even been mentioned in the article, unless you count the sentence that ended the faux heroics anticlimactically with, "In association with the events that ended Voldemort's life and reign of terror on the wizarding community, three others were reported to have perished in the fire that consumed the historical site at Loch Muriadoch. Among them Lucius Malfoy, prominent figure in the Ministry scene and ex-Governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

                And now, as it turns out, Harry was the one receiving the accolades for an honor that was most certainly not his.

                It's true that he was the one that delivered the lethal blow to Tom Riddle, but it was only in the defense of Draco Malfoy who was unaware of his own danger. Given the chance to do it over, Harry wasn't sure he would have had the courage to exact the necessary wound that ended Voldemort. His very lack of certainty on that point was the mark of how unworthy he was of the attention.

                He was no hero.

                He stopped and stared at first and then pushed his way through them, hurrying up to his dorm room. McGonagall would be wanting to see him and he had to fetch the sword.

***

                "You wanted to see me, Professor?" Draco drawled in a less than enthusiastic tone, shutting the door to his Head of House's office.

                Professor Snape looked up only momentarily in response and then back to the papers in front of him. "Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy," was his monotone reply.

                Draco did as he was told, staring brazenly for a minute or two at the man who seemed to be drawing things out unnecessarily. He knew what this was about. He'd had his answer. Now all he needed was for Professor Snape to voice the question.

                "Are you aware of the fact that you've been considered for the position of Head Boy?" he asked, still averting his eyes to the sheet in front of him. "Because, it would appear that since you've given no reply, as you ought, the announcement as to your consideration for the position has been misdirected. I know it is not because you simply planned to ignore it." Professor Snape looked up, his face a mask of unconcern and professional detachment.

                "I think I might have thrown it in the fire. I was pretty wasted at the time," Draco admitted without grandeur or humility.

                The Head of Slytherin House merely blinked. "I am not concerned with your extra-curricular activities, Mr. Malfoy. What I am concerned with is the entire lack of responsibility you've taken on as your pet project this year. You have every right to be angry over the way things turned out for you and your family, but this carelessness and flagrant disrespect for rules and authority will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?"

                Draco stared at him, his features immovable.

                 "I am not without sympathy for you and your circumstances, but don't try my patience with your self-destructive childishness. You are capable of better, Mr. Malfoy." He ended his speech as Draco stood.

                "Are you done?" Draco said monotonously.

                "You will sit down, Mr. Malfoy and not interrupt me," the Professor snapped, retaining his patience with difficulty.

                Draco sat, holding the teacher's withering gaze expertly.

                "Will you accept the position offered you?" Professor Snape continued after a measured silence.

                "No," Draco answered simply and without hesitation.

                The professor returned his attention to the papers he'd been attending to before their conversation. "Then you are free to go," he said, dismissing Draco who was only too happy to comply.

                He fought the urge to slam the door on his way out.

                As he looked up from his shoes, ready to utter a very colorful and informative string of swearing, he met the questioning face of Imogen.

                Damn, he thought, the girl was everywhere.

                "What was that all about?" she asked, noting the strained and set look on his face as he worked his jaw, methodically grinding his teeth. "Don't do that," she added and then admonished herself. She was supposed to maintain a professional aloofness to the people she was here to watch over. That was the agreement. They weren't to be put in a position to suspect her.

                "He offered me the Head Boy position," he answered dryly.

                "Oh, that's wonderful!" she added with an excited clap of her hands. "Congratulations, Draco!"

                "Don't," he warned with a shake of his head. "I didn't accept."

                "Oh," she said, crestfallen. She'd done this. He'd wanted this for a long time, to become Head Boy. Most would think it was because of some sort of power trip, being better than anyone else and having the badge to prove it, but she knew what it was really about. He wanted to earn it—and he had. His father hadn't paid for it, the way Draco was used to achieving a lot of things. And now he'd given it up because she'd messed his life up.

                He sidestepped her and continued down the hall. She looked after him briefly and vowed that one day she would explain everything and somehow endeavor to earn his forgiveness. She just wasn't able to right now.

***

                Hermione had come from Professor McGonagall's office just as Harry had reached it.

                "And?" he asked expectantly.

                "And what, Harry?" she asked, eyeing the sword in Harry's hands, "giving it back, are you?"

                "Of course," he answered immediately, "you didn't think I would keep them, did you?"

                "Well, not to take the blame all on yourself. Let me go in and explain. It was all my idea, after all—," she began vehemently.

                Harry shook his head decisively. "No, if you hadn't seen it all when you did—," he didn't continue. They had both given a lot of thought to how it would have been if they'd done many things differently, including if they'd just ignored it all. The thought was a terrifying one. "No," he continued, "I'll do it on my own, thanks."

