Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the places and characters that I borrow for this story. The situations belong to me. Charles Dickens owns A Tale of Two Cities. I took passages from pages 347, 348, 350 and 351. The "Do not trust to hope" line is from the fantastic film The Lord Of the Rings: The Two Towers. The scene with Molly and Arthur washing dishes was inspired by a scene from the movie Catch Me If You Can.

*Major Spoiler: If you haven't read A Tale of Two Cities and are planning to at some time, please be forewarned that I am about to blow the ending to this most wonderful story. Read at your own risk.

Author's Note: Thanks to the readers who've given me some thoughts on the last chapters. Unfortunately I haven't the time to thank you all individually at the moment. I appreciate all of your comments, as you know, and take them all to heart. Linda, welcome back!

Chapter Twenty-Four

Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three

"A hundred days have made me older

Since the last time that I saw your pretty face

A thousand lies have made me colder

And I don't think I can look at this the same

All the miles that separate

Disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face

I'm here without you baby

But you're still on my lonely mind

I think about you baby

And I dream about you all the time

I'm here without you baby

But you're still with me in my dreams

And tonight, there's only you and me…"

Three Doors Down: 'Here Without You'

"You gave me no choice. He's going to kill her if I don't jump through his hoops. I have you to thank for that."

"Draco, that's bullshit! Stop hiding behind your sister and grow a backbone damn it! You still have a choice. Come with me," Ginny said.

"God, you are so dim. I said that he will kill her. My father has Lucy right now. All he has to do is say the word and Eowyn will kill her." He plucked at the surcoat in green and silver that covered his chest. "Besides, it looks as if I've already chosen."

"You're giving up then?" she asked.

"No, I'm being smart. You should too. Go home. You've done enough."

"I'm not going anywhere. I have people relying on me. They need me and I'm not going to abandon them," she said accusingly.

Draco snorted and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. "You've never been let down by anyone, have you?"

"Just myself," Ginny answered. "And you have always been let down by people, haven't you?"

"Everyone but myself," Draco replied, mocking her. "You're wasting my time," he continued, making to turn away and leave her.

"Wait!" Ginny called out urgently behind him.

He turned. "What?"

"There's just something I want to know. One thing. And then you can go your way and I'll go mine. I promise."

"What's that?" he asked, becoming impatient.

"That night, the last time you left me…did you say anything? I might have been sleeping. I thought—," Ginny began.

"No. You must have been dreaming. I left and I thought it had been for good. But you keep following me for some reason," Draco answered in more of a barbed tone than he intended.

"So, that's it then. That's what I wanted to know," she replied, obviously disappointed.

"And now you know. Goodbye," Draco turned and this time she let him walk away.

That was it.

It was the same dream that had haunted him for weeks. At least when he had accompanied the Lady Maren to Ireland to bury her brother, he hadn't had the time to sleep, nor the time to dream of her. Now he was back and the memory of her—her face, her sad eyes as he lied to her—seared a painful void in his heart. And he would never see her again, never have the chance to make things right.

He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.

He wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight.

Suiting up and pulling on his boots, he wondered why it was that he just hadn't told her the simple truth. He had told her that he loved her, and that was what she wanted to hear. But he couldn't say it. His father's threats had rung too heavily in his ears, drowning out her pleas. He had to hurt her. But now, looking back on it, he wasn't so sure that he needed to be so cruel.

As quietly as he could, he walked down to the entrance hall and out of the castle to the stables.

There was an eerie mist hanging over the battlefield, just recently cleared of its ghastly inhabitants. How long it had taken them to bury the thousands of dead that had lain there, he shuddered at the thought.

His horse, it had once been Galahad's, perked up her ears when she saw him. Erindil was her name and she was a clean gray Destrier, beloved by her late owner.

In a moment he had her saddled and headed off toward the one place that could give him comfort, the chapel in the wood.

He rode Erindil, hardly noticing her speed. She expertly dodged trees and fallen branches, rocks and other obstacles all of her own accord. She need not be steered. She knew these paths well and treaded them often.

He had gotten to know this path well enough also. He had come here most every night in search of solace, only a piece of which could be had here. It never came completely when he was this far separated from her.

Inside the ethereal glow of the chapel with its stained glass backlit by moonlight, he came to the altar which held a gilt crucifix. Studying it for a moment Draco saw the most pitying gaze he had ever met with in his life. Jesus on the cross stared back at him with a compassion and understanding that he had never beheld in all his years. Reluctantly he took his eyes from the figure and knelt, crossing himself as he did.

He knew that she was safe and that his sister and Harry had gotten out fine, but he prayed for their continuing safety anyway. It had become a habit for him.

"Dear Father," he prayed, the words sounding almost alien to his ears, it didn't even sound like his voice. "I am undeserving of a lot of things. But Ginny is a good person and deserves to be happy. I know that they probably think I'm dead by now. Ginny must have told them. And it would be too much to presume that she's miserable without me. And I don't want her to be. Even though I am dying to be near her again, please Father, let her forget me and live the rest of her days in peace. I know that I do not deserve such a kindness as I ask for her, yet, I am not even sure that I want such a kindness. The memory of her is painful and yet it is all I have and still very precious to me." He stopped a moment and looked at the gilt face one more time. "But I know that no memory of what I said to her or how I treated her could be of any value to her. Forgive me for treating her so, Father. I never thought it would have been the last time that I ever saw her."

