The Sense

by jane-valar

Some say it's a gift. She thinks it's a curse. Draco has an important piece of art that could help his ill mother. How far will he go to save her? More important what does Ginny have to do with it.

11. Chapter X1: Breathe

For my beta Tegan because she ROCKS!


Chapter 11: Breathe

Draco's options were limited and offered nothing that would truly help his mother. Should he use the male-Weasley or scrap the idea and work harder with his Mother's Mediwitches? Each choice was as bad as the other, and so his decision swayed from day to day, hour to hour. He felt it wasn't fair to him. No one else was burdened with such taxing choices, so why should he be left to make such impossible decisions.

He couldn't choose to side with Weasley. How could she have expected him to agree to let her brother, Ronald Weasley, one-third of his eternal bane, know about their project, much less help them with it? Did she not know him at all? Did she not know her own brother? Weasley and Potter would have him thrown into Azkaban before she would have even finished the favor. In Draco's mind the only punishment worse than serving a prison sentence, on a tiny little island in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by soul sucking monsters would be to force him to work beside the speckle faced git.

Was the bint completely mad? Probably.

With his undecided path weighing heavily on his mind, Draco settled himself into the small uncomfortable chair that sat opposite the one person he'd ever sought guidance from, his father.

"Nice set," Draco commented, taking in the new and quite expensive looking chess set.

"Be more specific when you speak, Draco, or people may misread you," Lucius reprimanded. "Now, is it the set we are playing or the chess set we are playing with."

Draco bit hard into the slick skin inside his cheek, looking down at his pieces, and willing his face not to blush. He was a twenty-one year-old man and hated that his deranged father could still shame him into submission.

"You have acquired yourself a very nice chess set, Father. Whoever would bring you such a gift?" he asked, moving his only remaining pawn up a single square.

"Yes, it is nice isn't it," he answered, lazily dragging his bishop over the board to capture Draco's immobile piece. "That so called guard… Michael isn't it?" Draco nodded. "Is quite the simpleton, really. And simpletons are always easily persuaded. I've told you this before."

"I remember," Draco replied honestly, his mind throwing back to one of the many times his father had heaped his wisdom onto him. He could remember being so thrilled to have one of the most influential wizards of the day, his father's attention focused solely on him.

"That's not all he has brought me," he continued, ignoring his son. "Lift my mattress Draco. There's something beneath it that I think you will find quite interesting."

Draco did as his father told him and rose from his chair quickly walking the two strides to his father's small cot. He lifted the light mattress, if one could even call it that, to find a gray Ginny Weasley and a hoard of other Weasleys staring back up at him. It was the week-old copy of the Daily Prophet that had covered the masquerade ball, but what was his father doing with it? He picked it up from its hiding space and brought it back over to the game.

"I also get the paper in the morning," he said, gently placing it face up on the heads of their pieces.

"I wouldn't expect anything less Draco. It's important to keep up with worldly events."

"Worldly events?" Draco scoffed, momentarily forgetting who he was speaking to, "Are you and I reading the same newspaper? That," he looked at the newspaper with disdain, "is nothing more than journalistic trash. I'd get more from a Teen Witch Weekly than the lies I read in there-"

"Hush," Lucius ordered, putting Draco back in his place with a single word.

To distract himself from his anger at being treated like a child, Draco painfully curled his toes inside the leather bounds of his shoes. His father was usually a patient man, but Draco couldn't imagine unleashing his own temper on to him, so he sat silently curling and uncurling his toes as his father continued.

"Journalistic trash? Lies, you say?" he asked and his son nodded. "Then read it to me Draco, starting with, let me paraphrase," he said waving his hand in the air, "The incident that launched the party's disastrous fate..."

Draco felt something rise in his throat as he plucked the newspaper back up. What was his father getting at? He unfolded the paper, briefly glancing at the photo of Ginny. Her bitten lips making him smirk behind it. He had been the one to make her mouth so swollen but he didn't have time to think about what they had done as he began reading aloud: "The incident that launched the party's disastrous fate was the violent confrontation between Draco Malfoy, sole heir of the Malfoy family fortune, and Ronald Weasley, Auror and decorated war veteran."

"Disastrous fate, Draco?" Lucius interrupted.

Draco read steadfast as he felt his father's indifferent gaze studying him, "Mr. Malfoy was dancing with his beautiful young partner when an unprovoked Mr. Weasley attacked him. Mr. Malfoy, being obviously more mature, did not strike back. The childish squabble was ended when Mr. Weasley was restrained by his fellow partygoer and long time best friend, Harry Potter. What invoked the violent outburst? Envy? Jealously? Apparently not. Mr. Malfoy's dance partner was identified as Virginia Weasley, the youngest and only sister of the famous Weasley brothers-" Lucius lifted his hand to signal Draco to stop, "I've heard my fill Draco."

Not knowing how to reply, Draco sat silent in his seat before folding the paper in three and laying it atop the chess pieces again.

"At twenty-one years my son has seen to it to publicly humiliate himself. Now what am I to say to that?" Lucius asked, accenting his question with a single lifted brow.

Yes, cause I was never embarrassed when you and Arthur Weasley scuffled, he sarcastically thought, remembering his father's violent encounter with the eldest Weasley.

"I was attacked," Draco retorted. "And I did as you said. I didn't retaliate...what does it matter anyhow he's just a Weasley."

"Just a Weasley? It seems as if that girl was a bit more than 'just a Weasley.'"

Draco always refused to entertain the fear he had that his father could read minds, but now he felt himself trying to build a wall around his thoughts, including his panic. "We were just dancing, exchanging information, nothing more."

"From this picture," he replied lightly tapping the edge of the newspaper. "She's grown into quite the young woman hasn't she?"

"If you're attracted to that sort."

"Are you?"

Without needing to think, Draco delivered the answer he knew was expected of him, "Absolutely not. Besides even if I was-which I can assure you I'm not- what would a Weasley want with a Malfoy?"

"The Malfoys are attractive people, Draco. There's no denying that we have good breeding. You also can not deny the fact that you've exploited this on many an occasion-"

"Sorry, Father but my time here is short and valuable. Could we please suspend the lessons and the theatrics?"

Draco regretted his statement as he saw the completely impassive expression his father wore. His long body was in complete relaxation, as he studied every visible inch of Draco, tactlessly, skimming from the style Draco wore his hair to the center of his chest where the black buttons of his shirt lay before coming back and forcing Draco to look him squarely in his eyes.

"Since when did my son, my heir, develop such an embarrassingly excess disrespect and forget himself. Maybe I should worry about this Miss Weasley."

Draco could feel his jaw twitching and feared the leather laces of his shoes might break from the pressure of him curling his toes. What was Father's sudden obsession with linking him to Ginny?

"Whatever your plans may be for that girl, I suggest you bin them, Draco. She has much better uses than your bed."

"And the Male-Weasley? What might my uses be for him?"

Pushing his long frosty locks behind his white shoulders, Lucius's thin lips parted in a smile that Draco hadn't seen from his father since he had been free. It was smile a man wore when he was completely in control of a situation, a smile of smugness.

"If I'm not mistaken isn't it Auror Weasley?"

"Well, that is how that idiot Ministry insists on identifying him." Draco replied, correctly anticipating that his father would ignore his answer.

"On your last visit you spoke of traveling to Luxor and Thebes with Miss Parkinson in tow, did you not?" Lucius asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I think we've established that you read the paper, Draco. So why did you find it necessary to sabotage a very key point in your plotting?"

Draco looked at his father; gray eyes so much like his own, stared back stoically. What was the man talking about? How had he sabotaged a key point? And what did Weasley have to do with any of it?

"Sorry, Father but I'm not following," he admitted.

"It's quite obvious to me now that my son's only been reading the Agony Hag column or he would've been aware that at the moment Egypt's wizard and witches happen to be under our Ministry's Law," he answered, in the same excited voice Draco had heard him use before right before...

Fearing the oncoming seizure of hysteria from his father, Draco felt the bricks of his mental wall split and a sting of sympathy for the man that sat across from him seep through. He had seen him suffer it before, the markings of recovery and then the sudden relapse into a psychosis and it wasn't something Draco desired or intended to relive. So when he spoke his voice was soft, "I don't understand, how's that even possible?"

"Must I simplify everything with you," Lucius snapped, before giving into an exaggerated sigh, that let Draco know that his father was indeed not regressing. "After your visit to Cairo last month, Egypt found itself in quite the little bind and as an act of charity our Minister Fudge offered them his assistance-"

Half-listening to his father's smooth but callous voice, Draco tried to appear interested in his explanation, but his mind was too busy searching through the files of his memory. He was hunting for the information Pansy had delivered outside his drawing-room. "You're going to need an Auror's clearance just to get into the vicinity near the tomb you want." So that is what she had meant, but at that moment her knowledge had fallen on deaf ears; he'd been too preoccupied with Ginny's naive suggestion to really give Pansy any thought and now sitting in a cell, being berated like a child by his father, he truly regretted it.

"-to move around freely you must be escorted by an Auror and Mister Weasley happens to be the only Auror you have on the table at the moment."

At the inconceivable truth of his Father and Ginny giving the same advice, Draco snorted.

"Don't snicker Draco," his father chastised. "It's quite unbecoming,"

"Sorry," Draco replied, trying to control his irrational mirth and conceal his doubt. "But I need to know exactly how I have Weasley on the table?"

Lucius merely reclined into the back of his chair, wearing the same smile from before, and examining the clean nails on the end of his long pale fingers, "Just one of Miss Weasley's many uses," he drawled.

"Well of course she would attempt to persuade her brother at my request," Draco lied, Ginny had never done anything he'd asked. "But I assure you, if it involves a Malfoy, Weasley won't listen to reason."

"And why should he? If our situations happened to be reversed- and I wish they were-I wouldn't reason with him. So, why would he be willing to help me? If I'm not wrong his loathing for me is only matched by mine for him."

"You have brought a good point. Have you not thought of offering him something?" Lucius directed; it was less of an inquiry or suggestion than it was an order.

"He's a Weasley, Father. You of all know they are not so easily bought with Galleons and trinkets."

"Everyone has a Price, Draco."

"Not Weasleys," Draco said, looking down at the board that lay between them. He was not going to fight his father or anyone on this matter; his decision was made. Weasley was out and if it took hours of research he'd discover how to discard Granger too.

"Listen to me boy," Lucius snapped, his voice barely raised but Draco could hear the clip in his tone, "Every man has a price but not every price is paid in gold."

Unable to look him directly in the eye, Draco honed in on the minuscule white scar his father carried above his eyebrow. He detected something changing in the air around them, a coldness that lead in a shift of power. He could feel his options decreasing, his decisions being made for him.

When he answered, his voice was emotionless, hiding the defeat he felt, "I'll meet with him."

"And you will be polite."

Draco felt his eyes widen with horror at the preposterous idea.

"To all of them, even Potter, if you have to."

"But-" Draco started, he had to stop this before his father got out of hand.

"But nothing boy. You will do as I say. Those people will not be on the receiving end of your contempt. We've worked entirely too hard to have your childish animosity destroy it. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes, Father," Draco answered, feeling a mixture of anger and betrayal coursing through him. How was he to be kind to people who made his years at Hogwarts hell? How was he to get along with two boys and a jumped-up Mudblood who had caged his Father inside these four white walls?

With his overwhelming frustration smothering him and distorting his senses, Draco suddenly felt entirely too warm. The walls of his father's cell seemed to be closing in on each other and the air seemed too stale to breathe, which in itself was becoming difficult to him. "I have to go," he said, pushing back his chair away from the table and standing.

Oxygen didn't return to his lungs until the gray stones that made-up his father's cell door, were firmly in place. Imperceptible to the old guard who led him out were the small gasps that left his lips, as he trailed behind the oblivious watchman.

His normal temperament was slowly sinking into him as he furthered himself from his father and stepped into the front-desk's line to retrieve his wand. How could his father have such insane thoughts? Yes, the man was mad and that alone grieved Draco more than he would ever admit, but how could he expect his son to be so nonchalant about something so ridiculous? Did he know the sort of danger Draco would be putting himself in if he was to ask that daft prat for help? Did he even care? Draco pushed his questions to the back of his mind, filing them into another cabinet to examine later. He'd have to wait until later, when he had time to think, time to plan.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Draco took notice that his line, unlike the others, was not moving. It was an infirmary. What could be taking so bloody long? he asked himself. Shifting his weight to the side, he could see to the front of the line. Outside the small caged window stood the slender figure of a man, his shoulders back and his shiny black hair falling into his face as he growled at the receptionist in a voice that he couldn't quite recognize. Draco settled himself back into his place in line, abandoning thoughts of jumping into a parallel line. He needed his wand and he could only rescue it from the witch or wizard he had been forced to give it to.

He was tapping his heavy toe on the floor when he identified the silky voice that had eluded him before. The sound made the hair on his neck standup and the blood in his veins run hot. Looking up, Draco met the owner of the snappish tone and their eyes locked for a moment gray on black, one with childish uncertainty and the other with no emotion at all.

Draco sighed with defeat. How could his day get any worse?

*~*~*

The denim material of Ginny's jeans easily slid across the red-leather upholstery as she slumped down next to the window in their booth. She let her eyes wander across the faces of the witches and wizards as they zoomed passed the restaurant she sat in with Hermione and Harry. They were waiting for Ron to arrive. Surprisingly, her older brother had been quite the no-show the past week, not even bothering to attend their father's weekly brunch.

"I'll take a pumpkin juice," she answered the waitress, not looking over at the menu.

"Sorry, we only serve that with breakfast," the waitress replied.

"Then I'll take a butterbeer." I placed a space between this line and the previous.

"All out," she replied and Ginny heard a snap of aggravation in her tone.

