A/N: Thank you once again to Mahoney, Banfennid, and Emily for their wonderful beta skills, and to Amy, for saying she likes it. Also thank you to Emily and Amy for being supportive and listening to me bitch when I spent half of this week wigging out over really stupid stuff. I'm a twit but you love me anyway, and I'm eternally grateful. *hugs*
Dark Directed: Part Four
~*~
It was past midnight but Ginny was still wide awake, unwilling to go to bed just yet. She knew another nightmare waited on the other side of sleep, and she wasn't ready to face that, not right now. She'd retreated to her small room after dinner and sat on her bed, her back to the wall beside the window and Ron's seventh-year DADA textbook propped up on her knees. She was reading up on advanced curse blocking to pass the time, murmuring the spells under her breath and practicing the motions with her wand hand. Some of them she knew already; her weeks of extra study with Professor Delacour were paying off.
Ron was still at home, Hermione and Harry with him, and all three were determined to go down to the Ministry in the next few days, to apply to be Aurors. Mum was frantic with worry, but she wasn't trying to talk Ron out of it. Ginny thought that was a minor miracle considering how upset Mum had been when Bill decided to become a curse-breaker. That was much less dangerous than Auroring, yet it hadn't stopped Mum from pitching a legendary fit. Ginny traced the words on the page in front of her idly. She'd been thinking about her own future after Hogwarts, what with Ron, Harry and Hermione planning away all summer, but there was no way Mum would let her be an Auror. Not Ginny the baby.
She sighed and tried to concentrate on the textbook. There was a year yet to decide what to do with her future, plenty of time to convince Mum and Dad she wasn't as childish as they all assumed. Professor Delacour had told her more than once that she'd make a brilliant Auror, she had all the skills and could think on her feet, and she was more level-headed than Ron.
Of course, being level-headed didn't mean that she wouldn't jump a foot and knock her book off the bed when a knock sounded at her window in the middle of the night. Ginny braced her hands on her mattress and tried to steady her breathing, listening for any sound from the house that signaled her parents or brothers waking up to investigate. The knocking came again, and she crawled toward the window, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. She looked cautiously out; a darkly cloaked figure was floating there on broomstick, hand raised to knock again. The flash of blond hair under the cloak was unmistakable.
Draco.
Ginny pushed the window open and leaned out. "What are you doing?" she whispered frantically. She'd never expected to see him again, not after he ignored her all last term. She certainly never thought to see him here.
"Taking you up on your offer," Draco said harshly, his voice too loud in the quiet night. He guided his broom closer and reached out to push the window further up, then hoisted himself onto the sill. Close to, Ginny could see that he was paler than normal, and there was a new tightness around his eyes, a stiffness in his movements that bespoke tight control. She ducked out of the way as he tumbled backwards into her room, catching himself with one hand before he fell completely off the bed. The broom fell to the ground outside with a loud thump, and she held her breath, hoping the noise hadn't woken anyone up.
Ginny scrambled off the bed to lock her door, then turned back to Draco. He had curled up on the end of her bed, arms wrapped around his knees and his face hidden. He was shaking like a leaf, the edges of his black sleeves trembling with the force of his shudders.
"Draco, what—"
He whispered something Ginny couldn't hear and hugged himself tighter. She sat next to him and did the only thing she could think of—she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rested her head against his neck and held on to him, murmuring soothing nonsense as he shook. He wasn't crying, which was just as well because Ginny wasn't sure what to do with a crying boy; that was the sort of crisis Mum usually handled. Not that she had any idea how to deal with a shaking, highly-upset boy either, but she thought it could be worse.
Finally Draco relaxed a bit, the shudders ceasing as he loosened his death grip on his legs. He started to talk, muttering the words into his knees. It took a few moments for Ginny to understand what he was saying, and once she did, she wished she couldn't. She had known, intellectually, the sort of cruelty Voldemort was capable of, but to hear Draco recite what he had seen tonight was chilling. It took all of Ginny's willpower not to beg him to stop talking. She didn't want to hear this. She had always known about Tom's evil streak, but she had no idea it had become this...refined, in the 50 years that separated the Tom she knew from Voldemort.
Draco's voice trailed off eventually, and Ginny brushed at his hair with one hand. When he finally unlocked his arms from around his legs Ginny let him go, shifting back on the bed. He stood up and took several steps away from the bed, looking around at her room with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. He looked so incongruous here, pacing in a small circle on her old rug wearing robes that were probably worth more than her whole wardrobe, his eyes traveling over her walls and things as though he were cataloguing their worth.
~*~
Draco ignored Ginny for a moment while he tried to pull himself together, taking deep breaths to still the trembling in his hands. He looked around at her room in an effort to distract himself from his weakness; his total lack of control tonight didn't bear thinking about just yet.
And Ginny's room was quite a distraction. It was very much a little girl's room, fluff and pastels everywhere he looked. The bed frame was painted a faded lavender, the coverlet decorated with tired pink ruffles. The carpet was a worn pink, and there was an ancient shell-blue desk in the corner, nearly hidden under a whirlwind of books and quills and parchment. There was a worn stuffed rabbit nestled beside the pillow at the head of the bed, its eyes still bright in an unraveling face. The walls were covered with a hideous cabbage-rose paper, which itself was plastered over with posters of Quidditch players and popular groups from the Wizarding Wireless Network. Draco frowned at the posters, searching for what he knew he'd find. Sure enough, there on the wall above her headboard was a tatty picture of Harry Potter. Draco sneered at it—she really was pathetic.
It was so different from his own cavernous suite at Malfoy Manor that there was really no comparison at all. Mother would never allow anything as gauche as that coverlet in her house, for starters, not even taking into account the sheer shabbiness of it. The thing was probably as old as Ginny was, though that could be said of just about everything in the room, from the battered chest of drawers to the row of used books that sat on the shelves above her desk.
Ginny herself was sitting on the awful coverlet in an equally shabby night dress with her legs tucked up under her, an anxious expression on her face as she watched him take in his surroundings. Draco cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. He probably shouldn't have come here, no matter what she'd said.