He pushed away from the altar and stood. He turned slowly and walked down the lone isle of the chapel moving clear of the celestial reach of the moon-colored light.

A monk had come here earlier in the day and had left some materials from the order's scriptorium. Among them were a few sheets of parchment and a quill in an ink bottle. Not in the least eager to leave, Draco sat down in front to the materials and looked over a few drying sheets, The Gospel of Luke.

Minutes later Draco picked up the quill and pulled a new sheet in front of him. Without even thinking about it he began to compose a letter.

***

Ginny blinked as her stinging eyes focused on the paper.

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew this writing.

Weaving precariously, she reached out one trembling hand and grasped the bar. Faint sounds of Ron and Hermione talking with Lucy were drowned out by a deafening ringing. Her head swam and her knees felt weak but she held fast to the bar in front of her and forced herself to breathe and to read.

Ginny, the letter started.

These words will never reach you as you are thousands of lifetimes away from me now. Still, the lies make me cold. The lies that I told you, I regret them now—I have almost since the moment I spoke them. I want you to know that to leave you was the hardest thing I ever did. The fact that when I saw you last I broke your heart has given me little hope that you would ever forgive me. I'm here without you, in a beautiful chapel, moonlit and stained in jewel tones, the sounds of a forest at midnight echoing a thousand songs. Here you have a monopoly on my thoughts. Here time disappears and I dream of your face, smiling the way you did when I played for you, before I broke your heart, before I made you cry. I wish you could know what I would give up to have you with me again. I wish that I had the chance to at least say that I am sorry I lied, I hurt you. It wasn't a dream.  I don't know how I, knowing that I'm in love with you, could have hurt you. I guess I thought I was protecting you. Tante que je vis je t'aimerai.

            There was no name at the bottom of the letter. Ginny knew who had written it anyway.

                She wanted to call out to Lucy and show her the letter. But she couldn't find her voice and she couldn't make her eyes leave the parchment.

                With as much resolve as she could manage, Ginny pushed herself away from the bar and past the D.A. She bolted down the hall, bringing the Time-Turner out of her blouse.  

                "Hey, Red," an incredibly poncy young man said, stepping in front of Ginny and blocking her path. "Where's the fire?"

                Ginny tried to side step him, but he moved again, blocking the door. She was impatient and growing angry.

                "What's the rush, Red?" he asked, very sure of himself.

                "It's Ginny and I'm late," she said politely.

                "I'm Roger, Roger Davies. Ginny, a lovely name for a lov—," he began, but Ginny didn't wait for the sad ending to that pickup line.

                "Sorry," she said as she removed her wand, reveling in the shocked look in his eyes when she uttered the hurried Full Body Bind Curse. "Petrificus Totalus!"

                He smacked the ground with a deserving thwap that made Ginny smile slightly before running the rest of the way to the doors.

                Several guards had seen her curse Roger and were calling after her.

                But she was gone without a trace the moment they followed her from the courthouse.

***

                Sirius had not been prepared for what he found inside of that envelope Lucy had handed him. Beneath the childish scrawl and illegible pictures that Gabriel had littered one side with lie the one thing that could put Minister Solomon in Lucy's spot.

                His heart raced as he made his way from the courtroom. He agonized over whether or not he should leave Lucy alone after what she had just been told about her brother. But it seemed as if she had expected it rather than feared it. The grief was evident on her face but there were no tears. It was almost as if she was suspending the reality of it all. She left with the guard and asked Harry not to come with her.

                Sirius had to believe that she would be fine on her own for a bit.

                Time was of the utmost importance if he was to be any sort of help to her.

                The lights came on in the vacant office.

                The Minister's face upon entering the room would suggest that Sirius was the last person that he expected to see there at that moment.

                Sirius was sitting in a dark corner.

                Everything was in place.

                He had contacted Arthur and Jill at the Ministry. They had cornered their respective Death Eater spies and one of them had talked.

                They would have their man now.

                "Black," the Minister said, trying his best to sound put off. "I really don't have the time for a chat now.  I've business to see to."

                "No doubt you do. You are a very busy and powerful man. Busy doing Malfoy's bidding and powerful only by his grace," Sirius said, gauging Grey's expression as he said this. "It is a dangerous game you're playing, Sol. Do you really think that Lucius Malfoy would give you a second thought when he's through with you? That will be exactly what happens once his daughter is in prison. You will lose your purpose, which was, after all, to make sure that's exactly where she ended up, and he will dispose of you in the least costly way possible. I imagine that might involve nothing more than a heavy chain, a cinder block," he stopped and surveyed the portly Minister who was shifting his weight nervously, "maybe a few cinder blocks in your case, and the Thames. And months after your meaningless life has ebbed away at the bottom of the polluted river, your rotting, gray-hued carcass will find its way to the surface. But by that time, Minister, no one will care what great policies you've ushered in or what powerful backer you've represented. There will always be someone else ready to take your place, Minister. You are very disposable."