"Fine, whatever you have is fine with me," Ginny snapped back, surprising both Harry and Hermione.

She watched over Harry's shoulder as Pansy walked into the foyer of the restaurant, Draco closely tailing behind her. Per usual his hair was neatly combed back, his clothes were impeccable, and his manner was both equal parts charm and snobbery as the owner greeted both him and Pansy, but something about him seemed amiss and Ginny couldn't put her finger on it.

His eyes were skimming the tables of the restaurant, searching for something or someone but Draco gave her no hint of what or who. She was becoming curious to who it might be? A man or was it, with a touch of jealously that she would never confess to, a woman. But their hunts ended when his gaze shifted to the booths and locked with her own. She instantly smiled at him, feeling stupid when he didn't return it. Instead, his eyes darted to the entrance. Ginny squinted back at him, letting him know of her confusion. He rolled his eyes in reply, then nodded his head in the direction his eyes had moved. Getting his message, Ginny nodded her head.

"I need to visit the loo," she said, looking at Hermione, who was blocking her way out of the booth.

"But we haven't finished talking," Hermione said.

"Hermione, please," she whined, hopping up and down in the seat as far as their table would allow.

"Fine, but make it quick. Ron will be here soon," Hermione explained, as she scooted out of the booth, letting Ginny slide out.

Ginny immediately regretted not grabbing her suede coat as she stepped out of the restaurant and into the cold street. Draco was standing right outside the door, his silver hair being the only thing distinguishing him from the black wall of the building.

"Draco?" she asked, her breath coming out in a grey puff. She stepped closer, hoping to see him better but Draco pushed himself off the wall, grabbing her by the waist and marching her quickly around the corner of the building.

"You really have a thing for alleys don't ya'," Ginny said playfully, but the familiar shiver her body suffered from Draco's hand moving from one side of her back to the other as he turned her around stilled her sarcasm.

He let it rest on the curve of her hip as he started, "I'm ready to talk...to meet with your brother I mean."

"What? When did you change your mind?"

"That's not important. But what is, is that I will meet with him... on mutual grounds of course... but I will talk to him."

Ginny couldn't describe it, but the turmoil she'd felt from him in the restaurant was rippling off of him now. His demeanor hadn't changed, and neither had his appearance, except for his eyes, which she could barely make out in the dim light of the faraway street lamp. They weren't their ordinary gray, like the ice of a lake after a first winter freeze. They were a little darker, a little angrier as if he wasn't-

The feel of Draco's thumb sliding off the belt of her jeans to the naked skin under the tail of her shirt paused all of Ginny's rational thoughts. The warm pad of his thumb was roughly tracing different shapes on her side, holding her in place.

"Draco, what's wrong?" she asked, tilting her head up to get a better look at him.

"Nothing," he responded too quickly.

The sound of his voice, the speed in which he answered, and the increased force of his thumb against her sides, urged Ginny to foolishly probe a bit farther.

"Did something happen today? Was it your mother?" she asked.

"Mother's fine, Ginny," he replied. He leaned into her, forcing Ginny to step back as far as the building's wall would let her.

"You and Pansy have a fight?" she questioned, trying to focus on something negative and not Draco's warm hand on her hip.

"No," he hissed. "Just drop it."

She should have been frightened from the tone he used. She should have stopped pushing him into talking, but Draco had never successfully intimidated Ginny and she couldn't stop herself from needing to know more. Something was bothering Draco, and she craved to know what brought about his loss of control. Taking a deep breath, Ginny put her hand on top of the one that rested on her hip in hopes to feel something from him, but only gained a look of shock and bewilderment from him. Concentrating on her task, on him, she slid her hand up his forearm feeling nothing but the fine blonde hairs that lay flat against his skin. She could feel his eyes following her and she closed her own reaching up to his face, cupping his cheek in her hand. She'd never imagined his face would be so soft but she wasn't testing the texture of his skin, she was sensing for his struggle. She wanted to see his anxieties, to feel them, but nothing came to her. Whatever had happened that day was going to stay locked within him, unless he was willing to let her know, and Draco Malfoy wasn't a man for sharing.

Ginny opened her eyes to find Draco looking down on her; his single raised eyebrow exposing his bafflement. "What're you doing, Weasley?"

She felt heat flooding to her cheeks as she became overly aware of the position they stood in: Her palm against his cheek, his fingers brushing the curve of her hips. She giggled out her embarrassment. Lowering her hand down his face, she let her fingertips feel the slight dip of his cheekbone, the smooth outline of his jaw, only stopping her exploration when she reached the smooth curve of his neck and shoulder. Her fingers ran off his warm skin to touch the velvety material of the new cloak he wore.

"Weasley?" she heard him ask again, but his voice was hoarse and gravelly. From his tone something in the atmosphere was shifting between them, and she could feel it. It wasn't something she could identify or give a name, but she knew she equally longed and feared it.

"It was Edmund wasn't it," she lied, trying to break the tension she felt growing between them with a bit of humor. Looking up from the silver snake fasten he wore to his eyes, she smiled. "He's finally overcome your abusive ways and left you. Now you must learn to care for yourself. I weep for you."

"What?" he asked, titling his head. His confusion lowered his guard and momentarily exposed him as the man she'd embarrassingly clung to at her brothers' ball.

"Nothing," Ginny mumbled, giving into the lingering need her body felt since he'd pulled her into the alley. She moved to the tiptoes of her trainers, but her lips barely brushed his as she tried to pull him to her level.

Surprisingly, he leaned his head away from her and for an instant Ginny felt cold and embarrassed, but his eyes sparkled as his hand left her waist to grab her fingers from his cloak. He held her hands by the palms before her, as his mouth moved down on hers and Ginny could feel a slight difference in his technique. On the balcony, he had been surprising and gentle, but now his kiss was directed and needing. She felt a tremor ripple over her as he deepened his kiss, his mouth demanding access, and parting her lips she granted it to him. She loved the way he tasted, the sweet spice of cinnamon, and she briefly wondered if it was from the alcohol or the sweets he chose that gave him his signature flavour. Unlike other sweets she'd sampled he never tasted the way he smelled. He smelled different; he smelled of things she couldn't name, of spices and herbs and perfumes that she'd never seen or felt or smelled till they combined onto his skin.

The majority of her body began to warm from his contact, but her hands were still painfully cold against his and he refused to free them, to let her touch him, the way he could touch her. He didn't yield to her unspoken wishes as he pinned her hands on either side of her head, the rough siding painfully imbedding a pattern against the thin skin, knuckles, and veins that were the backs of her hands but Ginny couldn't feel it nor did she care to. She was too focused on trying to get a grip on his illusive hands, to feel more than just his palms crossed with hers, to feel the warmth of his long fingers slide between her own. She wanted to make him give her the warmth she craved, but instead he let go, moving his arms behind her, arching her back into him.

Ginny felt something rising in her, some sound daring to escape from her throat when his body pinned hers to the side of the building, their bodies touching at almost every point. He moved to the curve of her neck relieving her lips and giving them both much needed air. Ginny was surprised at the gasps that escaped her mouth at his relent; the first warm breath she exhaled came out in a gray fog over them. She found her fingers curling the short locks of his hair, stirring the scent of his shampoo into the air, filling her senses and provoking the dizziness he'd caused her before. She closed her eyes savoring the occasional feel of his lips on her skin, the sound of his breathing as his warm breath caressed her neck and jaw, enjoying the feel of his teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of her throat.

"I'm not doing this," she thought to herself.

She opened her eyes with the unexpected feel of a thigh between her own, the foreign encounter making her stomach burn and found Draco's forehead resting on hers, his white fringe mixing with her red, his eyes shut tightly.

"We can't do this, Weasley."
Ginny smiled up, tilting her head to capture his bitten mouth in a chaste kiss.

"I know. It seems every time we're alone..." she explained not caring that behind the wall they leaned against was a restaurant full of people including her brother and his best friends.

"It's a distraction...You're a distraction," he barked, surprising Ginny. She jumped away from him, but only butted the back of her head against the siding of the building.

Closing her eyes against the pain in her skull, she reached up to massage the knot she knew was forming and groaned, "Thanks, a lot."

"I didn't mean it that way or maybe I did. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore," he said, sliding away from her.

Sighing at the tone of his voice, she opened her eyes finding Draco arms length away, his hands holding his cloak tightly around him. Looking at his messy hair and swollen lips, Ginny didn't want to imagine what he'd done to her. How was she expected to have a pleasant dinner with Ron, Hermione, and Harry after this?

"Well... You know that Ron's in this restaurant tonight, and that he's sitting down with me and Hermione-"

"-And you expect me to sit down with your lot and discuss Egypt with him, is that it?" he asked, severing the request he hoped he was wrong in predicting.

"Is that not okay with you?"

Letting his face drop, he narrowed his eyes at her. He'd only agreed with himself earlier that evening with the pressure and confidence of his father to even entertain the idea of her brother's help, but now was much too soon. He hadn't had time to develop a plan or a counter defense to her brother's unavoidable if blatantly predictable assault.

"No," he answered, trying not to snap.

"That's fine. We don't have to meet now. You two can argue another time," she said, tacking on that strange tone she seemed to reserve for him, her hand moving atop his cloak surrounding his hand with the soft fabric. "It's obvious you're upset and not ready to meet with Ron."

"What about Granger? I'm surprised she's kept her trap shut this long."

"Let me worry about, Hermione."

He didn't answer, concentrating on the feel of her fingers through the fabric of his cloak.

"I need to go back inside," she whispered, dropping her hands from his and smiling up at him. He watched her dark eyes sweep over him and oddly he didn't feel self-conscious under her brown gaze.

Groaning, she swept a hand over her shirt and pants, before using her fingers like short white bristles to run through her mussed crimson hair. She didn't appear the kempt woman he'd snogged at the ball, but was just as alluring in her t-shirt and denim trousers.

"By the way, I like your new cloak," she commented, pulling him from his roguish thoughts.

"And I like that you're not wearing one," he said, his eyes dancing across the freshly smoothed fabric of her shirt.

Ginny rolled her eyes, stepping out of the alley, when she must have noticed he wasn't following her.

"You're not coming?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. If it was out of anger or to stop signs of the obvious cold, he didn't know.

"No," he replied, gathering his cloak around him, "It would be too suspicious. Besides, I need a little time to think...I'll be coming in; don't worry."

Draco watched Ginny's progress into the restaurant. He could still smell her, all warmth and vanilla, as he turned in-front of the alley. His mind focusing on any distraction that didn't involve her touching him, or her not touching him, or just her in general, when he saw it, a little flash of metallic gold in the shadow of the building across from him. Draco squinted at it, thinking it might have been his imagination when he saw it again, a flicker of reflected street-lamp light. Thinking it might be a camera and a picture of him and Ginny circulating to his father being the last thing Draco needed, he crossed the empty street in a hurry but heard the loud pop of Apparition before he could confront the shadow.

Draco shook off the odd feeling that crawled through him, quickly crossing the street and moving into the safety of the restaurant. He ignored the pain that had wormed into his head as he moved down the aisle, trying to ignore the conversation Ginny was having with her brother, but their loud Weasley voices, even in the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, seemed to grip him. All he had planned was to down the drink he'd instructed Pansy to order for him, but from the tone of Weasley's voice it seemed that his plans as usual were bound to be ruined.

"You lied to me Ginny," he heard Weasley accuse, "At the twins party, I asked you if anything happened between you and Malfoy and you looked me in the eye and said no. You lied to me. You lied to your brother."

"Sorry," she answered, surprising both him and Weasley by not sounding sincere.

Weasley sighed, sitting back from the table, his light eyes thoroughly examining her, "I don't know what's gotten into you Ginny, but you'd best be glad I wasn't interrogating you?"

"Why?" she asked, sarcasm leaking through her words, "Is it a crime to lie to your brother?"

"When he's an Auror, it is," he replied, catching Ginny off guard, and she hesitated before replying.

"Well, you weren't in uniform."

"Yes, I was."

"No you weren't. You were dressed up like that stupid detective Sherlock McDuff or whatever his name is?"

"Shylock McGruff is not daft and don't try and change the subject Gin. It's not going to work. You're in trouble, real trouble, and I'm not letting you out of it either."

"Real trouble?" she laughed. "What do you really expect him to do, Ron? Have some master plan to end the world?"


"Maybe, I don't know and neither do you. You don't know him at all. It's more likely something to do with his father or even more likely Harry."

"Oh, yes because everything revolves around Harry Potter doesn't it," she whispered fiercely leaning over the table.

"Look here, Virginia Ann Weasley stop trying to change the subject. My point is-"


"What is your point, Ron? Please, I would love you to explain it to me," she said, nodding her head to the side.

Weasley paused, seemingly to compose himself and let his face drain of the unnatural plum shade that connected his freckles. Ginny was certainly testing her bounds by provoking her brother and Draco could see him desperately gnawing onto the bridle of his short Weasley-patience.

"When Malfoy's own girlfriend tells me to get my sister away from him for her health-"

"Draco doesn't have a girlfriend," she interrupted, slamming down the drink that she'd picked up and splashing purple liquid onto the checkered tablecloth.

"Oh, so Pansy Parkinson's just a really good friend."
Draco rounded on Pansy, the anger he'd taken in all day ready to explode on her. The blue-eyes he'd always thought would have been beautiful on another, were dancing with smugness at watching Ginny squirm beneath her brother's interrogation.

Turning her head she met his gaze, "What?" she asked innocently.

"How's Rose?" he asked, striking Pansy on the only part of her heart he thought still worked.

"Don't even," she icily replied. "I know you can't harm Rosemary and so do you."

"And you can't harm Ginny," he slipped, not realizing the words had sprung from his mouth.

"Whatever do you mean by that Mister Malfoy?" she asked, catching his stumble, her lips parting in the cruel grin that he'd known so well at school.