"You can't stay here," Ginny whispered finally. "I mean, I know I said I'd help, but you really can't—Harry and Ron are here, my dad's been working overtime at the Ministry with all the attacks, it's not safe—"
"I know," Draco said. "I know, I just...couldn't stay there. Not after—." He swallowed hard. "I couldn't. And I didn't know where else to go." Admitting that was hard; he'd circled the Burrow for almost an hour while he worked up the courage to knock on her window, his family pride fighting with the need to grasp any option so long as it didn't mean Voldemort.
Ginny's worried expression melted into sympathy. "I understand."
"You don't," Draco snapped. "You can't. Father told me after the meeting that he wanted me to join them. He wants me to be a Death Eater, to kowtow to that...that thing, and I can't." Draco paced in a small circle in the middle of the room—small by necessity, as there was barely more than a few steps between the bed and chest of drawers. "What am I supposed to do? I can't go home and it's not as though there's all that many people willing to welcome me in with open arms."
"Hogwarts," Ginny said, and Draco stopped pacing to stare at her. "Go to Hogwarts. Dumbledore will protect you."
"Dumbledore," Draco spat. Of course the old man would be her solution. "Yes, I'll just run to Hogwarts and throw myself on his mercy, become a good little minion like all the rest of you. And then Potter will defeat Voldemort and we'll all live happily ever after with hearts and flowers and bunnies." He broke off in disgust and glared at Ginny.
She gave him a look. "Do you have any better ideas? He will protect you, I know he will."
"Right," Draco said. He sounded strange and panicky even to himself. "And what's he going to want for it?"
"What makes you think he's going to ask you for anything? That's not how it works," Ginny said. "He'd help you because you need it, not because he'd have anything to gain by it."
"No? Not even knowing who my father is, knowing what he does?" Draco suddenly couldn't breathe. His father...he was betraying his father, betraying his family, his name, everything he'd been taught. He was trapped—he couldn't go back and be what his father wanted, but he couldn't go to Dumbledore either and betray his family. "I can't, I can't—"
"He wouldn't ask you to do anything you don't want to," Ginny said. "He wouldn't. Going to Hogwarts would just...just give you room to think. Where you can decide what you want to do without being pressured."
"And you're just helping the process along, are you? Earning your House points?" Draco clenched his fists, suddenly, irrationally angry. He desperately wanted to hit something, torn between the desire to put a fist through the wall and not wanting to wake any of the infamous Weasley brothers.
Ginny raised an amused eyebrow at him. "Well, there is that 'Reform a waffling Death Eater' award I was hoping for. No one in my family's ever won it, and Mum would be so proud."
"Dammit, Weasley, this isn't funny."
"No," she said, the amusement fading. "It really isn't."
Draco sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. "I don't know what to do. If I go home, I won't have any choice about joining Voldemort. Father wouldn't understand--" Draco closed his eyes in despair. Father wouldn't understand that he didn't have the stomach for killing, didn't have the balls to be a Death Eater. It was bad enough having Ginny know he was a coward. Father would never forgive him.
"So go to Hogwarts," Ginny repeated. "You'll be safe while you think about it, and you can talk to Snape about it, and Dumbledore. You don't have to rely strictly on my opinion."
"And do what?" Draco asked. "Lounge about making a nuisance of myself? Play conkers in Dumbledore's office?"
"You could be Snape's potions assistant. You could help Professor Delacour teach DADA. You could be assistant Quidditch coach. You've got plenty of skills, and I know you did well on your Potions NEWTs, I heard Hermione saying so," Ginny said encouragingly. "Though there's something to be said for lounging about doing nothing."
"Oh yes, I'll just nip back to Hogwarts and be a teacher," Draco said. "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach."
"Well that's a bit harsh." Ginny frowned disapprovingly at him. "You just said yourself your options are limited, so unless you'd like to become a fugitive, or go back, or—or run away and live as a Muggle, teaching's probably your best bet." She reached out and took his arm, pulling him to sit on the bed beside her. She laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand. "It wouldn't be that bad."
Draco looked down at their hands, twined together as naturally as anything, feeling defeated. He didn't want this, didn't want to feel protected or reasonable or cared for by a girl who had probably never had a single new thing in her life, whose family's whole house could fit in his own suite of rooms at the Manor. He didn't want to be turning his entire life upside down because she was sitting there and being reasonable, to hand himself over to Dumbledore just because she seemed to trust the old man absolutely.
But he'd seen the alternative tonight, hadn't he? If his choices were Hogwarts or the echoing screams of a man being tortured to death, then he supposed it was clear. He couldn't—couldn't—do that, no matter what Father wanted.
"It's easy for me to say it, I know," Ginny interrupted his thoughts softly. "It's easy for people like Ron and Fred and George and Harry...especially Harry. Not that his position is easy to handle, mind, but he knows what he needs to do. He hasn't got to make any choices about what side to be on, or who to trust, or who to fight. He knows all that, and however hard the doing might be, he does know what's his to be done." She sighed and bumped him with her shoulder. "Some of us don't have that luxury."
"Us?" Draco shifted to look at her. "Us?"
"Yes, us," Ginny replied. "Do you think you're the only one who's had to think about where your loyalties are? About what role you're going to play when it comes down to it?"
"What? You planning to run off and join the Dark Lord tomorrow?" Draco snorted. "I can just see it—Ginny Weasley gone bad."
"Well it's happened before," Ginny said frigidly, and her hand tightened on his. Draco glanced at her face in surprise and bit back his reply. She'd gone stiff, her face set in angry lines, and was glaring at her chest of drawers so fiercely he was amazed it hadn't burst into flames.
He'd forgotten about Tom Riddle. It was a bit ironic, actually, considering that Riddle was what had brought him to Ginny in the first place. Voldemort. Draco's mouth twisted into a mocking smile—he would never have ended up here if Father hadn't given Ginny that diary, if Draco had never found her with the boggart that day.
"I didn't mean—" he began, feeling some sort of apology was in order, but Ginny shook her head.