                The Minister swallowed hard. "Mr. Black, I don't know what kind of games you're playing at, but I assure you I don't know what—," he said.

                "Don't know what I'm talking about?" Sirius asked, unfolding the letter that had never reached the Minister. He apparently recognized the handwriting. "A Mr. David Torrell and a Ms. Evelyn Milton have already assured me that you know very well what I am talking about."

                The Minister drew himself up to what he hoped was an intimidating height. Sirius was unmoved by the theatrics and watched him with calculating eyes as he took his seat behind his desk. "I could have you removed from my office in the blink of an eye. Breaking and entering was still a punishable offense last time I checked," the Minister blustered.

                "So was kidnapping, fraud, murder and aiding and abetting a wanted criminal last time I checked, Minister," Sirius countered.

                "You have nothing on me!" he answered, leaning over his desk and glaring at Sirius.

                "I have enough on you to persuade you to intervene on my client's behalf," Sirius argued.

                The Minister leaned back slowly, considering. "I know nothing. I'm just here to make sure that the legal ends are tied."

                "Yes, those were Lucius' intentions when he set you up as Minister," Sirius said calmly. "He stacked the polls in your favor. No wonder you took Britain by surprise when you were named Minister. No one knew who you were until Lucius Malfoy picked you to be his front man. That's a very difficult position you've found yourself in, Minister. Power is addictive, isn't it? You wanted to stop when it got too hot, but you couldn't, could you? What did he do? Threaten your life? Set his hounds on you?" Sirius smiled.

                The Minister's eyes narrowed. "What do you think it is that you can do to me, Mr. Black? Arrest me? I am in command of the Ministry of Law Enforcement, David Torrell works for me."

                "Interesting," Sirius said slowly. "He told me that it was Lucius Malfoy that he worked for. Your name never came up."

                The Minister blinked. "Our Minister of Law Enforcement is a puppet of Lucius Malfoy?" he asked in surprise, or what he thought was a good impression of it.

                "Yes," Sirius said slowly, trying to hide his amusement. "A few people have been suspected—few but in very powerful positions. The Minister of Law Enforcement, Secretary to the Minister, The Minister of Magic himself."

                "That's slander, boy, and I'll have your license to practice law for that," the Minister raged.

                "I don't think you will," Sirius answered decisively. "David Torrell, or should I say Jean-Paul Lestrange, is willing to sell you out for his freedom and that of his wife." He stood and neared Solomon Grey's desk. "We have him on nothing more than consorting with criminals. But his wife, on the other hand," Sirius began.

                "Evelyn Milton has always been a model employee. She is not who you say she is. She is an old woman. She will retire next year. You couldn't possibly have anything on her," the Minister said, breathless.

                "We have plenty. And she is not an infirm old lady. She is Cordillia Lestrange. And she's in far worse trouble than her husband," Sirius leaned on the desk and threw Lucius' letter to the Minister who picked it up like it was a hot coal.

                "Trouble, such as…?" the Minister said, surveying the letter with mounting terror.

                "Kidnapping. She's the one who took Jill Parry's son, isn't she?" Sirius said. "After all, you never even saw the child before he was taken. But your assistant, Ruthie James, was watching Gabriel for Mrs. Parry. Evelyn Milton saw him and immediately knew that he was the one that Lucius Malfoy sought."

                "That's right, Milton, Lestrange took the child," the Minister said, caving under possible pleas to his innocence. "I am not guilty. My employees have duped me. I can't believe Ms. Milton…she's one of…"

                "You knew who she was. You knew who Torrell was. How many more of you are there in the Ministry?"

                The Minister thought about this for a moment.

                "She will be convicted if she goes to trial. There is no doubt about it. And I don't think that Lucius Malfoy would care enough to send his top council, the D.A. to save her."

                He gauged Grey's eyes. They seemed to widen only slightly at the realization.

                "She's killed a small girl to get to the boy. She will hang for this. She and her husband are willing to cut deals…do you know who they agreed to sell out?" he asked patiently.

                He waited for Grey's reply, but the Minister didn't have one. His eyes lowered slowly to the paper in hand and surveyed it.

                "I see by your expression that you know perfectly well who. And that letter is just as good as proof that your master, to whom you've been so loyal, would just as soon see you rot in place of all of them. Lucius Malfoy had planned to be long gone, in another world by now. That letter was meant to be found. And your assistant found it, Ruthie James, or should I say Lucilla Malfoy. She was working with us as a spy," Sirius smiled with the triumph.

                "She's going to prison for crimes she's committed. I can do nothing for her," the Minister said, worming his way into the position of the innocent.

                "No," Sirius said decidedly. "You will take her place. You are the one responsible for the abduction of those thousands of children," he pointed to the letter in front of Grey. "Thousands of children, sadly, that died in your master's employ. Your entourage of spies, the Lestranges, will go back to Azkaban where they never should have left."

                "The girl will still hang. That jury will convict her in a second because of her name, who her father is. That name may have been tantamount to power and privilege at one time. But it's a scarlet letter now. She'll never walk out of there."