Draco sneered in reply, only encouraging Pansy to continue.

"What, you think you can protect her from her big brother?"

Again Draco was quiet, concentrating on the booth that sat angled from their own, trying to listen to the conversation that unfolded between the girl and her brother.

"First, Weasley would kill you because...well he's just bigger. Second, you can't defend yourself much less try to protect that little chit."

"Shut your gob, Pansy," he warned, curling his toes. He was already angry with her. Couldn't she see that pushing him was in no way beneficial to her health?

"What will you give me?" she teasingly asked, hoping the question stirred in Draco the memories she hoped he still visited.

"What did you say?" he asked, looking back at her questioningly.

"What will you give me?" she repeated slowly, not fully understanding Draco's reasoning. "Like, what's your price?"

A look of triumph swept across his attractive features as he beamed at her, "Has anyone ever told you, you were a genius before?" Then as if remembering who he was speaking to he stood, and finished lamely, "No, I suppose not."

Approaching Ginny's booth his Father's words resounded in Draco's ear, "Every man has a price but not every price is paid in gold." Of course, why hadn't he thought of it before. He most definitely had something Weasley needed, nearly as much as he himself needed that map.

"Weasley and...Weasley," Draco drawled, slithering into Ginny's seat, seating himself opposite her brother and resisting the urge to wrap his arm around the girl sitting next to him just to see if her brother could actually produce smoke from his large ears. But he kept his hands to himself and his eyes trained on his opponent's, ignoring the thumb sandwiched between her teeth and the expression of shock he was confident Ginny wore.

"What do you want?" Ron gritted through his teeth, and Draco could see the binds of his temper wilting.

"The question is not what I want Weasley. But what /you/ need," he answered lazily, still not leaving.

"I don't need nor do I want anything from you," he spit, bending over his table.

"I disagree."

"Disagree all you want Malfoy, the point is I want you out of my booth and out of this restaurant."

"Oh I'm sorry, I had absolutely no idea you owned this restaurant. Please, forgive my rudeness, but I'm just offering you my assistance," Draco replied, his sarcasm sweeping over the redhead who sat before him.

"Your assistance," Ron snorted, "Like I told you before Malfoy, I don't need anything from you, and you're mistaken if you think I do."

"As you wish Weasley, but what I have is worth ten of what you would be obligated to endow."

"And what is that Malfoy?"

"Zabini, Weasley. I'm bringing Zabini to the table," he paused, letting his offer sink in. "I think he's worth more than a few days of your time."

"Zabini?" he mirthlessly laughed, "You can give me Zabini."

"Yes," Draco replied, matter-of-factly. He was quickly becoming bored and annoyed at Weasley's ignorance. Why couldn't the boy just see that this was the easiest and most direct path to his goal? Draco needed his time and he needed Zabini; it was quite simple really.

"I don't believe you. You're lying," the redhead accused.

Lying, they always jump to lying, he thought. Even if they were right most of the time, it was still insulting.

"Am I?" he asked, testing Weasley's assurance. He waited for the Auror's answer and when he received none, he tried a little more coaxing. "Come now, Weasley."

"I'm not doing it. I can't prove it yet, but this is a trap. I know it!"

"Believe what you want, Weasley, I honestly couldn't care less, but you should know I won't bring this offer to you again. I can get what I want without you, but can you do the same?"

Draco lowered his eyelashes as he gazed at Ron. The former Keeper stared back at him for a moment. His blue-eyes, which further distanced his resemblance to Ginny, darted over to his sister, then back to Draco. Finally, they dropped to the table, giving Draco the illusion that his enemy was cowing, and allowing him a calmer look at Ron Weasley. The large boy didn't look much like his sister; his face was slightly squarer, his nose much longer, and his eyes were nothing like hers. But Ron's eyes jutted up again, sliding sideways, and resting at the bar where Draco was sure Granger was holding Potter on his seat.

"I have to talk to Harry," he answered.

"Potter?"

"Do you know any other Harries?" he asked, rhetorically.

"Yes, actually I do, and I see you're still this One's lap dog." He smirked.

Ron narrowed his eyes at him, "I'll owl you my answer."

"Very well then."

Draco slid across Ginny's slick seat, carefully avoiding her. He had just swallowed a throat full of bile, that had been his pride, and couldn't bring himself to look at her. How had this woman-child forced him into this? How could Father believe that this would be the best course of action? How had he let himself become such a Pawn to these two people?

I'm not he told himself, in the sigh he let escape as he moved back to Pansy's table. He could feel Ginny's eyes on him, watching him as he pulled his money purse out paying his side of the bill; it wasn't much as he had only bought a single drink. Her dark gaze stayed on him as he exited the restaurant, and he only dared to look back for a moment before he walked out onto the cold street.

*~*~*

Blaise Zabini ripped his cloak off, throwing it across his ragged sofa, and he sneered at his degrading living conditions. His sitting room smelled of garbage from the alleyway outside; his kitchen, no bigger than two of his long strides, exposed insects skittering over the two wooden cabinets and the counter, its blue paint chipped through to the rotten wood underneath; the vinyl floors that ran through the entire house were nicked and stained with colors that he didn't want to dwell on.

He was in a rage as he stalked down his short hall; he'd had Weasley and Malfoy so near, so easily within his grasp. Unfortunately, he had hesitated a moment too long and Draco must've sensed his presence, because he had broken off his kiss with Weasley and stared right into the shadow where he had been hiding. Blaise opened the first door he reached, rubbing his forearm where his mark lay hidden under the light-skin and found what he was looking for. Lying dormant in the one bed the house held, her chest rising and falling with every deep breath she took, slept his sister, Bernadette Zabini.

He watched her as she slept, trying to deny the cold that had seeped through the four walls of her room. Her short dark hair was spread over her face, as her tiny body rested underneath the thick duvet he'd brought from home. She had been expected to start Beauxbatons this year, but had been denied acceptance for the public mishaps he had delved in. She had been accepted at Hogwarts, but in no way was he going to allow her to be under the crack-pot who ran that school. No, he had plans for Madam Maxime for refusing his sister; he vowed to burn the school till the flames reached the clouds, so that Bernadette could hold a carnival in its ashes.

His thoughts drifted quickly back to Ginny Weasley. He should have killed her when he'd had the chance. She had been so surprised catching him in her apartment, but the surprise had been shared. He hadn't expected her home either. Had he not seen her with Draco? And Draco wasn't known for letting his conquests retire so...early.

Things weren't making sense to him, and it was all because of one Ginny Weasley. Merlin how he wanted to hurt her, her and Draco.

He could almost taste it, the power of the Cruciatus flowing from his body into hers. He wanted the satisfaction of watching the bitch twitch and moan and beg him to stop, but even more he could taste the power of the Curse as he forced Draco to watch helplessly. It was so close, the glorious feeling of completion at watching them both break, primarily watching Draco's surrender of his confidence and good breeding as he kneeled in his expensive trousers, begging Blaise for salvation. Why not? The bastard deserved it for running away and betraying the Dark Lord the way he had. But not now, now was not the time to let his emotions overrun his better judgment. He could only watch, that was his Master's wish, his Master's order. So he would watch, for now, content in knowing that the time would come when Ginny Weasley would get what she was due.

*~*~*

Sitting at the same island in his kitchen that Ginny had, Ron gratefully accepted the cold butterbeer Harry offered him. His mind was reeling at that moment with the suppressed rage he felt at his young sibling—his young, naive, daft sibling.
"What's he looking for anyway?" Harry asked, sliding on to the smooth top of the counter.

"I don't know. I didn't ask. But if he's looking in Egypt, it's probably some stupid artifact-"

Ron was interrupted with the swing of the kitchen door and Hermione's answer, "A map."

"A what?"

"A map," she repeated, opening the refrigerator door. "Malfoy's searching for a map."

"A map, huh?" Ron asked, fingering his chin.

"Wait, how do you know he's looking for a map?"

He watched Hermione, waiting for her reaction to his subtle accusation. He could see her dark curls flopping and her back stiffening as she stood erect. Shutting the white door and turning slowly to face them, Ron could read the guilt on her face.

"Talk Hermione," he ordered.

"I don't want to be interrupted, no matter what you hear Ron. Do you agree?" she began negotiating. "The only information I have is what I've learned from Ginny, and you know she's not one for being wholly honest."

"Ginny?!" he yelled. "You knew she was working for that scum-bag?!"

"I haven't known for very long, less than a week almost-"

"So you've been walking around, keeping a secret that could potentially put my only sister in a great deal of trouble; is that it?"

"Ron, calm down. Hear Hermione out," Harry ordered, from his perch on the counter.

"You kept her secret from me?" he asked, trying to ignore Harry and focus his anger on Hermione, but he felt his voice soften.

"Only because she asked," Hermione answered.

"'Only because she asked,'" he mimicked. "That's just great Hermione. You never kept me and Harry's secrets when you thought we might scrape our knee, much less die."

Ron looked to his Quidditch-buddy, his confident, his best-friend for justification, but the dark haired boy was intently concentrating on the imaginary dirt that had developed on the thigh of his trousers.

"It's not the same, Ron and you know it. Ginny's a grown woman, who's usually responsible and mature enough to make her own decisions. You two were reckless children-"

"You still told," he interrupted, looking up at her.

"And I never promised you I wouldn't."

The room fell quiet for a moment as the two long time friends stared at each other; the third trying to calculate which move would be the most productive, the move that would bring them closer to a truce.

"Ginny's a grown woman, Ron. Something you've neglected to take into account. She's stronger than you think she is, and I thought she could handle this, dig herself out but apparently I was wrong and for that I apologize. But I won't ask for your forgiveness in keeping her secret. I owed it to her," Hermione explained, her voice lowering from the high pitch it had taken on.

Confused, Ron looked back at her, as he crossed his arms over his chest, "Owed her what?"
"Something," Hermione said, crossing her own arms.

Still confused as to what Hermione was trying to get at, Ron just stared back at her.

"Do you remember that oath you made Harry and me take Ron? The one that if you were captured that no one could find out; that you would rather your mum think that you were dead than to know where you were. Do you remember that?"

Stunned and wounded at the question Hermione asked, Ron looked back at her sulkily. How could she even think to bring that up?

"You don't know what it was like for her, Ron. For six months, six very painful months, I lied to her. Harry and I both did. We lied to her; we lied to your mother-"

"You know what Hermione, I've heard this a hundred times. I know you were right. We all do! You told me it was a trap and now I know it was a trap. You told me I would be captured and now I know I was captured. As usual you knew it all and I now I know it all. I don't need you reminding me every time I fuckin' turn around."

"I was only reminding you of where I am coming from, Ron," she replied, and even though they weren't tears of sadness but anger, Ron could see Hermione's dark eyes watering.

Frustrated he stood from his stool and threw his bottle of butterbeer into the kitchen sink, gaining a small satisfaction in the mixture of glass breaking and beer fizzing against the aluminum sides.

He couldn't think at the moment. His mind was blinded by his anger at Ginny for betraying him so easily, at Hermione for thinking she had the right to bring up painful memories that he alone had had to live through and at Harry just because he sat there being so quiet, so indifferent.

"I'm going to bed," he said, before storming out of the kitchen and taking the stairs two at a time. He slammed his bedroom door, and for the third time that year, splintered its wooden frame, though this time it was out of anger rather than the rough housing he and Harry had done before.

Cheap door, he thought, throwing himself onto the bed and grabbing a bright orange pillow to calm himself.

How could Ginny do this to him? How could she expect him to help Malfoy? Was she mad? A myriad of thoughts were streaming through his mind, but most of them came back to Malfoy and the smug look the pointy faced man wore as he slid into the seat with his sister. How he would love to wipe that smug look off? Watching the fear in Malfoy's eyes as he let Harry shut the iron-barred door to his own little cell in Azkaban, it would be so marvelous. But try as he might, he could never find any evidence to charge much less convict the little ferret with.

Sighing, Ron turned onto his back and closed his eyes. He always thought better laying still. There was something tonight, some slip Malfoy had made. He couldn't think of it at the moment, his mind was too jumbled but it was definitely a slip. Had it been the tempting offer of Blaize Zabini? No, he'd suspected Malfoy had made contact with his old school mate, but still he had nothing concrete to charge him with. Had it been the encouragement to help him? No, Malfoy had been quite tight lipped on his little mission. Yes, that was it; it was the mission itself that had tipped the scales in his favor. With the mass of newly discovered tombs and one of a kind artifacts being stolen from the altars, Egypt was a pretty hot commodity at the moment. Bill had told him so at the Twin's Ball. One of those artifacts had to be what Malfoy was searching for. But Ron couldn't help him find it; the outcome could be horrendous, but if Ron 'caught' him with the nicked goods it would surely be enough evidence for a year's sentence on that tiny little island of death, and not only that, but he would have Zabini as well. He could have both Zabini and Malfoy. Killing two Death Eaters with one stone-

Ron's thoughts were displaced by the mark of a spell hitting his door, the sound of wood cracking as it mended itself. There was silence for a few minutes as he waited for the hinges to whine as the door opened and the sound of footsteps moved into his room.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said, not opening his eyes. He knew it was Harry by the shuffle of his trainers against the rug and the mood that always seemed to follow his friend.

"For what?" he asked, and Ron felt a weight accompanying his own on the mattress as Harry sat at the end.

"The door," he explained, opening his eyes and sitting up to face him. "I was in too much of a strop to mend it myself."

He barely made out the snort Harry made in the dark. "I didn't mend your door. Hermione did. I told her not to. You're the prat who broke it; you should fix it, but you know Hermione."

"Can we not talk about her now?" Ron asked, looking away from him and through the dark to the walls of his room. In the light from the hall, he could make out the few posters he'd hung up.