"I know. You didn't mean anything by it." She sounded so sad. Draco let go of her hand to put his arm around her shoulder, and Ginny settled against him with a sigh. They fit this way too, the same way their hands fit together; as though she belonged where she was, her head tucked against his neck, her torso aligned neatly against his.
Ginny raised her head to look at him with eyes the colour of aged brandy. She had delicate lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes and another between her eyebrows, faint signs of age in a face too young for them. Draco leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead, then placed soft kisses at the corner of each eye, wishing he could erase the lines that simply. He kissed her cheeks and the sides of her nose, the delicate line of her jaw, the corners of her mouth.
Ginny inhaled softly when he kissed her fully, her lips opening under his without any urging, addictive and soft. Draco pushed her back onto the coverlet and Ginny went willingly, pulling him over her. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a small voice screaming that this was wrong, utterly so, but Draco couldn't make himself care. All he wanted right now was to forget—forget everything he'd seen tonight, everything he might be forced to do, every decision he had to make.
Draco narrowed his world to her—her fiery hair, her translucent skin, her perfect mouth. And Ginny didn't stop him, not even when he thought she might. Instead she urged him on, let him lift off her thin nightdress and caress her bare skin, helped him take off his own robes so she could touch him in return. She moved against him like she'd been made for this, for him, whispering his name over and over as he touched her. And they fit this way too, so well that Draco wasn't sure where she ended and he began, until it simply didn't matter. It left him exposed in ways he'd never imagined, frightened and elated and shattered at the same time, lost in her eyes and mouth and heat.
Draco lay next to her after, trying to level his breathing, trying to hide how he felt—how much he felt, how much she affected him. Ginny opened her eyes, clear and deep in the faint light, and smiled at him. Her eyes drifted closed again before he could react, and Draco was traitorously grateful for it; he couldn't have spoken yet, or even summoned a smile in return. He rested his head on the pillow next to hers and closed his own eyes, wrapping his arms around her, letting her own steady breathing lead him down into sleep.
~*~
It was very late—or very early—when Ginny woke up. It took a moment to re-orient herself and realize that she'd been woken up, not by a nightmare for a change, but by the heavy arm draped over her middle and the warm presence at her back.
Ginny smiled and shifted as much as his arm around her allowed so that she could look at his face, slack and surprisingly innocent in sleep. The faint rose light drifting in through her window limned his profile in pink and gold, painting his hair with gilt. He looked angelic, slender and ghostly against her tangled sheets. She extricated one hand from the covers and twined a strand of light hair around her fingers, trailed her hand gently across his eyebrows. He had a face too sharp for traditional handsomeness, all edges and angles; Ginny smoothed one finger down his nose and traced his lips gently, marveling at how pale he was.
Draco shifted restlessly and pulled away as much as the narrow bed allowed. Ginny grinned and let him, rolling onto her side so she could watch him. Draco stretched out, his arm bumping against the wall, and he frowned in his sleep. One eye opened, and he glared at the wall, grouchy and slightly confused.
"Good morning," Ginny whispered, and Draco rolled back, transferring the glare from the wall to her. "Do you want to stay for breakfast, then?" she asked, and was rewarded with a sharpening of that sleepy glower. Ginny smiled. "Right. Guess that's a no."
"Mmph."
"If you stay here half an hour longer, Mum will be up and then you won't have much of a choice."
"Breakfast or death," Draco muttered, and buried his face in the pillow.
"A little bit of each, should any of my brothers find you in here with nothing on," Ginny replied cheerfully.
There was a muffled groan from the pillow. Draco rolled onto his side and squinted balefully at her. "I'm not staying for breakfast."
"All right," Ginny said. "Then you really should get up, because Mum will be up soon, and if she does find you here, you really won't have a choice. On either the breakfast or the death, I expect."
Draco muttered, but obediently sat up, yawning hugely. Ginny watched in appreciation as he arched his back, stretching his arms above his head. He had a seeker's build, though he was taller than seekers should be, all clean lines and slender grace. Ginny's fingers itched to reach out and trace the arch of his spine, to feel his smooth, pale skin again.
And she could. It was an amazing thought. She could touch him if she wanted. Feeling greatly daring, Ginny reached out and trailed her hand down his spine, tracing each delicate bump. Draco inhaled sharply and twisted to look at her, eyes wide. Ginny froze and slowly withdrew her hand. "I'm sorry, I—"
"It's not—" Draco stopped and closed his eyes, clenching his hands in the bed sheets.
Ginny bit her lip and sat up fully, swinging her legs off the bed. It was fine if he didn't want her to touch him. She could understand it really, and just because she felt...something, didn't mean he had to. She pushed herself off the bed, intent on gathering up his things. "You should—should get ready, I think your broom is still downstairs, and there's spells and things that need to be taken off the door, so we should hurry before my parents wake up—"
"Ginny."
She glanced up. He'd got up off the bed and was standing in front of her, like a marble statue come to life in the faint light. Draco reached out with one hand and cupped her cheek gently, smoothing his fingers over her skin. His fingers were trembling. Ginny sighed and relaxed into his touch, giving him a tremulous smile. He smiled faintly back and lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers softly.
A loud groan from the direction of the attic made them both jump, and Draco glanced up at the ceiling with a panicked expression. "It's only the ghoul," Ginny said to reassure him, and pushed the pile of clothing she was holding at him. "But if he's up, Mum will be soon too. We'd better hurry."
Ginny pulled her nightdress on over her head and wrapped her hair up in a quick bun to get it out of her way. She checked the hall carefully, and motioned Draco after her. He followed her down the stairs and mercifully said very little while she undid the spells on the back door and pushed it open. She knew he was looking, taking in every detail of the low, dark kitchen, the worn utensils, the warped places in the wooden floor, the horribly embarrassing display of childish drawings Mum had tacked to the wall behind her knitting chair. She let him out onto the back step and stood there watching, shivering slightly in the damp morning air, as he fetched his broomstick from under her window. He walked back to the porch and paused in front of her, his Firebolt poised beside him in the air. "Ginny—" He stopped, at a loss as to what to say, and glanced down at the ground at hisfeet. "I'll owl you," he said finally, scuffing one boot in the damp grass.