                Sirius blinked. "She will face lesser charges now that the right criminals will stand for their own crimes. Leave her defense to me. She will win this. And you will go to jail."

                The Minister stood and began to form an argument. He was cut off as the door opened behind him, admitting three persons.

                A hit wizard, with wand trained, came through the door.

                The Minister furrowed his brow in annoyance. "Stand down, officer! This is your Commander speaking! Stand down!"

                The wizard moved toward the Minister heedless of the command. He removed the Minister's wand and cuffed him with his hands behind his back in bonds of iron sealed with a spell—unbreakable.

                Officer Moody of the Ministry of Aurors entered next to take custody of the Minister and Dumbledore after him.

                "I'll question him myself, Sirius," Moody said making a theatrical show of cracking his knuckles.

                Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on Sirius' tense shoulder and said, "The others are in custody. This is the end of it, Sirius."

                Sirius felt a huge weight lift at these words. They had false hope that the end would come with the fall of Voldemort. But Lucius Malfoy immediately took his place. "Who will it be next time?" Sirius asked solemnly.

                "There will always be those who would seek to place other, good, honest people under their boot as if they were nothing. Selfishness, pride, deceit…as long as these vices are in the world, Sirius, so will those who promote them be. We cannot hope to annihilate evil, just contain it…and it is an everlasting struggle…an epic struggle." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with that long-forgotten hope that once exuded his persona. Sirius turned weary and hopeless to his old Headmaster and nodded. He wanted so desperately for this to be the end once and for all.

                The old man put a hand on either of his former student's shoulders and smiled at him as he surveyed his tired and worn face, his dark eyes hooded from lack of sleep and worry. He had always taken great care to worry over those he loved—a great preserver of justice and right. The world was lucky, Dumbledore thought, to have been so mistaken in this man.

                As the Minister of Magic was being led from his office into a holding cell for further questioning, Moody picked up the letter addressed to Solomon Grey from Lucius Malfoy with gloved hands and placed it carefully into an evidence bag. With the smile of a hunting dog close on a trail, the wizened Auror left them.

                "Your friends, all of them, lost to the battle for right and wrong, would be pleased to see what you have become, my friend. Your mother would have been proud, your father would have been proud," Dumbledore said with a smile.

                Sirius said nothing. Those words were painful, at the same moment uplifting. He nodded and handed the Minister's wand over to the Headmaster. 

                "Now go and do what you can for the girl. Her future rests solely in your capable hands." The wise voice of the old man glittered with unfounded hope. Sirius wasn't so sure of his capabilities, but Dumbledore's assurance was more than enough to motivate him.

                He nodded again and left the Headmaster alone in the vacant office of the Minister of Magic.

***

                It was her appearance that had first made her nervous. But she quickly shrugged off the thought. Everyone here already knew who and what she was. Dressing like them wouldn't change that.

                She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the reassuring crinkle of parchment. She wasn't sure where to look, but she knew she would find him here, somewhere.

                She came to the ruined bridge and mill that was now a burned shadow of its former self. Ginny smiled, remembering a time when she and Lucy had done their own damage to that mill.

                Scanning the horizon, the sun sinking behind the Hebrides, and a chill moving along the lower lands, she shivered and shook her head mournfully. There seemed to be no one inhabiting this land anymore. How was she going to find him when all around her for miles the only thing she saw was graves?

                Slowly she made her way through the tilled earth of mass graves, rows and rows. A grave digger looked up and leaned heavily, wearily on his shovel.

                "May I be of some service, lady?" She just barely made out his meaning in garbled Latin. Her command over it wasn't pristine by any means. His accent made it harder.

                "I am looking for a foreigner, a guest of the house of Ravenclaw. He has fair hair and is about your height, sir," Ginny explained, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. She noticed how he scrutinized her pleated gray skirt and her green sweater, seemed interested in the way her shoes left even patterns in the disturbed earth.

                "The Lady Maren of Ravenclaw has left these parts months ago. She has taken her brother with her and buried him in Eire. There is no one here but the dead and those that bury them, lady," the man said in a gruff tone, as if Ginny's presence offended him.

                Her resolute expression fell and she looked at her shoes. She removed the letter and read the lines again, wondering if she could have been mistaken in the writer. Her lip quivered, but she bit it and folded the letter again.

                The man halted his digging for a second time and leaned toward her. "Look for your friend," he said in a more gentle voice. "But do not trust to hope." He scanned the horizon as she had done, but didn't find promise lining the mountains as she had. "It has forsaken these lands."

                Ginny nodded and left the man to his work.

                Dusk was settling and she had found no more signs of the living after leaving the digger. She was wandering more than looking for anything. She was surprised when she had made her way unknowingly to the chapel on the outskirts of the forest. But there was an addition to the chapel as she remembered it in her own time. The doors were open and from the doorway, Ginny could see a sarcophagus.

                She knew who this was who had been laid to rest here in the quiet and pious shrine in the woods.

                Unblinkingly, Ginny stared at the stone face, her feet echoing as she moved into the cavernous space. She placed a tentative hand on the likeness of the face of her friend. Mungo had been laid to rest here. She was unprepared for this realization. She remembered the gentleness with which he cared for the fallen soldiers, the unconditional faithfulness that he exuded. He died to make the death of his friend a little easier. Ginny placed a trembling hand over Mungo's folded across his chest.

