Andrew called it his "Secret Place". The clearing was small and rested on the outskirts of the Burrow's property. The grass was a brilliant verdant color and during sunset the sun seemed to barely blink over the horizon of the few clusters of trees. The air was crisp as stars began to form in the beckoning night sky and the small pond, which lay in the center of the clearing, rippled from the wind that was gathering. Marcy smiled at Andrew as he situated himself against a small bench, his fingertips running across a few cattails that were growing at the pond's edge.

"This place is amazing." She whispered as she sat next to him, plucking her own cattail, "How did you ever find it?"

"I think my Dad, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione used to come out here when they were young. He showed it to me a long time ago." He replied sadly, his eyes transfixed on the rippling water, "That was before he disappeared. We used to go fishing and play games and just talk."

"How old were you?" She asked quietly.

"Four. He left not too long after my fourth birthday."

"Why?" She asked, looking at him intently. His hazel eyes looked back at her and seemed to fill with sorrow as he tossed his cattail aside, pulling his knees into his chest instead.

"I don't know. Mum doesn't like to talk about it much and neither does Uncle Ron or Aunt Hermione. I know it had something to do with the military, which really doesn't make much sense at all since my Dad played sports. I remember him coming into my room and lifting me up onto my bed. He told me that I would be the man of the house and that I needed to take care of Mum. I couldn't let anything bad happen to her. I had to remember that he loved me." He sighed, looking at her with tears beckoning his eyes, "That was the last time I saw him." Without meaning too, Marcy reached up and wiped away a tear that began to roll down Andrew's cheek. He smiled at her, the pain that lingered behind his hazel eyes slowly subsiding.

"What about your father Marcy? You never talk about him." He murmured. Her eyes darted away from his and looked out into the horizon.

"I never knew him. At least, I never knew him well enough to remember him. Mum doesn't talk about him at all." She sighed, staring up at the newly visible stars, "I used to have silly dreams about him. I always imagined him as some sort of knight in shining armor. I used to think about him flying me about on the back of a dragon." She chuckled a bit at her own imagination as she remembered her younger years.

"Do you like to fly?" Andrew asked abruptly, catching her off guard.

"I've never been flying. Mum once tried to get me on a plane when I was seven and a fire erupted in the middle of the building. Let's just say we never were near an airport again."

"Do you want to know how?" He asked again, standing up and offering her a hand. She looked at him oddly for a second, at the hand extended to her, but almost as quickly took it and stood up. The idea behind "flying" couldn't possibly be any more out of the ordinary than the other things that had already occurred at the Burrow.

Andrew was moving across the clearing to where he had laid his broomstick. Unlike the one her mother used to use at the Highland developing community, the bristles on this broom were fine and perfectly in place. The handle was made out of mahogany and the word Firebolt were etched into it in beautiful gold script. Andrew smiled and held it out for her to see, "It was my Dad's. He gave it to me before he left. He was going to teach me to be one of the finest Seeker's in the country." He smiled again and slipped one leg over the handle, settling himself in the middle. When he seemed established he patted the broom and motioned for her to join him.

"It's just a broom Andrew." She laughed, moving away from him, "I though you were going to show me how to fly."

"I thought you said you believed in the unbelievable." He shot back, smirking at her, "Are you going back on that promise Marcy?" She grumbled under her breath and approached him, swatting him playfully on the shoulder before climbing onto the broom. She settled on it so her back was against his chest; one of his arms wrapped around her to secure her waist while the other held on steadily. She felt his legs kick stiffly and the next thing she knew her feet were leaving the ground. The wind was whipping at her hair and her arms were covered in gooseflesh but it didn't matter, Marcy was flying. Although they didn't leave the ground much at all, the sky was luminous and the stars seemed to call out to her even more. The air was crisp, cool, and fresh as it nipped at her lungs and tickled at her nose. Andrew was laughing behind her as he led them in small circles around the clearing.

"Andrew this is beautiful. I'm flying…" She sighed. Nothing mattered at the moment but the fact that she was enjoying herself. Her strawberry blonde hair was a mess, her sundress didn't fit properly, she had spent the last couple of days feeling like an outcast, and yet everything was perfect. Being on this broom, in this "Secret Place" was perfect.

Sadly, as soon as the moment had begun it had ended. The Firebolt skidded to a halt as Andrew firmly planted his feet on the ground and allowed Marcy to slide off. She smiled at him as they began to walk back towards the Burrow, hand in hand.

"Are you going to tell me how that worked?" She asked quietly as they neared the back gate to the garden. He simply smirked as he opened the gate for her and then pulled it closed behind them, allowing it to click loudly into place.

"That would ruin the affect of it Marcy. Besides…I may seem like I know a great deal…but I'm only 13. I can't be the one to explain life to you."

"Why can't you?" She asked, stopping only a few feet from the back door, "You obviously know something you aren't telling me. Wouldn't you want to know about something that important?"