"All right," Ginny said quietly. "Be careful?"
Draco nodded and reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes guarded. He dropped his hand and swung one leg gracefully over the shaft of the Firebolt, kicking off the ground in one smooth motion. He waved once, and Ginny watched as he flew higher, angled over the low trees on the far side of the meadow and was gone.
~*~
Draco stood in front of the Hogwarts entrance hall, staring up at the large doors nervously. He'd gone back home after leaving Ginny and packed a trunk, which sat on the ground next to him now. He had packed as quickly as he could, and left the Manor without leaving a note—it felt cowardly and vaguely shameful, to leave without even saying goodbye to Mother, but the alternative was having Father find out he was leaving, and that was something Draco didn't want to contemplate.
Draco felt brittle, standing here staring up at Hogwarts' hated edifice. He'd waited for so long to get out of this place and here he was, gathering his courage to walk up those steps and throw himself on Dumbledore's mercy and hide behind those walls. But he didn't have a choice. It was Dumbledore or Voldemort, and Draco had no intention of bowing and scraping in front of some subhuman monster. He heaved a sigh, slung his Firebolt over his shoulder, and lifted the end of his trunk, dragging it up the stairs after him.
The entrance hall was empty, and Draco's footsteps echoed back from the vaulted ceiling as he walked toward the staircase at the far end. He wasn't sure how to find Dumbledore—for all the mischief he got into while he was at Hogwarts, he'd never had to speak directly to the Headmaster. A flicker of motion caught Draco's attention, and he watched with a sinking feeling as Peeves the Poltergeist drifted into the hall, looking bored.
Peeves's bored expression vanished as he spotted Draco. "What's this? What's this? A student here? It's not school yet, my lad!" Peeves swooped and giggled, launching himself from pillar to pillar like a demented Bludger. "Not supposed to be here, are you?" The thought seemed to excite him; he flew past Draco's head with a gleeful chuckle. "Ooh, you'll get in trouble, so you will! No students here until September first!"
"Bugger off," Draco snapped. Of course, that only made Peeves more frantic, hooting and giggling until his voice rang through the entrance hall. Someone was sure to come and see what all the noise about, and Draco tensed to leave before someone did come and blamed him for it. Except he was here to be found, he reminded himself. He wanted someone to find him—it would certainly save him the trouble of having to hunt a teacher down.
Draco didn't have long to wait. Peeves kept shouting, and eventually several other ghosts appeared to see what the fuss was, staring at Draco in their vague, ghostly ways. Hard on the heels of that pathetic Gryffindor ghost came Professor McGonagall. Draco swallowed hard and clutched his broom a little more firmly.
"Peeves, you stop that this inst—oh!" The old woman stopped short and stared at him, Peeves forgotten in her astonishment. "Draco Malfoy? What on earth...?"
"Professor." Draco had to stop and clear his throat. He hated how weak he sounded, pathetic. "I—I—" But he couldn't get the words out. He tried, but they wouldn't come.
The world was graying out around the edges, losing focus. Draco was only vaguely aware of hands on his shoulders, of McGonagall barking orders to one of the ghosts as she guided him to the stairs to sit down. "Put your head down. There, between your knees, like that. Have you eaten anything today?"
Draco did as he was told, and some of the colour came back into his vision as the gray receded a bit. "No," he said weakly. "I haven't eaten."
McGonagall made a familiar disapproving sound and got her wand out, conjuring a small plate of sandwiches which she placed on the steps beside Draco's hip. "Well, eat that and we'll see if we can't keep you from passing out in the middle of the Entrance Hall."
Draco obediently ate a sandwich, which did make him feel somewhat better. McGonagall eyed him warily as he chewed, tapping her wand against her hand. The silence stretched out uncomfortably.
Finally Professor Dumbledore arrived, Snape trailing behind him with a scowl. Both men stopped short at the sight of Draco, who swallowed hard and set down his sandwich. "There you are, Albus!" McGonagall said, relief evident in her voice.
"Hello, Minerva," Dumbledore said absently, before fixing Draco with a penetrating stare. "And Mr. Malfoy. This is a surprise."
Draco clenched his hands into fists and swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth. "Professor," he muttered. Snape looked genuinely shocked to see him, an expression he'd never seen on the unflappable Potions master's face before. Dumbledore cast an unreadable look at Snape before coming forward to stand in front of the steps where Draco sat.
The old man held his hands out gravely, and Draco extended his arms, guessing what was wanted. Dumbledore took his wrists gently and pushed back his sleeves, exposing the pale flesh of Draco's forearms. He studied them gravely, his blue eyes serious above his half-moon spectacles. "I don't have a Dark Mark," Draco said sullenly. "S'why I'm here."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, looking into Draco's eyes seriously. "Indeed?" The old man dropped his hands from Draco's wrists and turned to the other teachers. "We'll go to my office. There are better places to be having this conversation than the Entrance Hall." Dumbledore waved his wand and Draco's trunk disappeared with a pop. "Come with me, Mr. Malfoy. Severus, if you'd be so good as to join us?"
Feeling as though he was still in school and in more trouble than he could ever remember, Draco silently followed Dumbledore up to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. He could feel Snape's eyes on him, his bewilderment.
Draco had never been in Dumbledore's office, and he tried not to stare at the anteroom full of portraits, or the bookcases full of books and parchments, or the full-fledged telescope mounted on the balcony above the Headmaster's desk. He nearly missed Dumbledore waving him into a chair; he pulled his attention back where it should be with an effort. Dumbledore sank into his own chair and conjured another for Snape, who took it in silence.
"So. Mr. Malfoy. I hope you'll forgive our utter surprise at seeing you back at Hogwarts." Dumbledore said. He folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward, his sharp blue eyes resting on Draco's. "What brings you here?"