                It was nearly ten minutes and hundreds of tears before she was startled out of a prayer that asked God to judge her friend kindly. She had never met a better person in life and prayed that he be exalted as the best of men in the hereafter.

                She turned around, startled by footsteps, pressing herself against the stone coffin. Her heart beat and she was terrified that someone had followed her.

                The look on his face when he saw her told her immediately that she was the last person he expected to see there.

***

                Draco saw someone enter the chapel and out of paranoid habit drew his sword, the sword he had carried with him since Isaiah died, Gryffindor's sword.

                On one occasion, Eowyn Slytherin had sent her spies into the area to defile Mungo's resting place. Draco, by default, had become the protector of his remains and was dedicated to this work fully.

                But when he came to the entrance of the chapel, he wasn't met with the hostile resistance that he thought he would face. He was met with a pair of frightened brown eyes set wide in a face that had haunted his dreams since she had left him.

                It was Ginny.

                Draco was forced to his knees, fearing that his dreaming had become too much a part of reality. If she was and apparition, a figment and would soon disappear, Draco feared he would be driven mad by the loss of her again. He leaned on Isaiah's sword, feeling his strength leave as his heart pounded faster.

                She didn't speak. She just stared.

                He must be imagining things.

                Draco found his voice. He couldn't let this moment, to know the truth, to cling to hope for one more instant, pass him by. "I am dreaming," he said faintly. It was more of a statement than a question.

                Her terrified expression melted into a smile. "No," she said, laughing at him, "You're not dreaming. I'm here."

                Draco stood slowly and sheathed his sword. He moved tentatively into the chapel, carefully, afraid that he would frighten the dream away, even though she insisted she was real. Too often had his dreams reassured him of such unreality. 

                "Why have you come," he said, endeavoring to gain control of his trembling voice.

                "I…" she said, her smile falling. "Draco, what's wrong? You're shaking and you look at me as if you don't know me."

                Draco shook his head. "I know this dream far too well. In a moment I will try to touch your hand and you will vanish, leaving me here," he answered bitterly.

                Ginny rested pitying eyes on him. "Then touch me. I am not a dream." She held out her hand insistently.

                Draco neared slowly, looking to Ginny like a frightened deer. He reached out a hand only centimeters from her and then drew back. "No," he said, tormented. He retreated to the doorway of the chapel. "I'd rather have you with me for a little while longer than have you vanish when I draw too close."

                Ginny swallowed. Pushing herself away from the coffin she quickly paced the floor until she was inches from him. He tried to move away from her again, but Ginny reached out a hand and touched his cheek.

                He only flinched for a second, but there was no doubt that he could feel her touch and she trembled as much as he did. She leaned forward and kissed him and did not vanish.

                Draco moved closer, filling the space left between them and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer to him.

                Ginny pulled her head back, breaking their kiss reluctantly and asked, "Was that real enough for you?"

                Draco nodded speechlessly and kissed her again.

                "How did you find me?" he asked a few moments later. "I assumed you all thought I was dead."

                "I would have felt it if you had died. But I felt hope that I would see you again. And then there was this," she answered, drawing out a much abused piece of parchment.

                "My letter. How did you find that?" Draco asked, shocked.

                "I thought it was my letter," Ginny said, smiling.

                "Yes, of course it is. But I never met for you to read it. How did you—," Draco asked but was silenced when Ginny turned it over and he recognized the handwriting that addressed it to her. Azria had sent it.

                "I threw that away. She must have found it. But how did she—," Draco asked again.

                "Lucy found it one day when she was in the chapel. Is this oilskin?" Ginny asked, rubbing the page between finger and thumb.

                "I stole it from a monk at the scriptorium," Draco nodded with a smile.

                Ginny smiled too. "Then there's your answer. Azria placed it in a niche where no one would find it until Lucy came along. She only just gave it to me, but she's had it for a while."

                "How is Lucy?" Draco asked eagerly.

                Ginny looked down at her feet before answering. This made Draco infinitely nervous. "Your father," Ginny began, casting a tentative glance at Draco, whose eyes were wide with worry.

                "What about my father?" Draco asked with dread.

                "He's had her arrested. She's standing trial. It's in a recess right now. But the judge is a lenient one and I think she'll get off."

                Draco's fingers were digging into her shoulders and Ginny cringed unconsciously. Draco loosened his grip on her and asked, "Who's the prosecutor?"

                "Blair Parkinson," Ginny stated.

                "Oh, God!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the chapel. "Come on. Do you have the Time-Turner?"

                She nodded.

                "We have to get to Azria. I have to let her know I am leaving." Draco led her to where his horse was tied.

                She stopped and looked at it warily.

                Draco turned around, frustrated. "Can't you ride?" he asked.

                "In this?" Ginny said, plucking at her skirt.

                "Yes," Draco said in a hassled tone. He mounted and reached for her hand.

                Ginny gave a small resigned sigh and humored him.

                They rode to the castle, Hogwarts, weaving through furrows of soon-to-be-graves. Most of the bodies had been laid to rest already. Soon, the battle would be nothing more than a history, etched on pages and in the minds of those who lived it.