"Listen Marcy…I know you want to know who you are. I know it might upset you that I know more about your life than you do. But its like my situation with my father. I know he's missing. He's been gone for 9 years and yes, he may never come back. But if I need to hear news about him, it doesn't help to hear it from a child my own age. I need my Mum to sit me down and talk to me. I need to know everything." He stopped and put his arm around her and pulled her into a small hug, "I can't tell you everything about your life Marcy. I'm sorry." Smiling one last time he pulled away from her and moved into the Burrow, leaving Marcy alone with her thoughts in the back yard.

She sunk into the nearest chair and looked up at the sky, which had turned its ebony color and was completely filled with small stars. She hadn't seen her mother or Julian in at least a week's time. A part of her missed them, a part that wanted to just go back to Manchester and continue to live as "the freak". But the other part of her, the part that had become curious of her background, the Weasley's, and Andrew, that part of her wanted to stay. That part of her wanted her mother and Julian to come to the Burrow. That part of her wanted to know who she was.

Making up her mind at last, Marcy moved into the house to find Hermione and an owl.

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To say that Hermione Weasley was flabbergasted would be the understatement of the century. Not even Ron's newfound study habits in their seventh year had been as unannounced as this was, she noted, as she watched the small girl attempt to scribble on a piece of parchment she had handed over.

She supposed it had started when Andrew had burst into the kitchen, looking rather pleasant as he strode towards Michael, who had been seated across from Hermione. He whispered something in Michael's ear and both boys had taken to their feet, muttering apologies as they bounded up the stairs. Hermione had simply shaken her head and started to clear the table when she had gotten into one of her weekly rows with her husband. She had thought that the arguments and bickering would stop when they started dating, or even when he proposed, but even after close to 11 years of marriage Ron refused to drop his temper. His circuits would always break short whenever she disagreed with him (which was plenty) and his face would turn a crimson color that only matched his unruly hair.

Of course, Marcy Malfoy had been the topic of the rows that had started within the last week. In fact, Hermione wasn't even sure what to call her, since as far as the little girl knew she was still Marcy Drummond and as far as Hermione was concerned, a girl who had lived without her father for 9 years had the right to go by a surname like Weasley. But none the less, the strawberry headed ball-of-fire (which at the time had been in the garden) was the cause of certain problems. Her mother Ginny was one of Hermione's oldest and dearest friends, the Weasley's compassion and defiance making her come off as strong hearted and devoted. Ginny, being Marcy's mother, had wanted the girl to know nothing of the world that Hermione had known of herself since her 11th birthday. Ron, the arrogant older brother he was, wouldn't stop pressing the issue and demanding that Marcy be introduced to the wizarding world. Hermione was the middle ground she supposed, and since Ginny had disappeared just the day before in a puff of magic, Ron had taken the blame out on her. He had been yelling about showing and Hogwarts when Marcy had fumbled into the kitchen, asking huffily for a piece of paper and something to write with.

Now, sitting next to her at the kitchen table, Hermione was far more than surprised to see the little girl anxiously writing away, her handwriting quite lovely for an 11 year old child. She hadn't said much other than the fact that she needed some paper, and even smiled sheepishly when Hermione handed her an elegant quill. She picked up on the writing style fairly quickly and blew across the paper to make it dry before rolling it up into a small scroll.

"I know you don't have the same type of post I do…so here." The girl stated matter-of-factly, handing the scroll over, "Do whatever it is you have to do with it…"

"Marcy…"

"Hermione, really, I'm not getting at the whole 'tell me who I am' thing right now." Marcy interrupted, giggling slightly, "I just noticed since the first day that I arrived that a post man hasn't stopped by. I haven't seen a letter box either. It's just logic." She pointed at the letter in Hermione's hand, "That's for my mum. Make sure she gets it okay?"

"Sure." Hermione replied, folding the letter and putting it into her pocket. Marcy smiled sheepishly and sank into the nearest chair, folding her hands beneath her chin. Hermione smiled as she went to the counter and retrieved a pitcher and two tumblers, placing them on the table in front of Marcy and her place setting. Marcy's nose crinkled as she went to reach for the pitcher and Hermione laughed out loud, grabbing it for her and pouring the girl a glass, "Its lemonade. I never liked Pumpkin Juice the first time I had it either." She poured herself a glass and drank it greedily, the acidity burning down her throat as she swallowed. Marcy was sipping much more daintily and holding her glass tightly, as if it was some sort of keepsake.

"Thanks." Marcy murmured before placing the glass down on the table. Hermione had never noticed the color of Marcy's eyes before, the bright cobalt blue and streaks of metallic gray were vibrant in the dim light of the kitchen. Her skin was flawless save for a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and her hair was a very odd color indeed. It was definitely a mix of both Ginny and Draco's. "What's wrong Hermione?"

"Nothing, just thinking to myself."

"About what?" She asked genuinely.

"You remind me of your mother." Hermione replied, placing a hand over Marcy's and changing the subject, "What about your brother Julian? Does he look like your mum?"