Draco could feel his carefully planned explanation vanishing beneath that steely gaze. "I—I don't have anywhere else to go. Father—" Draco stopped and closed his eyes, trying to gather himself together. He had to stop stammering like an idiot; he wasn't a child, after all, or a student. "My father is—"
And he stopped again. Dumbledore was the leader of the resistance, one of Voldemort's most hated enemies. He couldn't, couldn't tell them that Father was a Death Eater. It was the worst sort of betrayal, and Draco simply could not make himself say it. He opened his eyes again and looked at Dumbledore, who hadn't moved at all.
"You were invited to join the Death Eaters," Snape said, and Dumbledore glanced at him. Draco all but sagged with relief, to be out from under that steel trap of a gaze. "Last night, if I'm not mistaken."
"Yes," Draco muttered. He could feel his face flushing—even that much felt like treachery.
"And you refused?" Dumbledore asked. His voice was impressively neutral.
"Yes. I had to. Father...he wanted me to, and I said I would, but I can't." Draco tightened his hands on the armrests of his chair, willing Dumbledore to believe him. "And I won't. He's not even human!" The words burst out of him before he could stop himself.
"No indeed, he is not human and hasn't been for a very long time," Dumbledore said gravely. "Though I am surprised... Well. That's neither here nor there. I'm pleased you thought to come here, to Hogwarts." To us, was the unspoken end of that phrase, and it was all Draco could do not to flinch, almost sick with betrayal.
Snape cleared his throat, mercifully taking the attention from Draco. "Malfoy will need something to do, if he's staying here," he said. "Perhaps he could assist me at Potions? I've been...busy, as you know."
Draco glanced at his old teacher, wondering what he meant by "busy". He knew Snape was a Death Eater. Father used to talk about it, and Snape had met with Father one or two times, though never at the meetings Draco had attended. From the way Father talked, Snape wasn't entirely to be trusted. And if Dumbledore would allow him to be present for this sort of conversation, Draco allowed that Father was probably right. It was something to think about.
"That's an excellent suggestion, Severus." Dumbledore looked at Draco. "Would that suit you, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco didn't know what to say. "I—yes. I suppose."
"If you'll excuse me, then," Snape said, and swept out when Dumbledore nodded. Draco turned his head to watch Snape go, not wanting to look back at Dumbledore, to have to meet his knowing eyes. He settled for looking at his hands instead, curled around the armrests of his chair so tightly he could see his bones standing out under the skin. The silence stretched out until Draco could barely stand it. He was waiting for the questions to start—about Father's involvement, about the plans he'd been privy to, about his involvement, however minor, with Voldemort and his minions.
When Dumbledore cleared his throat, Draco jumped despite himself. "If you're afraid I'm going to interrogate you, you needn't worry," the Headmaster said quietly. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't wish to." He paused thoughtfully while Draco exhaled a silent sigh of relief. "I am afraid I've misjudged you, Mr. Malfoy, and I am sorry for that."
Draco looked up at that, unsure what to say in response. He met Dumbledore's blue eyes, not even sure why the old man was even willing to hear him out. Father always said Dumbledore was an old fool—but then, Father also said that Voldemort was a reasonable man.
Dumbledore chuckled and stood up, saving Draco from replying. "But I have been wrong before, and will be again, I have no doubt. You must be tired from your journey. We can discuss the future in more detail later, but for now I think perhaps a bath and a warm bed are in order."
Draco let Dumbledore lead him toward the dungeons, to a short hallway near to where Snape kept his office and private quarters. There was a series of small, modestly appointed suites off either side of the corridor, and Dumbledore guided him to one. "These are kept empty much of the time—they were used when Hogwarts had more students, and thus more staff. I took the liberty of sending your trunk here when you arrived. You'll have a private bath, of course, though I'm afraid you won't have much company down here."
"That's fine," Draco said. The room was small, with little more than a bed and a small sitting area in front of the fireplace. He didn't mind, though, either the smallness of the room or the lack of company—he couldn't imagine having to talk to anyone right now. He yawned in spite of himself, and Dumbledore smiled kindly.
"But you're tired. I'll just leave you to get settled."
"I shouldn't be," Draco said, yawning again. "I haven't really traveled that far."
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said softly. "You've come farther than you think." He bestowed an enigmatic smile on Draco and shut the door quietly behind him as he left.
~*~
Ginny crept back to bed after Draco had gone, sitting on the end of her rumpled bed and staring out the window at the slowly lightening landscape. She wondered if she should feel different, now that she wasn't a girl anymore. The thought made her chuckle under her breath; she had been reading too many romance novels, if she was thinking silly thoughts about becoming a woman, as though it were some sort of marvelous transformation.
Truthfully, it hadn't really been marvelous. Slightly awkward, a little uncomfortable, good in parts, certainly, but not particularly miraculous. At least Draco had generally known what he was doing, so it wasn't as uncomfortable as it could have been. Ginny still felt like smiling, so she did, grinning at the rising sun as it rose over the hills.
The urge to smile stayed with her all day, flashes of memory sneaking out at unexpected moments. She convinced Mum to let her do all the solitary chores so she wouldn't have her brothers or Harry or Hermione asking her what she kept grinning about. The weeds in the garden and the laundry didn't care if she stopped every now and again to smile or hug herself.
Ginny had calmed down by mid-afternoon, her happiness somewhat worn down by the sheer volume of weeds she'd pulled out of the vegetables. She rinsed her hands in the sink and went to the icebox to fetch a glass of pumpkin juice as Ron, Harry and Hermione came into the kitchen. "Hey Gin, get us some too?" Ron asked.
"Sure," she said, and started pulling more glasses down from the shelf. Ron had the afternoon copy of the Daily Prophet, and he spread it out on the kitchen table while Hermione and Harry arranged themselves on chairs, chatting in low voices.
"Hey!" Ron said, his voice loud with excitement. "Malfoy's gone missing!" Ginny froze guiltily, ducking so that her hair fell over her face. She hadn't thought Draco would leave so soon. Ron tapped the paper. "Look here, it says that his dad issued a missing persons report for him this morning! Who'd have thought?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows and reached out to take the paper from him. "That's odd, don't you think? I wonder what happened."
"Paper doesn't say." Ron draped himself across the back of Hermione's chair. "Maybe he's fled the country."