                Inside the castle, Draco asked to see the Lady Azria, but was told that she was unavailable.

                "Sir Guy, then," Draco asked impatiently of the servant. The household was relatively small. Few survived the battle and the Ravenclaw entourage had left for their home in Ireland.

                The servant led them to the weapons room where Sir Guy was cleaning his crossbow. He looked up and was not at all surprised to see either one of them.

                "Draco, did you have a pleasant ride?" Sir Guy asked.

                "Yes, thank you. I have to go home. That is what I came to tell you. My sister is in trouble there and Ginny has come to bring me home."

                "Yes, Azria saw this in her mind's eye," Sir Guy said evenly.

                Azria walked in urgently at that moment.

                "Virginia!" she said, embracing her heir. "You have come for Draco?"

                "Yes," Ginny said with a smile. "We will be leaving as soon as we can be ready."

                "I cannot stay longer, lady, though I regret leaving you both," Draco said solemnly.

                Azria nodded and looked to Sir Guy. "Your sister needs you. For that, you can surely be spared." She leaned forward and kissed Draco's forehead.

                "Go with God," she said to them both with a smile. "I would not keep you here," she said solemnly, looking to Ginny, "When your families will be in need of you the most."

                "Goodbye, lady," Ginny said with a sense of unease. Draco looked between the two of them but said nothing.

                They left the castle so that Draco could say goodbye to Erindil, handing her off to a stable boy and watching her go with a look of regret. "I will miss her."

                Ginny smiled and rubbed his shoulder. "You still have Emile, though."

                Draco smiled and nodded. "Let's go home," he said finally.

***

                Lucy sat with her back to the door. She would see no visitor and would not leave her cell until the recess broke and she was again at trial tomorrow.

                Instead she turned to her much worn copy of A Tale of Two Cities. Like a lot of things she owned, this book once was a favorite of her mother's.

                She had stayed awake all night, reading through the familiar language and phrases in a binge-like fashion. She had not wanted to believe her brother was dead. But, as a pragmatist, she had to own to it as being the most likely of possibilities.

                The door opened. Lucy felt like screaming at the guard. She had specifically said no one was to come in.

                "Lucy?" it was Ginny's voice. The one person she was angry with and the one person that she didn't want to see. She gritted her teeth to keep from saying something rude, didn't turn around, only asked Ginny to leave. She was satisfied to hear the door close behind her without a word. She returned to her book.

                No! the great magician who majestically works out the appointed order of the Creator, never reverses his transformations.

                This was the part that stirred her, made her want to turn back and start again and never read the ending. She never wanted the ending to come. She had always thought that there was another way for Sydney Carton. Sometimes she would think up an alternate ending, less eloquent, short of the poignant morals of Dickens' grandeur. But she never wanted him to die. The ending, in Dickens' words, was hopeful, though. It was this hope that kept her from turning back every single time.

                Another voice picked up where her reading left off.

                "If thou be changed to this shape by the will of God," say the seers to the enchanted, in the wise Arabian stories, "then remain so! But, if thou wear this form through mere passing conjuration, then resume thy former aspect!" Changeless and hopeless, the tumbrels roll along.'

                Lucy jumped with the sound of the voice and turned around. She thought she was alone. Never had she expected to hear or see her brother again.

                He smiled as she stared at him in shock.

                "Then how does it continue?" he asked, sitting next to her on her hospital bed.

                She put a hand to her cheek and felt a tear there. She hadn't read it as many times as Draco. Though she had gotten to know many passages by heart, she hadn't committed the book to memory as he had.

                "The leading curiosity is, to know which is he; he stands at the back of the tumbrel with his head bent down, to converse with a mere girl who sits on the side of the cart, and holds his hand. He has no curiosity or care for the scene about him, and always speaks to the girl. Here and there in the long street of St. Honore, cries are raised against him. If they move him at all, it is only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair a little more loosely about his face. He cannot easily touch his face, his arms are bound," Lucy read, looking up when she was finished.

                "The supposed Everemonde descends, and the seamstress is lifted out next after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, but still holds it as he promised. He gently places her with her back to the crash engine that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into his face and thanks him. "But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have comfort here today. I think you were sent to me by Heaven.'" Draco looked earnestly into his sister's pale blue eyes as he said this, taking her hand in his and smiling as if the seamstress' words were his own.

                Lucy broke the stare reluctantly as she read: "Or you to me," says Sydney Carton. "Keep your eyes upon me, dear child, and mind no other object."

                "I mind nothing while I hold your hand. I shall mind nothing when I let it go, if they are rapid. Fear not!"

                Draco smiled and squeezed her hand. Lucy reached up with the other and wiped away a tear.

                "She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before him—is gone, the knitting-women count Twenty-Two." Draco reached over and shut her book. They both knew the last part, as anyone who has ever fallen in love with Dickens knows it.

                They looked into each other's eyes and both spoke the words. "I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die." The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-Three."

                "I'm sorry that I wasn't here to hold your hand, Lucy," Draco said in a small voice.