"Look Ron, y'know I don't like getting between you two and you don't like getting between us and she doesn't-"

"Let's just have it, Harry. What're you getting at?"

"'I'm getting at' that you should give her a break."

"Yeah, you would say that," Ron huffed, his mind reminding him of something Harry had confessed in his sloth-induced stupor at the party over a week ago.

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked, moving closer to him. Ron couldn't see his eyes through the reflection of hall light on his glasses but he knew those green-eyes were trying to read him.

"Nothing," Ron mumbled. "I'm just tired is all, from Ginny and Malfoy-"

Again he heard Harry snort, "What are you planning to do about him?"

"I'm glad you asked that Harry," Ron said, feeling a smile tugging on his lips. "Because I have this plan I think you're going to like very much."

*~*~*

The Ministry Library was a massive structure located separately from the busy employee-filled main office building. It consisted of many separate rooms, for the many separate subjects that needed to be investigated. And each investigation could be extensively researched with the numerous books that filled the floor to ceiling bookshelves that lined every room along with the long oak tables.

As impressive and comfortable as it was, Pansy still disliked following Hermione Granger around it. Actually, she hated doing anything with Granger, but it was Draco's order to get out of his hair and accompany Granger and Weasley on their last-minute research trip. It seemed Ronald Weasley had finally come to his senses, owling Draco and telling him that he would help, but only if Harry could come too. With great grievance Draco accepted. Pansy didn't know what had pushed him to concede, but because of it, she now stood between two aisles on The Ramifications of Mummification, without Weasley.

Granger was unnaturally quiet as she filled her red trolley with books, not even acknowledging Pansy's existence, which unnerved her. If she was going to be stuck with the bushy haired bookworm, she might as well have her wit sharpened with some friendly or not so friendly banter.
"I heard Weasley traded you and Potter in for one Blaise Zabini. Two for one, how do you feel about that?" Pansy asked, hoping to at least rise an answer out of her.

She smiled at gaining a sigh from the dainty girl's lips. "Pansy, if you can't remember, I'll gladly remind you. I'm not Ron or Harry. I don't get baited by people like you. Besides, Ron would never trade in me and Harry. We all made the decision to do this together."

Satisfied with Granger's reaction, Pansy smiled, lazily fingering the different spines of the shelved books, "I don't know Granger. People would do a lot to further their own careers and from everything I've read, Weasley's career is in a spot of trouble."

"You can read?" Hermione asked, sincerely.

Pansy stopped her stroking of the rough spines, to watch Granger kneel down to retrieve a book. She was trying to determine how to answer the other brunette's question, when it dawned on her that it was Granger's form of an insult.

"Check out the wit on Granger," she complimented.

She saw the Head girl's body stiffen as she tossed another book on top of the pile- Granger was going to ignore her, again.

Resigning herself to the silence, Pansy followed sulkily behind her. She glanced up and down one of dark aisles as they passed another row of tall shelves; for a place of reading, it was awfully lit and very creepy. Pansy found herself gravitating to Granger until the short girl's bushy hair was nearly pressed to Pansy's nose.

"What are we looking for anyway?" Pansy asked, causing Granger to jump from the sudden question.

"I'm looking for a book." she answered, stepping away from Pansy. You're going back to the table."

How do Potter and Weasley do it? Pansy asked herself, narrowing her eyes at Granger.

"Are you always this defensive?" she asked, sidling up to her. Sizing Granger up, she hugged her own book to her chest.

"Only when you're around," she mumbled, making a turn with her trolley and moving down the next row. "Just go back to the table, Pansy. I know my way around. I promise I won't get lost."

Pansy looked around at the looming aisles; they all looked the same to her.

"Yes... Well, I will," she reluctantly answered.

"What did you say?" Hermione asked.

Pansy exhaled loudly, "You might know your way about this place, Granger but I certainly do not. I might wonder off and never be seen again."

"Yes, that would be a shame."

"I'm serious, Granger," Pansy whined but the look of pity from Granger's brown eyes made her wish she hadn't opened her mouth. On the other hand, she would rather suffer Granger's sympathy than be abandoned inside this crypt of literature.

Hermione sighed, "C'mon. I'll take you back to our table."

Pansy followed Hermione back to their table, and they unloaded the stack of tomes together. She wasn't too interested in the books that Hermione had brought, but was engulfed in the one she'd /borrowed/ from Draco. It was uncommonly difficult to read and there were many passages she had to question Granger about.

"All this is useless," she said slowly, lowering the book she was reading onto the table.

"What do you mean useless?"

"I mean this," she said, lifting the heavy book and turning it to face Granger, "It's written here that you're going to need one to touch any of the artifacts Draco's trying to find, and from what I see we don't have anything remotely close to this."

"Is that all?" Hermione asked, not hiding her annoyance at Pansy's continual nagging.

"No there was something about blood too, but I didn't read too much into that." She held the picture up to Granger, the gray blade and jewels of the beautifully illustrated page-size dagger, reflecting in the light-brown of her eyes.

"I feel like I've seen this before," the brunette said, shaking her finger at it and opening a new book with her other hand.

Pansy heard the double-doors behind Granger open. Looking up, she watched Weasley walk through the threshold, a thick shoulder-strap, from her giant bag, crossing her oversized green sweater.

"Afternoon," she greeted, taking the awful knit-cap she wore off her head, freeing her tangles of uncombed hair.

"You're late," they both shouted. Surprised, Pansy turned to her research partner who was already looking at her with an identical expression of shock.

"Sorry-" the redhead started, but the rest of her apology died on the air, as she stared at the volume Pansy was holding. Her dark-eyes, which didn't hold the comeliness of her brother's color, narrowed on the book, as if her thick-lashes would help her identify the picture easier, "What's this?"

Sneering, Pansy turned the book around to conceal the picture from Weasley's vision and finish the paragraph she had been reading before pointing out Draco's hitch to Granger, "Just something Draco's going to regret not having."

"Oh, you're just so helpful, Pansy. I wonder why Draco didn't bring you 'round sooner," she replied sarcastically.

"It's the dagger of-" she looked down at the papers, chewing on the insides of her cheek, "Hell, I can't even pronounce it."

Pansy heard Granger's sigh at her incompetence, "We need it for-" She felt Granger's eyes fall on her, "Exactly, why do we need it Pansy?"

"It's used in part of the ritual that I spoke about earlier, but she would have known had Weasley gotten here on time. From what I read it's very important, but even rarer. There was exactly one forged-"

"So Draco needs it?" Weasley asked, simplifying it.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy answered her, "Obviously you weren't using that half-brain the Gods loaned you Weasley or you would have already known the answer."

"Do shut-up, Pansy. It took you twenty-minutes and a lot of different questions to get through three pages of that book."

"Thank-you Hermione, but I believe I can hold my own against the "Black-witchow" half-wit."

Pansy inwardly cringed at the nickname Lita Gross had dubbed her in the Daily Prophet after the death of her husband. She had never been a fan of the journalist, but her dislike had turned to hatred as more and more stories emerged about Pansy's ill chosen discretions after the birth of her child, giving children like Ginny Weasley an armor of insults.

"Cute Weasel? Wherever did you read that from? I only ask because from a mutual associate of ours, I hear that you lack both the creativity and mind to craft something so...witty."

"That's enough Pansy," Hermione scolded.

"Come now, Granger. You know you've thought it before." Weasley's eyes narrowed on her and all Pansy could see were dark-cinnamon slits where her eyelashes met.

"If either of you see Draco...I mean Malfoy," she took a deep breath, clutching her pink freckled forehead. "If he ever turns up... tell him I'll owl him later. I need to go."

"Ginny," Hermione called, climbing out of her chair. She caught up with the petite redhead in less than a stride and turned her around by the arm. "Don't leave because Pansy's being a harpy. It's just her natural behaviour."

"I'm not leaving because of her, Hermione."

"Then why are you abandoning me to research with that," she asked, nodding her head at the table behind her and the abandoned Pansy who was intently eavesdropping into their conversation.

"Sorry, but there's something I forgot at the office and I don't want to be tardy for my appointment anyway," she explained, trying to express her sympathy.

Hermione studied Ginny for a moment with eyes of jealousy and a scowl of disappointment. Why was Ginny allowed to escape the wrath of Pansy Parkinson?

"Well, promise you'll pop-back as soon as you can spare a minute. I really don't want to be left with her any longer than absolutely needed," Hermione made her vow.

"I promise." The redhead smiled, capturing her unkempt hair under her colorful knit-cap, tugging it down to her dark eyebrows, before hugging Hermione goodbye.

Hermione stood rooted on the dark marble stoned spot until Ginny had completely disappeared visually and audibly from her range before forcing herself to turn around and face a very smug Pansy.

*~*~*

Ginny's body involuntarily cringed as the weight of the Zabini Dagger hit her thigh, with each step she took down the stairs. Her mind could picture its sharp mirror blade, sliding through the other items of her purse and piercing the skin of her thigh. But what worried her more was the feel of guilt and nerve induced sweat forming on her lower back under her sweater. By putting that dagger, that cataloged evidence, in her bag she was officially stealing from the Ministry of Magic, and that was a Trouble that no one's contacts would ever be able to dig her out of.
It had been easy enough to steal with Peter and Holly leaving early but she still couldn't calm her nerves as every co-worker's eyes seemed to be drilling holes into her. Did they know? No, of course they didn't. It would be impossible for them to know, but that fact still didn't steady the nervous giggles that frequently escaped her lips.

Successfully suppressing a fit of anxious giggles, Ginny passed two bickering witches on the staircase.

She was stealing from her place of employment and for what? A man who saw her as nothing more than a distraction. No, she wasn't doing this for him. She was doing it for a woman she'd never met but who like her late-mother was defenseless, dying, and deserved the second chance her son was fighting for.

Ginny felt her conscience and her breathing settling as she rationalized her behavior. She stepped off the staircase and onto the very short hall of the Department of Magical Transportation, and found the office she was looking for. On a small gold marker in black lettering read: Portkey Division, Office of Ernie Macmillian. She softly knocked on the amply waxed door and when she didn't get a reply, she opened it. Well, she reasoned, He should have been expecting her they did have an appointment.

The look of Ernie's office, like Hermione's, displayed the signs of his anal-retentive personality. Taking in his brightly color-coded files, his neatly scrolled maps, and his all around sterilely clean office, made Ginny question why the staff at Hogwarts had ever chosen Draco to rule as Head boy with Hermione. Ernie would have been the much better choice or at least he wouldn't have disagreed as much as Draco had.

But Ginny's idea of Ernie's passive behavior was disturbed by the sound of a voice or, more discernible, the sound of a yell that she recognized was that of the former Hufflepuff, "What do you mean by four P-keys have been stolen?"

Their was an indistinct murmuring from the fireplace he was kneeling by and then more yelling, "How do you know that the people who ordered them didn't use them?"

More grumbling.

"Oh...Oh! I see...I see," Ernie sighed, resting on the heels of his feet. He looked over his shoulder, almost glaring at Ginny before he turned back to the flames in his fireplace. "I'll have to get back to you, my appointment's here."


Ernie crawled up from the floor, flopping down into his oversized chair with a sigh, "You're late," he said, lining the neatly grouped quills atop his desk.

"Sorry," she apologized, sitting down in one of the two chairs in the cramped office. "Did I interrupt something? Because I can reschedule-"

"No. No, it's fine. It's nothing I'm not going to have to cleanup later." he sighed, looking at his color-coded folders. "Now, what did you come to see me about?"

"I need a Portkey," Ginny replied, giving him her most charming smile. She'd heard asking for favors outside of your department was always hard especially when involving travel.

Ernie picked up an orange tipped quill in his chubby hand and opened a desk-drawer pulling out an orange folder. "Where to?" he asked, scribbling down on the form inside.

"Thebes or more importantly Luxor. Only, if you can manage it of course?"

"I can't," he replied, shutting the folder and placing his quill back in its spot. "Ministry Rules, No Portkeys into Africa 'till after the New Year."

"What about an Apparation Point?" Ginny asked, confused.

Ernie shook his head, calmly laying his clasped hands on his desk.

"What? Why not?" she questioned, becoming angry at Ernie's uncaring behavior.

Ernie grabbed his wand from its hiding space between his quills and tapped it lightly against the wall behind his desk. The maps that sat above his fireplace morphed into continents and countries until Africa slowly turned into Egypt.

"Ministry Rules, have it written at the moment that this area," a red beam, shining from the point of his wand, circled all of the country, "shall not have any form of outside influence for it is under great duress at the moment. It's pretty top-secret but it seems they're having some sort of Mummy problem down there. Nothing too serious I hear."

Ginny's first thoughts were of Bill before she realized that he was in Paris until March visiting with his fiancé's family. But instantly they turned to the problem at hand. She threw her head back onto the wooden headrest of her chair, regretting it as she only garnered herself a headache, "Who wrote these stupid rules?"

Ernie's usually pleasant face took on a scowl as he replied stiffly, "I did."

The feeling of discomfort at his words, Ginny tried her form of an apology, "Oh, well they're not really that stupid."

"I think our meeting's over Miss Weasley," Ernie replied, with an uncharacteristic coldness.

Ginny could feel her opportunity slipping away in Ernie's tone. He had obviously taken more offense to her slip, than he should have.

"Ernie," she started in a sickly sweet tone that unnerved her, "I can call you Ernie right?"

At Ernie's cringe Ginny thought, Maybe not.

"Look, Ernie, I know I criticized your 'Rules' and I know my brothers haven't been quiet on keeping their opinions to themselves on the same matters. But could you please make an exception just this one time, and just give us a little clearance to use a Portkey."

Ginny held her breath, looking directly into Ernie's pale eyes as she waited for his answer.

The round features of his face dropped from the scowl to one of regret, "No, Miss Weasely I won't but-"

"But it's a life and death situation!" she shouted, standing up.