"Or gone into hiding. Maybe he's going to spy for Vold—I mean, the Dark Lord, and they've sent him into isolation to prepare," Harry said with a laugh.
"Maybe he's decided to join our side and run away from home," Ginny ventured. The three of them glanced up in surprise, as if startled to find her there.
Ron snorted. "Oh yeah, and we've won the lottery. That'll be the day, that Malfoy decides to join us. Not likely, Gin. Say, maybe he's dead!"
"Ron!" Hermione turned her head to glare at him. "Don't say things like that."
"Well, it'd be nice if it were true."
Hermione huffed and rattled the paper. "It's still a terrible thing to say."
Harry grinned at Ron. "Would be good, though. Don't say you'd mind if Malfoy dropped off the planet." They both laughed as Hermione tossed her hair and pinched up her mouth. Ginny shook her head at the three of them. She knew Draco wasn't dead, that he'd chosen to take her advice and go to Hogwarts. He had to have done; he hadn't said one way or the other, but if he was missing today...
"Ginny, are you going to pour that juice or not?" Ron's irritated question snapped her out of her reverie.
"Of course," she said quietly, and reached up for the glasses. "Sorry, I'm just a bit tired today."
"You were up late last night, weren't you?" Harry asked quietly, and Ginny startled. Ron's eyebrows flew up and he cast a dark look at his friend. Harry caught Ron's eye and blanched. "I mean, I thought I heard you up."
Ginny went weak with relief. "Oh, yes I was. I...couldn't sleep."
Ron raised his eyebrows and finally relinquished the paper to Hermione. "Are you still having trouble sleeping, Gin?"
Ginny shrugged nervously as three pairs of eyes focused on her. "It's not something that just goes away, Ron. Sometimes I do. It's nothing to worry about."
"Why haven't you ever said?" Ron had turned around in his chair to face her fully, his brow furrowing with concern.
"Because it's not that important. It doesn't happen all the time," Ginny replied calmly. She placed a full glass of juice next to Ron's hand. "Besides, I don't need much sleep. I'm fine."
Ron looked worried, but he let it drop. "Just—if there's anything I can do—"
"I'll tell you, Ron." Ginny couldn't help but smile at him. Ron could be a pain, but he was really sweet when it counted. On impulse, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek; Ron muttered and pushed her away, but he looked pleased all the same.
Later that afternoon an anonymous grey owl came soaring across the meadow and landed beside Ginny on the porch with a rustle of feathers. She untied the note from its leg curiously, absently offering the bird a bite of her sandwich as she unfolded the parchment.
Have arrived safely, it said, in a bold, slanting scrawl. Thanks. The letter was unsigned, but there was no doubt as to who it was from. Ginny smiled to herself—it was very like Draco. Abrupt and to the point, without unnecessary words or sentimentality. She folded the note and stowed it carefully in her pocket, petting the owl's soft feathers as it finished the bite of sandwich. It cooed softly at her and took off again. Ginny watched it go with a small smile. It was ridiculous, really, to feel this giddy over a simple and decidedly unromantic note, but Ginny couldn't help it. He'd done it, all on his own—on her advice, certainly, but he'd made the journey to Hogwarts on his own, and she was so proud of him for that she could burst.
The next few days carried on in the same way—Ginny hid her odd happy moments from her brothers, and they, for the most part, were caught up in other things and either didn't have time for her or weren't interested in chatting. Fred and George had a flat above their shop, but they still spent as much time at home as they did at their place, so the house was full to the brim with Weasleys. It was nice, Ginny thought, as she leaned against the porch rail to watch Ron and Percy de-gnome the garden, to have most of her family around her like this, and Hermione and Harry too.
One of the advantages to being over Harry was that she could talk to him without blushing now. She smiled at him as he came to join her in watching Ron and Percy toss gnomes over the fence, their arms not quite touching. Once, being this close to Harry would have sent her into fits of nervousness, but now she just smiled, happy to have his company without wanting anything more.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she said, taking a deep breath. The air smelled of grass and fresh-turned dirt and slightly of rain—it was a homey, summer smell that always made Ginny feel full.
"It is," Harry replied. He shifted his feet, clearing his throat. "Not many days like this left, I don't think."
"No," Ginny said. She frowned out at the garden. It had been an idyllic summer, scarily calm, really. There had been few attacks, as though Voldemort was gathering himself for something. Nearly everyone had expected the war to be over by now, so this nervous waiting was setting everyone on edge.
It affected Harry most of all; he seemed much older than his eighteen years, and Ginny was shocked to see a few silver threads shot through his mop of black hair. He sighed, squinting into the sun, and then turned to face her. Ginny smiled up at him, and he smiled faintly back. "I was going to go down to Brighton one of these days, just to see it. I've never been. I've heard it's nice though—walking along the pier, people-watching, and the weather's supposed to be good. I thought, maybe go for dinner, see a show or something."
"That sounds nice," Ginny said.
"I—I'd like for you to come with me," he said, then ducked his head and kissed her, a soft, fast brush of his mouth against hers. It was over almost before Ginny realized it had begun, and she had a fleeting sense of startled disappointment as Harry backed up a step with a small, shy smile, and met her eyes hopefully.
"Harry, I—" She stopped, her hands fluttering helplessly. "I can't. I'm sorry."
Harry blinked, his green eyes bewildered. "What?"
"Please, I just—I can't."
"It isn't to do with Ron, is it? Because I can handle Ron," Harry said, glancing out at the garden. He smiled wryly. "And the rest of your brothers, if you're worried about my welfare."
Ginny shook her head. "It's not Ron. It's just that I...I'm spoken for."
She didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted at the pole-axed expression on Harry's face. He looked genuinely shocked. "You're spoken for? By who?"
"I can't say."
Harry frowned and stood up quickly. He paced to the other end of the porch, pausing to look out over the yard, shoulders slightly bowed. Ginny watched him with a worried frown. Harry was still for so long that Ginny startled when he spun around suddenly. "It's not Seamus, is it?"
"What?" It took a moment for her to realize what he was asking. "Oh. No, it's not Seamus."
"Dean?"