"Spitting image," She replied nonchalantly, "That's why I always felt like I didn't fit in at home. Mum was pretty and Julian was handsome. He had friends while I had books. He was popular and I got into petty fights." She sighed.

"I loved books too when I was little. I used to dream about reading to my child like my mother used to read to me when I was young." Hermione replied dreamily. An uneasy silence washed over them as Hermione moved the tumblers and pitcher to the sink, saying a very quiet washing charm so they would clean themselves. When she returned to the table, Marcy was staring at her oddly, "What is it?"

"Why don't you have a child Hermione?" She asked cautiously, running her fingers nervously around the edge of the table, "You're very nice. You're compassionate too. If you had such dreams about children, why didn't you have any?"

Hermione sighed as she sat down and stared at Marcy. She truly did have her mother's ability of prodding for answers, "Ron and I can't have children." She stated simply.

"Is that why you're adopting Michael?"

"No." Hermione replied, looking at Marcy intently, "We adopted Michael because his father was Ron's brother. Michael's mother and father disappeared a long time ago. Ron was Michael's godfather and we have been raising him. It's only proper that he has a true family."

"I wish I had that…"Marcy murmured as she laid her head in her hands, a small tear rolling down her freckles, "My dad disappeared I suppose. I don't remember him. Mum has never had anyone else in her life unless you include Mr. Lovegood…but he is stuffy and nowhere near good enough for her. I wish I had a father."

"Your father was a good man." Hermione replied bluntly, causing Marcy to sit up abruptly and stare at her, "Yes, I knew him fairly well. You see…well…Marcy if I tell you about your father you can't ever tell anyone." Hermione smirked, stretching out her pinky finger, "Just between us girls?" When Marcy nodded and linked pinkies with her Hermione laughed a bit before smiling, "I went to school with your father. Ron, Harry, and I were in his grade. Mind you, we were never friends. Actually…we held quite a rivalry."

"Then how did Mum meet him?" Marcy asked, thoroughly intrigued.

"Well, your mother was a grade younger than all of us. She knew your father from all of the things that we told her about him. Remember, we didn't exactly like him. But your mum was very open-minded. She rarely said anything cruel about him at all and when she did it was only because he started it. Anyway…the summer before my graduation, your mother was hired as a tutor for him. I guess you could say it was history from then on."

"But you said he was a good man." Marcy proceeded, smiling just a bit, "How could he have become a good man?"

"He fought for what he believed in. He really wasn't the type of person we had always speculated him to be at school. After school was out and he was dating your mother, we got to know him a bit better. He did some wonderful things for Ron and me and for Melinda and Andrew's father. He was a force to be reckoned with, mind you, but he was a good man." She smiled before catching sight of her watch and standing up, pulling Marcy up with you, "Now it is far past your bedtime young lady. I can't have you tired tomorrow."

"Will you promise to deliver that to my mum?" She asked as Hermione pushed her towards the stairs.

"Certainly."

"Hermione?" Marcy called back as she reached the landing, her cheeks glistening from the few tears she had shed, "What was his name?" She asked quietly, shifting back and forth in obvious nervousness.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Hermione?" She called back again.

"Honestly Marcy, stop stalling you are going to have to go to bed at sometime or another."

"I just wanted to say that I think you'll make an excellent mum." The girl dashed up the stairs before Hermione could say another word, leaving her in isolated silence. Hermione smiled to herself as she moved back into the kitchen and began to put things away, blowing out candles here and there in order to clean up for the night. It was growing late and she was tired; the next day would be strenuous at the Ministry and Neville would most likely be stopping by. Hermione had received news from Blaise Zambini about a lead in the Russian infantry and she had massive groups traveling to the east in search of survivors. As she was about to head back up the stairs Marcy's note caught her sight, the rolled up piece of parchment flickering in the moonlight. Calling over Pig (who after all the years was still as daft and flighty as ever) she began to tie it onto his talon to take to Ginny before becoming curious and opening it.

Mum,

You haven't written or even come to visit since I disappeared. I know you know where I am. You should at least, you know these people. Tell Julian not to worry (I know he will be) but I am fine. They are good people.

You need to visit me. You need to explain everything. The letter, the fire, my disappearance, and just about everything in this place. A part of me misses home, but the rest of me knows that what I'm looking for is here. I can't leave till I know the answers, and I need them from you. Andrew is right, I can't just learn them from anyone.

Hopefully when the owl delivers this (I don't really understand the idea of using owls as postmen, but I guess dogs won't go after them and they can move quicker) you'll understand that I need you to come. Hopefully you'll come immediately. Bring Julian with you…there are plenty of people for him here. Lillian and him would get along nicely. I'll still love you no matter what I find out mum. I hope you know that. I just need answers. All my life I've struggled with how different I am from you and Julian. Maybe you've known the answers all along. Maybe I'm not that odd.

They never really told me this, but I'm sure that Ron and Hermione say hello as well. I think they miss you. They are constantly bickering about something or other. Melinda would say hi too, but I don't know much about her either. That's why I need you.

Don't Leave Me.

Your Daughter,

Marcy