"Sit down, Miss Weasely. If you had let me finish, I was going to say but I can get you and your party onto a train that should bring you into the vicinity of Luxor, Egypt. Now, that's all I have to offer you. You can take it or leave it. The choice is yours."

"I'll take it," Ginny breathed. She would worry later about what Draco was thinking, but at the moment she was just happy to have their travel finalized.

*~*~*

It was an odd feeling having the silent paintings of the Price Estate staring down at you with suspicion in their cold blue-eyes. It was even stranger to have them look so much like your own family and not have a relation in the entire bunch, or so thought Ron as he averted his gaze staring back down at the intricate patterns of the rug he stood on. He admitted that not every redhead resembled the other, but admiring paintings of his friend Wesley was like looking into his own reflection.

Stranger were the pictures of Wesley's wedding that lined the black body of the home's grand piano. To see his friend smiling back at him from the confines of a wooden frame, he seemed so happy and carefree and so far from the world of war and pain—so very far from the battle that would take him away from his wife and child and the life he deserved to live.

Ripping his eyes from the piano, Ron told himself "It's not your fault," It was a mantra that Harry had donated, even though Ron knew Harry still blamed himself for a death that happened when he was only fourteen-years old.

"It wasn't your fault," he whispered to himself, leaving the archway of the sitting room.

"What are you whispering about?" Pansy asked, appearing at the height of the stairs, long periwinkle robes draping her body and a giant hat that reached from one of her shoulders to the other.

"Nothing," he replied quickly and for the first time noticed the unearthly quiet of the home. Putting his hand down to the child's height, he asked, "Where's the midget?"

"At the Parkinson's Estate in Bath with my brother, Peter and his wife. I sent our only house-elf with her too," she answered, sounding put-out having to survive without a servant.

"Damn, however are you going to get around with out your help?"

"I'm not," she answered. "Fetch my trunk will you?"

"You have arms, 'fetch' your own bloody trunk," Ron answered. Who did she think she was? She couldn't honestly believe that he was some sort of Man Servant, could she?

"You can't be serious," she drawled, looking at him with what could only be described as shock.

"As a Dark Lord," he said dryly. "Now pick it up and let's move," he ordered, showing her his back as he turned towards the door.

By the absence of heels on marble he correctly assumed that she wasn't following him and turned to find her standing on the bottom step her thin lips parted.

"Now, Pansy," he ordered, pointing up the stairs where her luggage sat immobile.

Her dark blue eyes narrowed on him for an instant as she turned around to march her way up the stairs, her thin heels clicking violently against the bare marble staircase. She turned around on him when she reached the landing, watching him with narrowed eyes as she pulled her wand from a pocket in her robes and shrunk her trunks to half their size.

"Unlike you, who clearly couldn't careless about his appearance. I refuse to walk about in wrinkled clothing, Weasley," she sneered, grabbing her two half-sized trunks and dragging them down the marble staircase. Ron cringed as the metal accents that adorned the corners of her trunk scraped the rug-less stone making a sound close to that of nails being dragged across a blackboard. But Pansy didn't seem bothered at all as she let one of the trunks fall down the last three stairs landing too close to his foot.

Looking down at the heavy antique trunk at his feet, he asked, "So... you're ready?"

"Yes, I suppose I am," she answered. "Where's it at?"

"Where's what?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"The Portkey," she answered, rolling her big eyes.

"We're not at Hogwarts anymore. We can Apparate to Diagon Alley y'know," he answered with sauciness, that was uncharacteristic to him.

"I can't," she said quickly.

"What... is Pansy Parkinson-Price too good to Apparate like everyone else?" he asked, satisfied in the grimace she shot back.

"No, you idiot!" she answered. "I can't Apparate; I never got my licence."

"Well, I don't have a Portkey so you're just going to have to find your own way there," he said, lifting his wand ready to Apparate.

Pansy held her hand up, her demeanor changing as quickly as her lacy blue glove shot up to stop him, "Let's Floo together," she offered.

Ron looked back at her. Was she truly this dependent on people? How did Wesley ever survive a year of marriage with her?

"Why can't you Floo by yourself?"

"Because I don't want to," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Please?" she pleaded.

As she looked up at him, her blue eyes widening, her red lips pouting, and her pin-curls bouncing with her fidgets, she reminded Ron so much of a child that he almost felt pity for her.

"Where are we Flooing in?" he asked, giving in.

"Just follow my lead Weasley," she answered smiling.

"Another order," Ron mumbled, following her to the massive fireplace. She took the black antique urn from the mantle above her head, grabbing a handful of glittering pink powder and spreading it into the flames, she shouted,"Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions."

Stupid Girl, Madam Malkin's isn't on the Floo Network? was Ron's last thought as he repeated her gesture and disappeared from the fireplace.

The stacks of boxes, yard-spools of bright fabrics, and half-finished robes, proved to Ron that Pansy was right, Madam Malkin's indeed was connected to the Floo Network, but her fireplace must have been in a storage room. He looked for Pansy and found her sitting on her knees by her trunks, brushing herself off with her gloves, her face gray with ash and Ron ran a hand over his own to erase the signs of cinder.

"What?" she asked gloomily, wiping the last remaining specs from her robes.

Standing, she tried balancing her two trunks and opening the door for him into what was certainly Madam Malkin's shop on Diagon Alley though Ron had never seen it from this angle before.

"Pansy Perpetua Parkinson," Madam Malkin greeted, abandoning the customer in her shop and rushing over to the door that Pansy had opened. "You haven't been in my shop in ages. Where have you been?" she started with a line of questioning that bored Ron quickly.

"I'm going to wait outside," he whispered behind her, but Pansy grabbed his arm tightly digging her nails into his bicep, immobilizing him.

Only letting go when the squat woman turned to help a customer, "We're not staying here longer than we must," she hissed at him through a forced smile, trying to march him between the rounders of colorful robes and balance her luggage.

"Perpetua? Ron asked, stepping out of the shop door she he held open for her.

"Don't," she ordered, not looking at him as she dragged her trunks across the threshold.

"Don't what?" he asked, innocently.

"I don't know, but whatever it is just don't," she demanded.

"Whatever you say...Perpetua," he answered, behind a laugh.

She tilted her head to throw what Ron suspected to be her best death glare but he just smirked to show how unaffected he was as he walked behind her effortlessly carrying his own shrunken trunk in his hand.

When she turned back, Ron looked back over the street. There weren't many people out today, but it must have been from the early frost they had received.

"Merlin!" She abruptly turned and dropped her trunk at his feet, causing Ron to trip. Landing painfully on the wooden walkway, his own trunk flew an arm's length away.

"You dropped your trunk you dumb cow!" he yelled, crawling over to retrieve his shrunken trunk before standing and dusting the dirt from his trousers.

"It's beautiful," she exhaled, evidently ignoring the mini-rant he'd just delivered.

"What're you going on about now?" he asked, annoyed at her obliviousness at the events happening around her.

"Wait here and watch my things, Weasel," she said, not bothering to direct it at him.

"Is that an order?"

"Just do it," she commanded, opening the door to the shop.

Girl must be mad, Ron thought turning his back to her trunks.

"She can watch her own bloody luggage," he grumbled to himself, searching the pockets of his robes for the fresh apple he had stashed earlier in the day. It was barely from his pocket before he began shining it on his dark robe.

Taking the first bite of his breakfast, he was amused in the crunchy sound the skin made against teeth. He leaned onto one of the wooden posts outside the store she had run into, savoring the sweet taste of his fruit and scanning the few wizards and witches roaming the street.

How had he gotten himself into this? How had he let his life come to accepting offers or having even trades with the evil Ferret? What would his father think about that? He'd be so disappointed. What or who brought him to this?

Ron was pulled from his self-inflicted interrogation as the sound of snickering behind him grabbed his attention. He turned quickly around, his hand deep in his pocket, feeling the comfort of smooth wood against his fingers, but his instincts were wrong as a group of youths ran off, their colourful cloaks flying out behind them.

Youths...No respect for their elders, Ron thought with disdain, returning to his apple. He was in mid-bite when an elderly owl landed on the sign above him, a letter tied neatly to its small leg. Ron shrugged, finishing his apple with a few more bites, before he let it fall to the ground before him. He looked back up at the owl, its huge amber eyes staring back down at him as it balanced on one claw to offer him its other.

Ron opened it up and immediately recognized his sister's handwriting,

Ron,
Portkey was a No-Go. Plans had to be changed. I've enclosed two tickets for you and Pansy and also a Portkey to the Station. I would have written sooner, but I've only received confirmation from Malfoy this morning.

The Portkey should activate five minutes after you make skin contact. I'm sorry for your inconvenience with the traveling and Pansy. I know she can be a pain in the arse.

-Your Favorite Sister,
Ginny


"Damn," he said aloud, scanning the letter again.

Ron smelled the floral influences of a perfume but still jumped when a female voice spoke in his ear "Who's that from?"

He tilted his head to see Pansy standing behind him, her bright eyes looking over his shoulder at the letter he had. He could feel her pressing whatever she had carried from the store into his back and it was big and round.

"My sister," he replied, dumbly.

"When are they going to arrive?" she asked, not moving from behind his shoulder.

"They're not." She looked at him quizzically and he could see from her eyes she was trying to read him. "We're taking a train. I've got the tickets and the Portkey," he said, dumping the two tickets and the small gold feather pendant into his hand.

"Oh," she replied stepping away from him and Ron was happy she did because the smell of her perfume was beginning to make him dizzy.

He turned around to face her and saw that what was pressed against his back was a giant hat box much bigger than the one she had brought on the trip. It swished from side to side as Pansy looked at the ground around her quizzically, as if she just noticed something, "Weasley?" she asked and he could hear the worry in her voice, "Where are my things?"

*~*~*

Ernie Macmillian knew how to travel in style or at least that's what Ginny thought as she reclined into the comfortable pillows of her seat. The train he had booked for them was easily to find when they arrived at the station, being the only robin's egg blue locomotive bound for Egypt and it was void of passengers- most likely from the plague that Egypt was suffering- giving them free reign over all the compartments. And the compartments were beautiful, it was obvious the interior designer was seduced by the Indian culture as everything was lavished with intricate patterns of beautiful reds and golds; a fact she believed was torturing Draco and the reason he'd retired to his own personal compartment.

The thought of him made her both sigh in relief and abhorrence. What was she supposed to do about him? He'd ignored her since the restaurant 'incident' and she couldn't bring herself to ask him why he'd been so cold, so detached. Had she done something wrong? Yes, of course, she thought with sarcasm; she was the distraction and he had to rid himself of distractions didn't he?

Sighing again, she began toying with the bottle of sun tan lotion she'd bought for him. When she had seen it in the store, she'd instantly thought of him and had to buy it, but now from the way he'd been treating her she was having second thoughts.

"Is something wrong, Ginny?" Hermione asked, disturbing her thoughts.

Tilting her head on the beaded pillow, Ginny looked over to Hermione and Harry who sat huddled over a large set of blueprints that Bill had lent them. "No," she answered, airily.

"It certainly sounds as if there's a problem," Hermione said, referring to Ginny's sulky exhales.

"Well...working for a Malfoy tends to cause problems," Harry offered, surprising Ginny by speaking up.

"What would you know about it, Harry?" she asked, sitting up.

"I don't," he admitted, "But I know Malfoy and wherever he happens to be, you can guarantee there is going to be trouble."

"Funny," Ginny replied, playfully tossing Draco's bottle of suntan lotion at him and to no one's surprise he easily caught it. "Draco would have the same to say about you."

Harry snorted, lightly tossing the colorful plastic bottle back to her. "I bet my new Comet that Drac-O has a lot more to say about me than that."

"Actually," Ginny started but the loud crack of their compartment door opening caused her to halt their repartee. She watched as Ron, who was red to his ears and carrying a trunk and oddly an enormous hatbox, stepped into their railroad car, slamming the sliding door behind him. Ginny could see Pansy on the other side of the glass window struggling with the door handle. She, Harry, and Hermione sat speechless as he opened the small storage nook and savagely beat the luggage into fitting. She was opening her mouth to ask her sibling what was wrong, when Pansy stepped in, slamming the abused door behind her. She looked as equally harassed as the young Auror did; her matching large hat slightly askew and her normally perfect brown ringlets were reduced to the point of being considered waves. Her pale face was bright red and her mouth was fixed in a scowl.

Harry was the first to break the tense silence and speak up, "What in the-"

"Don't ask!" they barked in unison. Each sneered as they slid around the other in the small hall between the seats and Ginny swore she heard growling as they marched away from the other.

Running a hand through his mussed black hair Harry started, "Yeah...We're going to." He pointed in the direction Ron had taken.

"Totally understandable," Ginny answered. Her brother obviously needed his two best friends more than she did.

She watched as they both stood, slightly swaying as the train lunged into departure. She looked back at Pansy who sat, red faced, legs and arms crossed, her hair less than perfect from the surrender of her hat to the seat, and the tiniest traces of black soot on her low-cut robes and under her eyes.

"What?!" Pansy screeched, causing Ginny to relinquish their large compartment and find refuge in another.

She walked down the narrow hall, enjoying the slight sway the magical train had as it passed over rough terrain. But something in her stopped as she approached Draco's compartment. He'd insisted on having his own and now that she watched him from his compartment's door, she knew why. It was dark, comfortable, and much like Draco himself.

Surprisingly, for travel Draco had jarred his style, his shirt was neither black nor gray but a royal blue that made his usually translucent eyes pop with color. Its tail was tucked snugly into his dark trousers, revealing his matching leather belt and its small silver buckle that shined against the black of his trousers and waistband. She was amazed the way he didn't once abandon his correct posture even as his legs stretched the distance between the two seats to rest his ankle-crossed feet.