"No, it's not Dean either. It's no one in Gryffindor," Ginny said with a hint of exasperation. Why were boys always so difficult? "Harry, please don't take this the wrong way, but who it is isn't really any of your business."
That made his face pinch up unhappily. "I guess not." Harry turned abruptly, staring out at the yard, and Ginny gazed unhappily at his back.
"Harry, I really am sorry," she said. And she really was. Her crush might have faded ages ago, but Harry was still a sweet, handsome boy, and Ginny was flattered that he'd asked her. But she couldn't—not with everything else that had happened this summer.
Harry's shoulders tensed, and he turned his head slightly. "S'alright," he muttered. "Gonna go for a walk." And he launched himself down the steps and into the garden.
Ginny watched him go, feeling unaccountably guilty. Well, she was spoken for—sort of—and things were confused enough already with Draco without having Harry making forays into the romance department too. Ginny watched his narrow back through the tall grass for a moment, then sighed and went back into the house.
Hermione was in the kitchen, and she looked up as Ginny came in with an eager expression on her face. It faded as Ginny glanced at her, and was replaced by a curious frown. "What happened?" she asked curiously.
"Nothing," Ginny said. She'd lay bets that Harry had talked with Hermione and Ron about his plan to invite her out, and Ginny would let him tell them about her refusal—it would probably save him at least some embarrassment.
"Where's Harry?"
"Still outside. He said he wanted to walk in the garden." Ginny smiled slightly as Hermione pushed away from the table and made for the door. Harry'd be inundated with help in a moment, just as soon as Hermione found Ron. She made herself a sandwich and wandered into the drawing room with her latest novel, intending to spend the rest of the afternoon in quiet contemplation of someone else's complicated love life for a change.
But it was not to be. Not ten minutes after she'd got settled in the overstuffed armchair, Ron came barging in from the kitchen. "What's this nonsense about you being spoken for?" he shouted.
Ginny sighed and put down her book. "Ron—"
"Don't you interrupt me! What sort of foolishness is this? You're not spoken for!" Ron started pacing back and forth on the carpet, waving his hands in the air. "I think I'd know if you were!"
"I don't think—"
"What's going on?" George interrupted, poking his head into the room, Fred right behind him. "What's the fuss, Ron?"
Ron whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at Ginny. "She told Harry she had a boyfriend!"
"Ginny's got a boyfriend?" Fred said. "Isn't that against the rules?"
"Fred!"
George grinned and barreled into the room, landing half on top of Ginny with a thud. "Our little sister, all grown up. Who is it?"
"George! Get off me!"
"Oh, come on. Tell us who it is!"
"I'm not telling you anything! Gerroff, George, I can't breathe!"
George didn't get off. "Come on, Gin! You can't say something like that and not tell us who!"
"I can't tell you anything at all if I'm dead! Get OFF!" Ginny poked him in the ribs and heaved, and George allowed himself to be pushed away. He perched himself on the arm of her chair instead and grinned down at her. Fred bounced forward to sit on the other arm, and Ginny scrunched down in the seat and wondered wistfully what it might be like to be an only child.
"Why would you say something like that to Harry?" Ron demanded, refusing to be derailed. "You wouldn't be spoken for without us knowing!"
"I might!" Ginny tried to wiggle out of the chair, but Fred and George clamped down on her arms and refused to let her go. "And I still don't see how—Fred, stop that!—how it's any of your business!"
Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking distressingly fish-like. "Not our—not our business! You—you—we—"
Percy charged into the room just then, sparing them from having to watch Ron hunt for words. "What are the lot of you going on about now?" he snapped. He had ink stains on his hands, and his hair was frazzled. "I'm trying to work, if you hadn't noticed!"
Ron rounded on him. "Ginny's spoken for!"
This made Percy stop and blink owlishly. "She's what?"
"She said she's got a boyfriend!" Ron flung his arms out angrily, and narrowly missed clipping George on the ear.
Percy turned to stare at Ginny, who sank a bit lower in her chair. "Ginny?"
"Well, you needn't sound so shocked," she muttered.
"Who is it?"
"That's none of your business, Percy! Just as it's none of Ron's business, or Fred's or George's, or anyone's but mine!" Ginny glared at each of her brothers in turn. "I'm not a little girl, and I can go with anyone I like, and there's bloody-all you can do about it, isn't there?"
"What's wrong with Harry?" Ron asked. "Why can't you just date Harry? Harry's a nice fellow!"
"Maybe I don't want to!" Ginny snapped. "Maybe, just maybe, I want to be able to pick for myself who I'm going to date, and not have to justify it to you lot! I'm not going to date Harry because it'll be convenient for you!"
"I don't see why you can't just say! Unless it's someone really awful—" Ron broke off suddenly, an expression of horror crossing his features. "Tell me it isn't Colin!" he pleaded. "I could put up with just about anyone, so long as it isn't Colin. Say it isn't him!"
"It isn't Colin," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
"Then who is it?" Fred demanded. "You should be able to tell us! Your own brothers!"
"I'm not telling you because it's none of your business! And even if I did, the first thing you'd do is go out and see if you can find him and harass him. Or kill him," Ginny said darkly. "So just shove off."
Fred scowled. "We wouldn't!"
"You would!"
Percy, who had been watching them argue with his arms folded across his chest, cleared his throat. "You know, Ginny," he said pompously, "there's a very simple solution to this problem."
Everyone turned to look at him. "Which is?" Ginny asked.
"We'll tell Mum."
Ginny felt her insides freeze. "You wouldn't dare!"
Percy raised his eyebrows and looked at her condescendingly. "It'd be in your best interests, you know."
"How!? It isn't any of Mum's business either!"
"Now, Ginny," Percy replied. "There's a war on, and you can't simply go about seeing strange men without telling us—"
The world went very bright and sharp, and next thing Ginny knew, she was standing in front of Percy and trembling. There was a bright red mark on Percy's cheek, and all of her brothers were staring at her in shock. "You are not," she said quietly, "telling Mum. And you are not going to mention this again. It isn't anyone you know, nor is it anyone you need to know. If I wanted you to know, I would tell you. And that means that if I catch you snooping round my things, Fred and George, you'll be in for it." She glared at the twins, who shuffled their feet. "Merlin knows I never went 'round telling Mum when any of you started pulling girls."