                "And I'm sorry that I wasn't there to hold yours, Draco," Lucy answered.

                Draco looked at her with a start. "But you were, Lucy, even when I didn't know it. You were there. You are always with me." He pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing her cheek.

                She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder, overjoyed to have him back. "I suppose I would be number Twenty-Two?" she asked.

                "No," Draco said earnestly. "You are Twenty-Three, Sydney Carton. I am like the seamstress, drawing strength from you, my rock, my Lucy. And I will always go before you, die before you. And she was right, you were sent to me by Heaven."

                Lucy smiled and kissed her brother's hand in hers.

***

                The house had stopped its bustling around nine-thirty.

                Draco had never seen a place that whirled with so much exuberant life. When he had last seen the Burrow he had thought that it was a tacky, squalid sort of habitation that he was more than eager to get out of at once.

                Upon inspection of the many rooms that seemed to be added on as they were needed, the family photographs and the people that lived there, he found it to be warm and welcoming and everything that his own childhood home had been lacking.

                Afraid of being shooed away immediately, even after Lucy's assurances that the Weasleys would never do that, Draco had vehemently turned Ginny down on the offer to stay with her. Potter and Weasley had insisted further, saying that going to his own home would be far too dangerous.

                "Your father is still out there, you know," came Ginny's gentle reasoning. She placed a hand on his arm and pleaded with her eyes. He had agreed immediately, though he had reservations.

                Outside of Lucy's room at the hospital, Draco unlatched the scabbard that held the sword of Gryffindor. Handing it to Potter seemed to finalize everything. Isaiah had died, Mungo had died, Galahad also. He had been reunited with his only family and everyone was safe again. He had never known peace in his life. Handing the sword over to its rightful owner, Draco felt that it wouldn't be long until all of this was at an end and they would all finally be at peace.

                "Isaiah's last words were of you," Draco said to Harry. "He made me promise to return this to you and, not knowing if I would ever make it back here, I lied and promised anyway."

                "We're all glad you did make it back, Draco," Harry said, offering a hand which Draco took. Ron followed Harry's lead and offered his hand as well.

                Harry knew that Ron was sincere in this action. He would make any truce or alliance that would make Ginny happy. And there hadn't been much animosity wasted between the two rivals since nearly their fifth year at school. Things had gotten too bleak since then to warrant such frivolousness as school boy rivaling.

                Ginny now found Draco sitting on the stairs, a flight down from the landing on which her room sat. He was watching her parents in the kitchen as they washed and dried dishes. They were swaying in time to the music playing from a radio in a nearby room. Every once and again one or the other of the pair would look up and smile, gazing into the other's eyes, or pecking their cheek.

                He was startled from his thoughts as she sat beside him.

                "What were you thinking about?" she asked, looking on the scene that Draco had been watching.

                "I was thinking that some people do really love each other all of their lives," he nodded to Molly and Arthur who were blissfully oblivious to everything but each other.

                Ginny smiled. "Tante que je vis je t'aimerai. Did you mean that?"

                Draco nodded. "As long as I live, I will love you. I meant it both times I said it."

                "So I wasn't dreaming?" she asked.

                "No," he said. "Even when I was separated by more than miles, by time as well, it never faded, always endured—my love for you."

                "I love you too, Draco, though I may not express it as eloquently as you do," Ginny smiled and kissed his cheek.

                He put an arm around her and they watched on in silence.

***

                "History is written as events that have already happened," Dr. Beckett explained from the witness stand. "If the four of them were already written into the past, as I have shown you, how could they have influenced what already was? They caused the outcome of events long before any of them were born."

                Sirius nodded. He glanced at the jury. All but one of the twelve seemed to be contemplating this most confusing conundrum. Sirius studied the one lone man at the far left with a set expression as if there was no way the innocence of this child could be shown to him. His mind had been made up. Sirius suspected him to have been paid off. He only wished he knew how he could prove it.

                "So, Dr. Beckett," Sirius said. "Miss Malfoy, in possession of this Time-Turner, legally, could not have altered events that have been set down in documented language, hundreds of years before her birth?"

                "That is correct."

                "And the outcome of the war, Dr. Beckett. What was the outcome of the war?"

                "Well, everyone knows that Eowyn Slytherin's terrifying army was defeated mysteriously. The Lords of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw died in battle and the school was gradually restored under Helga Hufflepuff's stepdaughter, Azria."

                "And those events, which all of those who have taken Professor Binns' History of Magic should know," There was a slight chuckle at this—even the old judge had had History of Magic under the interminable ghost-teacher at Hogwarts, "have never endured the slightest bit of change?"

                Dr. Beckett shook his head. "Only now we know who the foreigners were and now we know to whom we should direct our gratitude." Dr. Beckett bowed to Lucy in front of the bar and to Draco, Harry and Ginny behind her.

                "Objection, your honor," blustered D.A. Parkinson.

                "Nothing further, Your Honor," Sirius said with a smirk in the D.A.'s direction.

                "Five minute recess before the closing arguments," the judge said.

                Before anyone had gotten up to leave, an armed guard had entered and approached the bench. There was much whispering and seriously grave looks between him and the judge.

                "Councilors, approach the bench," the judge said finally.