One hand held open his book, a journal, she had seen him with before while the other occupied itself in curling the short locks from the back of his head. If the book itself hadn't been present, she would have wondered if he had been reading at all. He didn't demonstrate any of the typical habits that other readers usually gave into. His lips didn't move as his mind gave pronunciation to each word. His pale eyes didn't rove quickly over every page in a flurry to finish it, instead they seemed to absorb each inked sentence. His face was completely impassive as he read over what could have been the pouring of someone's soul, their dreams, their aspirations, or simply the ingredients of treacle fudge. He was as still and relaxed as Harry had been before she'd thrown the suntan lotion at him and without think she tossed the bottle at Draco too.

To her amazement and relief he snatched it from the air as quickly as his old-rival had.

"Now Weasley," he started, not looking up from his book or moving to bring the bottle down from where he'd caught it. "Are you going to stand, throwing things at me from that threshold all day or are you going to come in?"

"I suppose I'll come in," she said, stepping inside. He had sat himself in the center of the long seat and gave no impression he was intending to move so she slid next to his feet.

"What do you want Weasley?" he asked, still not looking up from his book.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. He was certainly being very aloof today, barely speaking to her as they had boarded the train, choosing a train car away from her and the rest of their company.

"I don't usually have conversations with people who talk to books," she said, bending at her waist and tapping the top of his book with her finger.

"No, just people who converse through them," he replied. Draco looked up at her and from the almost apologetic expression he wore she worried her own might be more pathetic than angry.

"So, what's this?" he asked quickly, trying to fill the tense silence that had fallen. His eyes falling on the bottle she'd thrown.

"I thought you might need it 'cause of last time you were in Egypt you burned," she said, gesturing to her face with her hand. "I assumed you wouldn't want to relive that."

"Though I thank you for the gesture, it really wasn't necessary. I've got my goal-posts covered," he tossed it back to her one-handed and Ginny caught it.

She sighed as he turned back to his book and she let her eyes drift to the scenery speeding by her window. She could barely see past the gray fog that had developed on the glass from the cold outside.

"I still don't see how you didn't know about sunburn. I mean you played Quidditch too-"

He cut her off with the sharp crack of his book being shut one handed, "Since you are so determined to keep me from reading this book, I guess I'll indulge you in a little Malfoy trade. Ever heard of Antidotium Adustus?" Ginny shook her head no and Draco continued in a more flat voice than before, "I shouldn't have expected you to; it's very advanced healing magic. You could probably learn more about it in that book I bought you on Diagon Alley."

"Potions for Every Ailment?"

"That would be the one," he answered, softly pulling his legs down and placing his feet on the floor.

Ginny slid down the seat to sit where his feet had been, sitting directly before of him.

"I never did thank-you for that," she said, her voice coming out a little deeper than she'd meant.

"I'm sure I'll think of something later," he answered, smirking. There was a glitter in his eyes that she hadn't seen before.

"Anyway, the spell itself involves very complicated wrist movements and exact pronunciation for it to work properly-"

"Yes but you still haven't told me why you didn't know," she interrupted.

Draco sighed aloud at her impatience, his breath telling her of his aggravation. "I was getting to that. The charm lasts an average of eight to ten years and protects the skin from any solar exposure."

"That's some charm," she noted.

She saw his ash-brows furrow a little and when he spoke his voice was flat, "Yes, it is. Ten years worth."

Ten years…Who would put an entire decade's worth of charm on their child? What kind of person could think that was a good idea? She'd heard of people having tracking and protective charms placed on their toddlers but they were quite expensive spells and usually lasted for less than a week.

"Wait!" Ginny exclaimed. "You're tellin' me, you had a charm on you for ten years and you didn't know. You didn't feel it?"

"If you are asking me if I was aware of it then my answer is no?"

Ginny arched her eyebrow at him letting him know her doubt. He sighed, rubbing the brown leather spine of his book across his fingers, "Haven't your parents ever done things that you just accepted? You just didn't question? You just followed because you trusted them to know, to do the right thing?

"No," she answered honestly, feeling a bit disturbed that he did.

Instantly, his eyes took on their steely gray again narrowing with hostility on hers. She could feel in the atmosphere that his persona was shifting, from a man looking for understanding to one that didn't want to understand, "Well, then. There's another difference between you and me, Ginny Weasley." he snapped, opening his book, signifying the end of their conversation.

Ginny looked at his bent head; he had indeed returned to his book, but his eyes didn't move at all as he concentrated on the handwritten pages. She wondered if he was actually reading or just looking for a distraction from her. She sighed, reclining back in her seat rubbing the smooth bottle and taking in the steadily changing scenery.

*~*~*

The remainder of the ride to Luxor was uneventful with the exception of Ron and Pansy throwing insults at each other. Draco wasn't completely sure but from what he could discern it seemed that Brother Weasley had lost the sum of Pansy's luggage in some youthful-thug related conspiracy, or at least that was Pansy's accusation.

He didn't speak to anyone as they deserted the train station, each traveler shouldering their own luggage, with the exception of Pansy who forced Weasley to carry her hatbox. He followed the path led by Ginny and Granger through Wizard Luxor, listening to their girlish voices as they argued over the directions the pompous Hufflepuff, Macmillian gave them. There were only three bloody main streets how hard was it to navigate, he thought gloomily passing the National Wizarding Bank of Egypt and onto another street.

It would be an understatement to say that Draco was glad when they finally found their hotel and he was able to settle into a plush chair. The lobby was deserted, with the exception of a small American family that sat quietly together on one of the long sofas the hotel offered. But he paid them no mind as he watched the exchange of foreign language between Granger, Pansy, and the House of Life Hotel's manager.

Boring easily with their unintelligible conversation, he opened his leather pouch rescuing his tin of sweets that he had hidden there. He slyly uncovered one from its shiny red wrapper and tossed the tin and all back in before anyone would have the audacity to ask him to share. They'd been traveling all day without one bite to eat and Draco savored the burning taste of cinnamon against his tongue. Taking another look around at his busy companions, Draco opened the journal he'd been carrying.

The author, Seraphim White had been quite the interesting vampire. Destructive and sadistic? Yes, but never-the-less interesting.

I traveled here from Germany and have to admit to myself that things are quite different. At least I believe they are different from my homeland, because my memories have begun to blur with the passing of each year-

The click of heels on stone approaching him caused Draco to suspend his reading once more to discover the two brunettes that had been speaking with the manager moments before, were approaching him.

Granger as usual had to start speaking first, "The manager says he is happy to take us in for the evening, but-"

"-Tomorrow we're going to need to find another form of shelter," Pansy piped in.

"Why?" asked, Ron. "Are they closing down or something?"

"Because this-" Hermione paused as Pansy handed Ron and Harry the large map they'd been carrying. Draco could see different fluorescent lines and marks leading the different predetermined routes that the girls must have just written because they hadn't been there when Ginny had been holding it earlier. "-is entirely too far to travel to and from."

"Travel?" Potter asked. "What do you mean by travel? Why can't we just Apparate?"

"Because the Ministry has strict rules against it at the moment," Draco trailed a look at Potter to give his best "I know something you don't know" glare, "Wards, Potter. The Ministry has installed Wards."

"Well, what would they do that for?" Potter asked and Draco could hear from his tone that Potter refused to believe him.

"An uncontrollable, destructive, roving Mummy," Ginny offered, nonchalantly. Draco dared a glance in her direction. She was comfortably sitting on her end of the sofa, her hair a red curtain around her as she read the magazine laying open her thighs.

"A mummy?!" He heard Pansy's screech.

He abandoned reasons to listen to Auror Weasley, as he was confident Ginny would have knowledge of the exact same story, and he'd much rather hear it from her.

"Y'know Weasley, you could have informed me of the homicidal Mummy before dragging me down here."

"If I remember correctly, you were the one so eager to get here," she shot back, and for a moment Draco was taken aback. Why was Weasley so hacked off?

"So?" he countered.

But Ginny didn't answer as Granger attempted to gather everyone's attention again, "We have four rooms but only two of them have their own bathing-room, so-"

"Wait," Draco interrupted, holding up his finger to stop her. "I'm going to have to share a bathing-room with you lot?"

Granger's reply was throwing a small silver thing towards his face but he easily caught it and turned it over to discover it was a skeleton key, "No, Malfoy," she replied in a crackled voice caused by forced polite voice. "You and Pansy will share one and we will share the other."

"Right then," Draco said, feeling a bit more relaxed at the prospect of not sharing the same toilet with Potter. He stood with his trunk in hand to march up the stairs, rid himself of his companions, and order himself something edible.

*~*~*

Ron stepped out of the warm steam from his shower, quickly drying the skin over his muscles and scars, before pulling on the white T-shirt he'd left draping over the porcelain rim of the sink. Tapping his wand against the mirror, the fog immediately drifted away, giving him a clear reflection of himself. He shook out the water from his hair, reveling in the feel of being clean. He loved being clean. Once Harry had accused him of being obsessed with it, but Harry just didn't understand. He didn't know what it was like not bathing for months, not having the simple pleasure of touching your face and feeling your skin and not dirt and blood. Giving his strawberry hair a final shake, Ron opened the door, expecting to find Harry or Hermione in his room but who was bent over his trunk surprised him.

"Pansy, what do you think you're doing?" he questioned, swiftly moving over to his trunk.

"Looking for clothes. You?" she calmly answered, not bothering to remove herself from his luggage.

"Stopping you..." he replied, forcing her to sit back on her calves and feet, which wasn't simple since all she wore was a red and gold hotel towel, and shutting his trunk. "Now what were you doing going through my things, Pansy?"

She looked aggravated, staring up at him, "I told you, I was looking for clothes.

The expression he gave her encouraged her on.

"Since someone, namely you, had all of my luggage stolen except for one hat box. I'm pretty pinched for clothing."

Ron studied her for a moment, debating with himself if that was the true reason she had been in his trunk. From her lack of clothing at the moment and the fact that he indeed did misplace her luggage he was almost positive she wasn't lying.

"Why don't you just go out and buy something?" he asked.

"From here?" He nodded.

"Okay ew," she replied, giving him a look as if she'd just stepped into something foul. "All they have is Muggle shops and what's it matter anyway Weasley? All I want to borrow is a bloody shirt."

He just stared down at her as he sat himself on his bed. He could see she was trying to give him her best pleading look but it wasn't going to work on him again; he could assure her that. But she kept looking up with those big eyes of hers and Ron felt his resolve lessening.

"Well...What about trousers? I assure you mine wouldn't be the right fit," he replied.

Taking his answer as a yes, Pansy opened his trunk again. Submerged herself up to her elbows in his clothes, before answering "I have trousers covered, I just borrowed a pair of your sister's."

"Ginny's? But she's shorter than Hermione?" he asked puzzled as he felt his head instinctively tilting to give himself a better look at the skin of her thighs that her towel was exposing as she buried herself deeper into his trunk.

"Yes, but Granger put a lock on her trunk."

"Wait...what?" he asked, hoping she'd repeat her answer. He hadn't been really listening or paying her voice any mind at all, the first time.

Pansy didn't answer but sat up with his faded orange T-shirt in hand. "The Chudley Cannons?" she asked, "What are you some kind of fair weather fan? Think that just because your friend happens to be their newest seeker or that they're actually winning you can just jump aboard?"

"What?" he asked, flustered by her sudden interrogation.

"I was a fan when they were losing three-hundred to zero, and fans like you-" she continued.

"Like me!" he interrupted. "Sorry to break it to ya' Pansy but I was a fan long before you ever picked up a broom."

"Really?" she asked with a mixture of surprise and unveiled respect. Her crystal eyes appraising him like an impressive set of designer robes.

Ron watched her critique of him accepting the opportunity to do the same. Like this, she wasn't half-bad looking. Her hair dark was wet and dripping water down her back, her clean face exposing her natural flaws taking away the attention that was always centered on her nose, and most importantly she looked defenseless but comfortable, even with her judging eyes looking at him over his bright orange T-shirt.

"You're a Chudley Cannons fan?" he asked, breaking their silent evaluations with a question of doubt. "I thought Slytherins only liked winners."

"Yes, well...Let's just keep that our little secret shall we?" she smiled an odd genuine smile, before bending over his trunk again and retrieving a ball of light-blue fabric.

Ron sat back on the palms of his hands letting his weight sink into the made bed he hadn't slept in, as he watched her try and smooth out the many wrinkles of his shirt with her wand. He'd discovered before his shower that Pansy had been right about one thing, shrinking your trunk did leave horrible wrinkles in your clothing.

"So, are you going to borrow it or what?" he asked impatiently. He'd seen her glide her wand over the bright fabric for the fourth time before she finally climbed to her feet, proving that his head tilting had not been in vain. She did have nice legs.

She sighed. "I suppose I'll take this one. It is the nicest one you have."

"Sorry, I didn't have any cashmere sweaters but the shop was all-out," he sarcastically replied, sneering at her. It was odd how in so many words, Pansy could completely change your perception of her.

"Whatever, Weasel," she replied, moving to his door. "Since you're doing me the agonizing favor of loaning me your precious shirt, I'll repay the good deed."

"I'm tired of listening to people who want to do me favors."

"You're going to want to hear this one," she said, opening the door.

"Like I wanted to hear that my sister was working for Malfoy?" he asked, feeling his voice growing hard.

"No, it's a tad more important than that," she insisted.

"Then let's have it," he pressured, sweeping his hand over the rough duvet.

"Don't trust Malfoy," she answered.

"I thought you were going to tell me something I didn't know," he retorted.

"It's more than that Weasley. He's like a boggart. He only let's you see what he wants you to see. Trust me, he doesn't know where Blaise is," she answered, turning to find Harry standing in the door way. "Potter," she said in way of a greeting.