"That's different, Gin!" Ron said. "It's not at all the same!"
"Why not?" Ginny demanded, rounding on him. "It's perfectly all right for you to have girls, but it's not all right for me? All of you have been running around for years saying 'Ginny, don't tell anyone this' and 'Ginny, don't tell anyone that', but the minute I want to keep something from any of you, you're going to sic Mum on me?"
"Ginny, be reasonable," Percy began, but Ginny cut him off with a glare.
"I am being perfectly reasonable!" she snapped. "I never told anyone about Penelope, did I, Percy? And I never told Katie, George, when you were so mad for her in your seventh year. I didn't tell Ron when Hermione took Victor Krum to the Yule ball, and I didn't tell her, Ron, when you spent half your summer practicing lines on me when you wanted to ask her on a date!"
Ron went beet red and shuffled his feet on the rug as Fred and George collapsed into laughter. Ginny waited for them to stop, her arms crossed over her chest. When their snickers had died down, she glared at each of her brothers in turn. "I'll tell Mum myself when I'm ready for her to know, just as I'll tell all of you when you need to know. For right now, it's none of your business, and I don't want to hear anything more about it."
"Fair enough, Gin," George said. He whacked Ron on the back of the head when Ron opened his mouth to protest. "You know enough about all of us to do some serious damage, we can see that. So keep our secrets, and we'll keep yours, right?"
Ginny waited for the other boys to agree, reluctantly nodding and muttering. "Just don't think that you can get away with this sort of behaviour all the time," Percy told her sternly on his way out. "I will have strong words with Mum about this."
Ginny rolled her eyes at his retreating back. "Oh, I'm sure."
~*~
"Are you finished with those sleeping draughts yet?"
The snappish voice made Draco look up from his work station and he nodded at Snape, who was hovering in the door to Draco's room like an irritated bat. "I'm just about to bottle them, actually."
Snape jerked his chin affirmatively and leaned against the door-frame, watching Draco transfer the potion from his small working cauldron to the vials lined up at the edge of his work table. Draco filled them steadily, long used to working under the Potions Master's censorious gaze. He'd been working in Snape's own workspace all summer, but now, a week before the start of term, the low, dark room behind Snape's office was crammed full of cauldrons of potions of various types and there was barely room for Snape to work, never mind Draco. Instead, Snape had bullied Filch into finding a spare table to set up in Draco's private room, and Draco used it to make all the less time-consuming brews.
Draco corked the last of the bottles and dug around on the shelf behind his work table for a bag to put them in. "Does Madam Pomfrey need anything else?"
"Not at present. She's got enough medicines and materials to keep even the most accident-prone of our students out of trouble." Snape accepted the bag from Draco and tucked it under his arm. "I'll be bottling the wound-cleaning potion and the Memory drafts tomorrow, however, if you'd care to join me."
It wasn't exactly a request—Draco's role as Snape's assistant meant that he spent much of his time doing all sorts of menial tasks for the Potions master. Part of Draco felt that the work really was beneath him, but he couldn't exactly complain. He'd volunteered for this, after all. "I'll be there," he said, and Snape nodded sharply before he swept out the door, presumably to take Draco's potions to Madam Pomfrey.
Draco sighed and waved his wand at the cauldron, scrubbing it clean with a simple charm. Without an assignment from Snape he was at loose ends for the rest of the day; a rare stretch of time to himself. Snape had kept him busy, these last few weeks—probably at Dumbledore's request. The old man hadn't pressed Draco for information after his arrival, but Draco knew that the rest of the staff distrusted him. Even Snape.
Draco put his jars of ingredients away, arranging them neatly on the shelves behind his bench, a little make-work so that he wouldn't have to face the next few hours, empty as they were. He much preferred having things to do; sitting idle gave him far too much time to think. He considered, again, writing a letter to Ginny, but it wasn't possible. He couldn't send her a school owl, and he wasn't allowed to leave the castle to send her a public owl from Hogsmeade.
"I'm afraid that's quite out of the question," Dumbledore had said when Draco brought it up. "Hogwarts is one of the few places that cannot be scried by magic. If you left the castle, there would be no way to prevent anyone from knowing exactly where you are."
Draco had clenched his fists and reminded himself that Malfoys didn't whine. "Of course," he'd said stiffly.
Dumbledore had gazed sympathetically at him. "If you need anything from Hogsmeade, you may ask another member of the staff to get it for you. I'm sure Severus would be happy to pick things up for you."
Draco had retreated back to his rooms in a funk, though he knew the old man was being more than reasonable. He also knew that part of the reason Dumbledore wouldn't let him go was because the old man didn't entirely trust him. In his more gracious moments, Draco could concede that he wouldn't trust himself either, if he were Dumbledore. Not with his history, and not with his father.
Which didn't bring him any closer to his goal of talking to Ginny. With his supplies neatly put away, Draco sighed and flopped down in the chair in front of his fireplace. He didn't quite understand how she had managed to become so vital to him in the scant time they'd spent together, but it didn't change the fact that he wanted badly to see her. It wasn't just that he was desperate for companionship—he had Fleur Delacour to talk to if he wanted a girl near his own age to chat up. It was because he missed Ginny. Missed her swift, brilliant smile and her temper and her sensible suggestions, how she seemed to know how he felt about the sorts of decisions he'd had to make and was still making. The way she kissed and the way her hands and body fit so neatly with his own....
Draco groaned and got up again, pacing across his room. He needed something to do. Maybe a book from the Library, or just a walk around the grounds. Anything to get him out of his rooms and stop him thinking about her, or about his father, or any of the myriad things he couldn't change from where he was. The Library was probably the best idea—he could find a book on Potions to read, and maybe Snape would stop sneering at his lack of knowledge where the more advanced brews were concerned. At least with all the work Snape had planned between tomorrow and the start of the semester next week, Draco wouldn't have so much time on his hands to spend brooding.