                Sirius and Blair Parkinson neared and the guard repeated what he had told the judge.

                "Lucius Malfoy has been found dead at his home in Derbyshire."

                Sirius glanced tentatively over his shoulder and saw both Lucy and Draco staring at him with twin faces of stony unconcern.

                "I'll tell them, your honor," Sirius said.

                "Twenty-four hour recess," he ruled loudly. The court room was adjourned.

***

                Ron nearly turned back when he reached the door to Lucy's room.

                It was time to make amends.

                There was a guard at the door as usual, but it was not her regular guard. It was a woman. She smiled and let him in before he'd had the chance to leave.

                Lucy looked up from her book and smiled.

                Ron shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry to hear about your father," he said.

                Lucy smirked. "No you're not."

                Ron nodded. "I'm sorry only because he was your father, and Draco's."

                "I'll try being an orphan for a while," she said, smiling sadly.

                "Is he…did he go down to…?" Ron asked.

                "Draco? He wouldn't let me come with him to identify the body. He went alone," Lucy answered.

                "Good," Ron said. "I wanted to talk to you," he continued, but stopped at the look on her face. "Not good," he amended, "I mean convenient. No, I just…"

                "What did you want to say to me, Ron?" Lucy asked with a patient smile, setting her book aside. She charitably offered him a seat beside her on her bed.

                "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for suspecting you at all. I was just…" Ron began.

                "Just looking out for your best friend? Ron, there's nothing wrong about that."

                Ron paced. "Yes, but I didn't give you a chance. I thought…"

                Lucy nodded. "You thought I would be just like my brother?"

                "Well…Yes, actually." Ron turned to Lucy with a penitent sort of smile.

                "We are alike in many ways." Her smile widened into a grin. "I liked you from the moment I saw you," she said.

                "When I yelled at you and called you names?" Ron asked, disbelieving.

                Lucy laughed. "Yes."

                "Then I was wrong about you from the beginning. You're nothing like your brother."

                Lucy shrugged. "Does it bother you?"

                "What?"

                "My brother and your sister?" Lucy elaborated.

                "It did. I know he makes her happy. I'm happy for you and Harry, too," Ron said.

                At the mention of Harry's name, Lucy's grin widened. "I hear congratulations are in order. Hermione's a lucky girl."

                "Thanks, but I'm the lucky one," Ron said with a smile that mirrored hers.

                He kissed her forehead and turned to leave.

                There was something about the look in the guard's eye. Ron couldn't have been absolutely sure what made him stay. He was overcome with the feeling that he shouldn't leave Lucy alone with him. It was her normal guard, but with a malicious, hungry stare.

                He seemed to sense Ron's reluctance and removed his wand.

                Ron immediately moved between the guard and Lucy. She looked as startled as he had been.

                The guard smirked evilly.

                "Who are you?" Ron demanded. He felt a cold hand touch his elbow. It was Lucy's.

                "Ron, leave us," she said in a trembling voice.

                "I can't do that," Ron said, reaching for his wand.

***

                Ginny stood beside him, quiet. They were beyond words. He knew that she was sorry for him. There was no need to say it.

                Harry came up behind them and placed a hand on her shoulder.

                "I guess I should get this over with," Draco said, looking at the two of them. He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed into the morgue.

                Ginny watched him disappear behind the swinging doors. She turned to Harry and smiled.

                "So, you'll be pulling double duty as both best man and maid of honor?"

                Harry laughed slightly. "I was hoping that you would relieve half of my duties."

                Ginny held up her hands. "That's up to Hermione."

                "I was worried that Ron would never go through with it," Harry said thoughtfully.

                "I think a lot of it was Hermione's doing," Ginny smiled.

                Inside the morgue, Draco shivered. It was cold in here.

                The resident on duty smiled and directed him to a row of what looked like drawers.

                Pulling one out, the doctor looked to him.

                Draco scrutinized the corpse for a moment. He bent close to the dead face. Looking to the doctor, he asked, "DNA?"

                "The results should be in from the lab at—,"

                 As the doctor spoke, another entered the room and held a sheet with the information Draco was eager for.

                The doctor frowned when he looked at it.

                "What is it?" Draco asked urgently. "What does it say?"

                "It's your father's DNA," the doctor concurred.

                Draco heaved a sad sigh of relief and looked once more to the body in front of him.

                "But there's another set of DNA here as well," the doctor continued, puzzled.

                Draco's eyes flew wide and his head shot up. A moment of silence and suspended space and time held him there, unable to move, to speak, to think.

                The next moment he was out the door and down the hall, Ginny and Harry trailing behind, shouting a million questions after him.

                He threw the door to his sister's room open, praying that he wasn't too late, knowing at the same moment that there was nothing else to be but late.

                Ron lay on the floor of the sterile room. Lucy was gone.

                Feeling for a pulse, Draco found a weak one. Ron was alive, but only just.

                He barely heard Ginny's gasp as she entered the room moments later. Harry followed only seconds after, with the same reaction.

                He looked to Draco who said, "Get him some help. I know where she is."

                He raced from the room with his wand at the ready.

                Harry went into the hall and called for a doctor.