"Pansy," he answered, standing aside to let her pass into the hall. Harry watched her for a moment and turning back to Ron, his bright eyes bearing his confusion, he asked, "What just happened here?"

"I have no idea," Ron admitted.

*~*~*

The morning was quite nice if uncomfortably warm as Draco tried to survive his walk along the dusty street. He'd been subjected to Ginny and Granger's horrid sense of direction as they searched for the transportation facility that Macmillian had suggested and when it appeared they'd passed the same merchant alley for the third time, they'd reluctantly handed the reins to Pansy. Draco admitted the girl had her flaws but it seemed she'd been born with an internal compass. She had led them easily to their destination and as Granger and Pansy negotiated their form of transportation, the rest of their party was left to wander.

Draco found himself following the same path Ginny, Weasley, and Potter had taken. Draco felt she'd grown quite attached to Scarhead over the portion of this trip and disturbingly he found old feelings of envy beginning to rise in him. He tried to chastise himself at how childish it was to feel jealousy over a boy who was still less of a wizard than he was but he could only hide his anger as Ginny laughed at something stupid Potter had said. He was so absorbed in watching her freckled arm brush against Potter's that he didn't notice the thing that plowed into him until they both lay sprawled on the dirty sidewalk.

He fought to clear his vision of the sand that seemed to envelope everything around him, as the grisly voice of his attacker continued to apologize.

"So sorry, sir," the cloaked figure growled, attempting to pull Draco up by the collar of his robes.

"You should watch where you're going," Draco barked, letting the hands lift him from the ground, until he recognized the gnarled fingers, the gruff voice, and the distinct smell of blood and troll brains that wafted off his aide.

His breakfast threatened his throat as he stumbled away from the fez wearing demon. What was he doing in Luxor? He was supposed to be in Cairo; he was supposed to stay in Cairo.

"Oi, Malfoy," Pansy's voice shrieked from up the street, momentarily gaining Draco's attention and when he looked back the shop owner was gone. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he snapped, trying to compose himself. He hastily caught up with his party and continued to brush the filth from his clothing off. It would take the burning of his new robes to get the stench of decay off him.

"Well..." Pansy said, staring at him with doubt. "Granger's finished. She got us a magic carpet instead of camels. The carpet's much quicker."

"Great," he snapped, pushing past her and into the center of their now congregated entourage.

"Who was that you were talking to?" she questioned from behind him when they reached their destination.

"No one," he hissed, moving to see their means of transportation. The sight and smell that assaulted him made Draco momentarily forget about his meeting in the alley. "You don't actually expect me to ride on this thing do you? It smells like..." Weasley, he wanted to say but his father's words censured his insult in time. "-the wrong end of a camel," he finished, lamely. Even to his own ears, it was a weak criticism.

"You know at one point I actually found you witty, Malfoy. Whatever happened to that quick tongue of yours?" Pansy asked, still standing behind him. Draco felt a smirk tugging on the side of his lips. His father hadn't said anything about humiliating Pansy.

"And at one time I actually found you more attractive than the ugly toy-pug you resemble so much. Whatever could have happened to my blindness or your husband's for that matter?"

Draco could feel a certain power coming from his belittling of Pansy and it felt good.

"Tell me Pansy, did he really die? Or just fake his death so he didn't have face anymore? Because from what I hear he had to wear blindfold before he could-"

"Draco?!" he heard the surprise in Ginny's voice at his insults and turning to find her mid-climb with the assistance of Potter, Draco couldn't hold back his temper.

"Weasley!" he barked back and watched her dark eyes narrow down on him. He wouldn't mind going toe to toe with Ginny. After all, she was only a distraction from his cause.

"Will you people just shut-it and get on the bloody carpet," Potter grunted, pulling Ginny onto the carpet.

"Don't tell me what to do Potter," he argued. His father only said to be civil; he had said nothing of being ordered around.

"Walk then, it makes no difference to me," Potter rebutted. With the help of Weasley, they quickly pulled Pansy onto the carpet too leaving Draco the sole person on the ground.

They all appeared to be comfortable as they adjusted themselves to the movements of the rug. Poising himself on what could only be called the driver's seat Weasley looked down at him, his face already rouging in the late morning sun, "Goodbye, Malfoy."

Draco watched as the carpet and its five occupants rose and flew off, hovering feet above the flat sand as it cut through the dry-air at a broomsticks speed. He could feel his anger bubbling within him as they became smaller and smaller to him. The different shades of their hair merging in the wind, he could see red entangling with black as two of the passengers sat closer together and his temper sharpened. Then as if they forgot something important-which he thought they had- the rug turned sharply and flew back at Firebolt speed.

Ginny was the only one to look at him as the carpet glided and hovered in the air before him. Stray red hairs were already beginning to loosen from her ponytail only adding to the look of harassment she wore. Staring at him with cold brown eyes she asked dryly, "Would you please ride on the carpet?"

Draco stared back at her, loving the look of indecisiveness she was trying to hide behind anger. "Well since, you begged me..." he teased.

He climbed onto the wave like object and sat behind Ginny, knowing that it would bother her. He disliked the foreign item under him, the unstable feeling the carpet gave to its rider. It wasn't like a broomstick where he had absolute control. It was erratic, bumping and moving as it shaped to the dunes of sand it glided over. As it took a sharp turn, he felt his body being pulled from his seat, and finally understood the reasons why they were illegal in Britain. Charmed furniture was very dangerous and putting a hand through his tresses, he was vainly reminded that it also made a mussed of your hair.

*~*~*

Draco laid on his flat mattress, his head resting on his equally flat pillow staring at the wooden planks of the top bunks bottom. He still couldn't believe he'd actually agreed to sleep inside a rented tent. A rented tent? The mere thought of knowing someone slept where he was sleeping made Draco twitch with repulsion even though he'd made Ginny perform three delousing and cleaning charms regardless of her never finding a trace of parasite or stain on his mattress.

He turned over on his small used bed. The knot-tying nerves that had been plaguing him since, the flying carpet that had followed the bank of The Nile had dropped them unceremoniously off at their designated point, which according to its installed navigational system was in the middle of nowhere with nothing but sand, the river, the crypt for miles. Draco had felt his stomach lurch at his first sight of the tomb, everything was made real at seeing it and that fact made him tremble with both excitement and fear. Two emotions that had followed him inside his tent.

Draco ignored Pansy as she flounced around in her oversized blue shirt, instead staring intently at the blueprints that he'd set on the small table between their bunked beds. The orange glow from the fireplace lit the room well enough for him to read the different rooms and halls of the map. Granger had given it to him at dinner, with a tablet full of her suggestions to find the Altar Room that seemed to be nonexistent on this map. He had barely held back a sneer as he had slid the long white paper off the table and into his dark leather pouch with the journal and the quarter of the map he owned...well the only quarter of the map he owned until tomorrow.

With that thought Draco felt his muscles tighten and the nervous urge to pop every joint in his body. The nervous shake his body and psyche was suffering was reminiscent of his nights at Hogwarts before he'd climb on his broom and force himself to face Potter. Ignoring his body and bitter memories Draco rolled in his bunk facing the green tarp that was his wall for the night.

He could hear girlish giggling outside the wall of his tent. The snickering, he recognized as Ginny and the lighter tinkle, he chucked up to being Granger who had appointed herself and Ginny as the first scouts. He had effortlessly discerned Ginny's chuckle from the other's because; she had such distinctive laughs, he thought trying to fall asleep. He'd heard them before, her nervous laugh, her blithe laugh, he'd even heard her give an unladylike snort before but the way she laughed with Granger was entirely different. It just seemed forced and unnatural.

"Will they ever Shut-up!" Pansy yelled. He'd been coupled with her because Granger thought that it just seemed the most natural way to bunk: He and Pansy, Weasley and Potter, and Granger and Ginny.

"Why don't you just go tell them?" he asked, rolling over on his stomach and burying his head under his flat pillow.

"I think I will," Pansy answered, nearly pulling him from his drowsiness.

"You do that," he mumbled into his mattress. The last thing Draco remembered before drifting off was the sound of her moving out of her own cot, the sound of vinyl flaps as she exited their tent, and the sweet smell of the Mountain Fresh scent Ginny had charmed on his bed sheets .

His dreams had been confusing labyrinths of trees and brush that seemed too only bring him in circles, chasing after some unknown prize but the sharp feel of a wand-point poking into the skin between his ribs, quickly brought Draco back to, or what he thought was quick as he looked into black wire-rimmed green-eyes.

"Potter?" he asked, still feeling disoriented. "What the...?"

"Get-up," the black hair boy replied, standing erect. "It's yours and Pansy's turn to play scout."

"No it's not," he said rubbing his ribs, where he was positive he would bruise. "You and Weasley are after Granger."

"Ron and I already did our job. He's waking Pansy up now, so get dressed and stop being the worthless-" But Potter didn't get to finish as they heard a girly screech.

Both turned to Pansy's bed armed and ready to defend themselves, but instead of finding a distraught Pansy, they found Weasley one hand gripping his lit wand and the other shielding his eyes as he backed away from her bunk.

"Ron, what's happened?" Potter asked, moving over to his sidekick. The concern that etched the premature lines of Potter's thin face, went unnoticed by Draco. He was too absorbed in evaluating himself against the bare-chested Seeker but Weasley's voice thankfully pulled him from his self-deprecating.

"Underwear," he croaked. "Parkinson sleeps in her knickers."

The room stood silent for a moment before Potter started laughing and as he let loose so did Weasley and they grabbed each other readying themselves to leave. Obviously, there was some form of personal humor between them that was completely lost on Draco.

"Wait," he asked. "You're not going to leave me with her are you? She's still sleeping."

"Sounds like your problem," Potter answered, shutting the netting of their tent.

After five minutes of unsuccessfully trying to rise Pansy and ten minutes of sitting with nothing but fire, sand, and stars as company, Draco decided to find Ginny. She'd already served her guard duty and gotten herself a reasonable amount of sleep. She wouldn't mind sitting up with him, would she? Of course not.

Draco stepped through the mosquito net flaps of Ginny and Granger's tent. It was cool inside the four canvas walls, even with the small golden fire that was burning in their fireplace. As he slowly traveled deeper into their tent, moving closer to Ginny's bed he felt his body move through some force and the stillness of their tent was immediately discarded as he heard a childlike whimper coming from her bed.

He sat on the edge of the wide cot as he watched her thrash against her covers. He'd seen her this way before and he had carelessly left her, but things were different now. He couldn't let her cry this way and he grabbed her firmly by her arms feeling the sweat that had seeped through the soft material of her long-sleeved pajama top despite the cool air of the room. He shook her fiercely, lifting her upper body from her mattress.

He'd never felt something so fragile before this and Ginny cried against him. She tore at the first button of his shirt with her hands, trying to fight him or whatever monster had invaded her mind.
"C'mon Weasley wake-up," he said, shaking her again, and regretting his choice of leaving his wand under his pillow.

Her eyes shot open, looking at him with shock and wonder and Draco could see the terror she held in them. "Tom?" she whispered, her body going still in his hands. Draco could feel her muscles tensing under his fingers and palms, as her eyes looked right into his and she attacked him with a primal desire.

Her fists beat painfully against his chest and he could feel her legs freeing from the covers they had been trapped under. Fearing what her knee would do to more important parts of his body, Draco attempted to pin her to the mattress. The two struggled in her bed, Ginny punching and kicking, scratching and biting, into him, before he successfully secured her to the mattress.

"Weasley," he hissed, his breath coming short, through the gold and scarlet tangles of her hair, into what he was sure was her ear, "It's I, Weasley, It's Malfoy."

"Draco?" she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

"Yes, Draco," he answered, freeing her wrists from his grip. He had the odd desire to pet her hair away from her face but fought against it. He slowly climbed off her, in hopes that his body wouldn't react to the combination of her scent and his body crushing hers but he couldn't resist leaving a hand gently on her thigh.

She turned away from Draco causing his hand to fall limply from her thigh to the bed. Curling her hands around her body she whispered, "I'm sorry. I thought-" but her voice cracked and he was sure he heard a quiet sob break against her throat.

Draco sat still; he'd never really been in a position to comfort someone before and found it quite discomfiting. He put his hand on one she had wrapped around her arm, and briefly he felt the quivering her body was suffering before she cringed away from him.

"Don't," she said.

"Is there-Can I-" Draco for the first time had nothing to say. What did one say in a time like this? He looked over to Granger's bed and the former Head girl was still sleeping soundly. The weight in the bed shifted and he turned back to find Ginny looking up at him.

"Where's Ron?" she croaked.

"Sleeping, I'm sure. Which is why I came in here in the first place," he said, looking across to the fireplace.

"You have nightmares too?" she asked, and Draco felt her pushing her hair from her face and wiping furiously at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve.
"Sometimes," he answered, honestly. "But that's not important. I just came in here because Pansy's passed dead away and I wanted to see if you wouldn't mind taking watch with me but," he paused to look down at her. Her eyes were focused on him, the deep brown almost black, searching his face, through the melded dark cinnamon lashes that gave the illusion they were even longer than they were and the faint red rim that they lined. Her scarlet hair was pushed away, stained crimson from her sweat, lining her round face. Oddly enough after their struggle, her embarrassment, and her few silent tears, she still looked pretty to him—pretty, but so childlike. He sighed internally before he continued, "I can do it myself."

"No, it's alright," she said, sitting up to him. "I'm alright. Just let me straighten up."

Draco stood outside her tent, running over what just happened to her. Was Ginny Weasley crazy? This wasn't the first time that he'd seen her struggling against unseen phantoms. He could hear her moving quietly around the tent inside. Obviously she hadn't put a Silencing charm on the whole tent. He listened to the water splash as she washed her face in the basin and the whine of her trunk's hinges as she opened it to retrieve her wand.