                She shook her head and left him at McGonagall's door.

                He'd considered for a moment calling after her, ask her if she'd taken the Head Girl position, but decided that he'd put this meeting off for long enough. He could find out later what Hermione had told McGonagall.

                "Please sit down, Mr. Potter," the Deputy Headmistress bid Harry as he entered. She did an odd sort of double-take as she noted the sword he was carrying as he sat. He leaned forward and placed it on her desk.

                "I wanted to return it to the Headmaster," Harry answered her unasked question immediately. "I only took it because I needed to help Ginny and—," the stern teacher only held up one hand to silence him in that way characteristic mainly to Dumbledore.

                "Mr. Potter, I will not pretend that it isn't a serious crime, breaking and entering the school and theft on top of that."

                Harry swallowed hard and nodded.

                "But, may I be frank with you for a moment?" She looked over the rim of her rectangular glasses, stern eyes set appraisingly on her student who nodded, "I have always maintained my professional distance where you are concerned. It is a great duty, looking after you for these many years, protecting you to some degree from the threat that you always seemed to attract. The staff here, and a few others that are no longer with us, have invested countless hours where you were concerned." She paused a moment to give Harry one of her all too rare smiles.

                Harry only blinked in return, so caught off guard as he was.

                "And I have always endeavored to treat you as I would treat any other student in my care. But I, along with Professor Dumbledore, from the moment we placed you in the care of your relatives nearly sixteen years ago now, have watched you. I would just like to say, Mr. Potter that I am pleased with the person you've grown in to." She sniffed slightly with nostalgia and continued, while Harry sat quietly.

                "Against all of the odds, all of the excuses you've had, legitimate reasons for taking the less difficult path, you chose to rise above it. I commend you on that strength of character and bravery that exemplifies your house, in the dealings of last month." She stopped a moment and looked at the sword. Her thoughts were apparently with the Headmaster and his slow recovery.

                "I know that you might doubt that any of your deeds could be deemed heroic that night. I know about the lives lost, the sacrifices made."

                Harry shook his head. He couldn't let her continue to heap the undeserving praise on him. "You've got it wrong, Professor. I lived. I got out. I lost nothing. It was everyone else, Lucy who lost her life, Draco who lost his family, Ginny who had to fight for nearly a week after it all just to live. They are brave. And I got the credit."

                "No doubt they all are very brave, Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley has shown herself willing to give many sacrifices for her convictions and her duties. That is a tremendous form of bravery, yes. And Mr. Malfoy is brave as well. It takes great resolve and strength for him to stand up to his father the way he did. To put his life on the line for an enemy, or several as you would have it, shows that he has no lack of morals and goodness. I see a whole lot of his mother in him. As for Lucilla, I did not know her, I'm afraid to say. But as I have heard it, she was a gentle person, an innocent person who deserved none of this, yet she lead you to that place where you were able to free the others," she paused again to give Harry the opportunity to dispute or correct her.

                His throat had constricted and his heart grew heavy, but he said nothing.

                "And she died for her part. I know that she would not blame any of you for that because I know that any child of Dale Bertrand's would have been proud of her part, no matter what the ends may have been."

                She gave him a penetrating stare. "And you. Don't discount your part. You've sacrificed just as much—your life, even. Your family was taken from you just as well. And your deeds, honoring them, saving your friends is not so entirely unworthy of praise. Harry," she said leaning over her desk, as if endeavoring to catch his attention.

                He was listening, but he found that he could no longer look her in the eye. He was unhappy and, yes, it felt like he could never be so again. The threat of the Dark Lord had been vanquished, but that made no difference to him. His world was changed forever, jaded somehow, in a way that was hard for him to express clearly.

                "You deserve to be happy as well," she finished earnestly.

                He wished very much that he could believe her. It just sounded too far off. A distant shore that couldn't be reached, deep waters and threatening waves barred his path. It was hopeless.

                "Yes, Professor," he conceded, his heart sinking with the helpless lie.

                He got up to leave.

                As he reached the door, the Deputy Headmistress' voice stayed him.

                "There is one more thing, Mr. Potter."

                He turned wearily and looked at her. He'd been dreading this.

                "I was wondering if you would like the position of Gryffindor's Team Captain," she asked hopefully.

                He was wondering if he had the resolve it took to say no, but finally shook his head. It wouldn't be fair for the rest of the team if he were to lead them. The game didn't much matter to him anymore. In fact, it would be fair if he were to quit the team altogether. He knew that there were probably others in his house that would want the position, maybe even some that could perform the duties better.

                "No, I don't want it. In fact, I mean to quit the team," he admitted under McGonagall's astonished gaze.

                He said nothing more and walked out.