He cleared his throat as she stepped out of the tent, her long hair pulled up and away from her face. She put a finger to her lips, silencing him, as she warded the flaps closed.

They were a few steps away, when in hopes that she would be surprised in telling him the truth, Draco sprang the question on her, "So would you like to tell me what happened back there?"

"Not particularly," she answered, stopping and turning to him. He could see her looking for sympathy from him, "It's nothing, really."

"Nothing? So this nothing is safe to ask your brother about tomorrow at breakfast?"

"Y'know, Draco you've never told me anything about your past, so why should I tell you about mine," she whispered harshly returning to her walk to the camp's fire.

"You tell me your past, I'll tell you mine," he said playfully, catching up to her in less than a stride.

Ginny stopped, her dark eyes running from his shoeless feet to his mussed hair. He could see she was analyzing his intentions as stared up at him. "I don't think so."

"Come on Weasley," he drawled, dragging out her surname in a way that made her stomach flutter, "There must be something you have been dying to know."

"Alright Draco," she said, sitting down onto the blanket that had been laid down for the guards. "I want to know where you were during the War."

Ginny watched as he slowly lowered himself to the ground beside her, his shock at her demand apparent in the hesitating of his answer. "You first," he ordered.

Ginny smiled nervously at him. Did Draco really want to know what happened to her? The reasons she fought against sleep and the experiences that she lived that had formed the thoughts and morals she had. Sucking in a deep breath Ginny started to speak, her words running together in her frenzy to finish or breaking off mid-sentence as she encountered memories with such emotion she knew she had lived each moment, survived each milestone.

She spoke of their first meeting in Flourish & Blotts, the first time she wrote in her diary, the first time it wrote back. She stumbled over the sentences that involved chickens and blackouts and blood. She felt Draco involuntary flinch beside her when she sighed with content as she summoned memories of waking up to green-eyes and Harry Potter playing hero.

She could hear the confusion in her voice that she had felt when her "Gift" exposed itself for the first time. It was after the end of her fifth-year, when her brother Bill, the curse breaker, had brought to the Burrow some harmless artifacts but when she played with them she saw things that no one else did, horrible things.

The scenes had frightened her and she kept quiet. What was the use in worrying everyone? Telling her secret to no one until during the height of the war she met someone like herself-someone who carried the same burden she did, someone who introduced her to the right people. The people who got her the office, the job, she had today.

"You still haven't explained what your fit back there was about," he coerced.

"Side-effect."

"Side-effect?" he asked, not sounding convinced.

"We all suffer side-effects, Draco," she said nonchalantly, "Nightmares, migraines... It's nothing really, just another part of the job." She sighed. "Now, I think we've learned enough about me, tonight."

"I don't think that's possible," he answered.

Ginny looked at him with interest for a moment before she laughed, "Don't try to charm your way out now Draco Malfoy. It's your turn."

She could feel their semi-jovial atmosphere dwindling as Draco sat silently beside her. He sighed, pushing the long fringe of his hair back, his clear gray eyes looking up to the stars.

"Whatever I say Ginny, you aren't allowed to judge me for it nor can you run off to tell your brother or anyone else. Do you understand?" he asked and Ginny nodded not honestly knowing what she was agreeing to.

Unlike her own recounted memories, told with the emotions she'd had while living them, Draco's voice read his experience like he was reciting a book in History of Magic and not his own life.

"The night before my initiation into the Death Eaters my mother came into my room with Edmund, he was her house-elf before he was mine, in-tow carrying a tray of tea. I assumed that from her room she had felt my nervous excitement at finally having the opportunity to follow so graciously in Father's footsteps. We sat and drank Earl Grey tea," he paused, a tiny mirthless laugh escaping him. "I don't know why I remember that so clearly.

"She immediately began asking me trivial questions-Are you nervous? How's the weather? Want more tea?-and I responded with equally trivial answers -Not really. Too warm. Yes, please."

"And I did drink my fill of tea not knowing how much until everything started growing fuzzy. My arms and legs felt so limp and then I fell to the floor, my rug preventing me from harming myself. Then he walked in."

"Who's he?"

"A close friend of Father's, you would know him better as Professor. Professor Severus Snape to be exact," he paused, running another hand through his hair. "Has anyone ever done anything that even though you know it's the right thing you still refuse to agree with it?"

"I'm not sure," she answered, reclining on the palms of her hands.

"Well, the next thing I remember I was chained by my wrists to a wall in a bamboo hut in the middle of a tiny village in Japan. After hours of yelling my bloody head off and threatening any poor villager that came within feet of my door, Mother walked in, carrying my wand. I remember her eyes and her smile so well, as if finding me there was the worst and most wonderful thing in the world, my dark wand partnered in her hand next to her light one. 'This is for your own good my son,' she had told me, kissing the top of my head-"

"I don't understand?" Ginny asked, disrupting Draco's story. Why would his mother bring him to Japan the day before his initiation? Why would she chain him to a wall?

"I wouldn't expect you to. Mother is a very complex person, Ginny, who I don't think will ever be fully understood," he chuckled, looking over to her. Ginny could see his mind was somewhere else on another fonder memory.

"At the time I hadn't a clue as to what she was speaking of nor did I care. I hated her for bringing me there, taking me away from Father, from my life's goal when I had come so close to achieving it.

"Every day, I was pulled from my hut and, under the watchful- if not disgustingly benign-eye of my captors, was given the chance to exercise, bathe, and clothe myself with fresh garments that Mother had brought with us. But never was I allowed a wand or anything magical at all to be near me.

"On the off chance that I would actually see Mother, laughing while she walked in company with the other villagers, I would shout horrible things and spit at her. I don't think I can ever forgive myself for causing that pained look on her face but every time she'd smile or told me she loved me I was compelled to hurt her."

"Is that where your time was spent during the war? Is that when you changed?" Ginny asked, interrupting Draco again. He turned on her, his face showing his dislike in her constant impatience.

"Weasley?" he asked, his voice as usual void of emotion. "Do you ever let anyone finish a complete thought before you decide to open that trap of yours?"

"Sorry," Ginny answered, actually feeling apologetic. She knew she had the bad habit of being impatient and had been chided for it many times.

"No reason to be sorry, Weasley, it was a yes or no question? Not a reason for an apology but you would do well to remember that the more you interrupt, the longer it will take for someone to give you their answer."

"Now, it takes a lot of pressure for bamboo-real bamboo- to break you know, but by the fourth month I had sawed two of the bamboo-bars of my prison and began work on the third. When I had sawed through four of them with my shoelace, I broke from my cell and ran from the village."

"Wand-less, Knut-less, nothing covering me but the pajama's and slippers I wore to bed, I made my way back home, something I assume broke Mother's heart. To my horror and disappointment when I finally found a helpful wizard, who helped me reach jolly-old England, the war was over."

"There was no Dark Lord, no great Master to serve, no noble Cause to fight for. There were no battles to be won or lost. My friends, if you could call them that, were either dead or in hiding, eventually being flushed out by your Potter and his group of warriors. There was nothing left for me, but my inheritance, my Manor, and the stupid business of where to put my insane fath-" he hesitated. "And the dealings with where Father should live out his days."

"But wouldn't you hate your mother for that, Draco?" she asked, hoping he could give her a clearer insight into the way that Slytherin mind of his worked.

"Trust that I did. I hated her with every fiber of my being for. .. almost a whole month. Thinking of what she made me lose, not letting me fight beside Father, and die the way I should have."

"But one night, I lay in my bed at the Manor, the sounds of it trying to consume me. Actually, the sounds didn't bother me, but it was the lack there of. And it got me thinking about Mother, wishing she was there with me, to listen to my rants about Father and that imbecile Fudge, giving her the opportunity to explain herself and I myself, understanding her reasons for abducting me not letting me fulfill my destiny."

He paused for a moment, just staring through the darkness and into the sand dunes around them.

"After I brought her back, things were different between us. She was so much more distant. I don't know if she'd ever admit it, but I think she missed Father, or maybe she just missed company in general. I'll never know."

His hair was tinted by the moonlight and momentarily stood up before slowly falling into place as he ran another hand through it, letting his fingers tug at the shorter strands."When I really, began thinking about it, putting the pieces together it made me realize that if she had left me here, if she had allowed my Father to brand me like he was himself. I would have fought against the Ministry, against Hogwarts, and I would have died too or worse sent to prison."

"She saved my life. My mother did, in more ways than the physical. She sacrificed a lot for me and to that I will forever be indebted to her."

"Wow," Ginny said, in awe. She had never heard Draco talk like this before. She never thought she would hear him admit being indebted to someone for other reasons than that of the material. It made her heart swell to know that even the most arrogant-git on the face of the Earth could feel a love, a pull, so strong that it made him overcome the unforgivable sins he thought she had made.

"Now you know why it's so important for us to find this map," he said, not turning away from her but his eyes changed to a darker shade of gray. "And you best not tell anyone or Granger won't be the only person having trouble with her memory. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Ginny answered mockingly. She had never been one to like being threatened and she was not going to let Draco think he could. "No one will ever know that Draco Malfoy is nothing more than a little-boy who is unnaturally attached to his Mum."

Draco's pale eyes narrowed on hers, his mouth dropping into a scowl demonstrating his great dislike of her joshing.

"You take me entirely too seriously, Malfoy," Ginny said, moving the lantern from between them and closer to the tent, the loss of light making it easier for her to speak to him in such a manner. "I'm just trying to lighten you up."

"Well, when I'm being open about my angst filled life, Weasley, I would expect you to at least have the decency to show an ounce of respect," he replied his voice more lax than it had been minutes before. "Someone should very well teach you manners."

At his last comment Ginny felt her mouth fall into a perfect O. Who was Draco Malfoy to tell her she needed lessons in etiquette? He'd never even heard of the word polite. "Teach me manners? Like who?" she scoffed.

"I suppose I could teach you," he airily baited. "Since, it seems I've taught you so many other things."

"Exactly what have you taught me, Malfoy?"

"I've taught you plenty, Weasley," he said, reclining back on the palms of his hands, stretching his legs-out beside hers the moonlight making his dark-gray trousers seem black.

"Really? I would love to know when and where I was when this enlightenment happened," she replied, leaning into him, trying to see the angles of his face better in the fading firelight.

"October thirty-first, on the outdoor terrace, at the 'Weasley's Annual Charity Masquerade Ball.' If you need to ask what lesson it was maybe, you should retake the class," he said, shifting his face into a position that the moonlight caught his hair as the firelight turned his usually fair complexion golden. His body hadn't moved, but Ginny thought he felt a great deal closer.

"I remember quite well thank-you very much," she said, reclining away from him into the hard wall of the tent. "My tutor wasn't exactly an expert on the subject."

"Shall he give another demonstration?" he asked. Ginny could smell him and she briefly wondered when they had gotten so close, but she didn't care.

She felt her stomach tightening as his face moved closer to her own, his dark gray-eyes focusing on her lips. She closed her eyes waiting for the fantastic feel of when his mouth would meet her own. But the only thing that met her face was the feel of a sudden light breeze on her cheeks and the few flyaways from her ponytail batting at her forehead.


She slowly opened her eyes to find Draco sitting back on the palms of his hands, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, a mocking smile twisting his handsome face.

"I can't believe you actually fell for that one Weasley," he snickered, the mirthless laugh not reaching his eyes but Ginny couldn't see that. She could only see the twisted smile he wore, the way his white-hair didn't muss in the breeze, the way the desert heat that seemed to suppress everyone else, didn't bother or even make him sweat.

"You're such a bastard!" she whispered ferociously, the sand on her pajamas flying onto him as she stood.

"Come now, Ginny, hasn't that insult gotten old yet," he replied, grabbing her by her wrist.

"You made up everything didn't you? About remembering those /distracting/ kisses we shared? I would even bet that whole story about your Mum too?" she accused, trying to pry his fingers from her wrist.

"Still angry about that distraction comment I see," he teased and Ginny wondered what look she gave him to have him sober so quickly.

"Look Weasley, I didn't lie about my mother or anything else for that matter."

"Yes, I'm sure you've never lied to me."

"Oh," he replied as if he'd just figured a difficult potion, "This has nothing to do with trust at all, does it Weasley?"

Not understanding him, Ginny didn't answer.

"You're just angry at yourself for being so easily toyed with. You're like an instrument Weasley, tap the right key, pull the right string and you're ready to pummel someone. You should really learn some self-control."

"Why? So I can be a cold-unfeeling dead fish like you?" she hissed, casting him into shadow as she bent at the waist to level her face with his.

His only response was a smirk and Ginny felt the fingers wrapped around her wrist tighten as he pulled her onto him and in one fluid movement Ginny found her back meeting the soft blanket he'd been sitting on, the warmth from the sand reaching her through the thick material.

"Like I said Weasley, you should really learn to control yourself."

His lips fell on hers and Ginny refused to give him access to the rest of her mouth; even with the distraction of his tongue sliding along her lips demanding entrance and his clever hand moving under her pajama top to lift her closer to him.

She listened to his defeated groan as he removed his welcomed hand, gliding it across the expanse of her back until she fell back onto the blanket.

"What's wrong Ginny?" he asked, looking down at her. He was hovering above her, supported on the weight of both his hands. One side of his face was thrown into shadow leaving her with only one of his gray-eyes to discern his temper.

"You," she answered, pushing her hands against his chest to remove him from her, but the effect that his sinewy muscles had against the palm of her hands made her instantly regret touching him at all.

"I'm the problem?" he asked, appalled. Ginny couldn't see but she assumed that the pale brow he had cast in darkness was arched. "How am I the problem. You're the one who won't open her bloody mouth when someone actually wants her to."

"Because." She tried to roll from beneath him but he had her caged with both his arms on the side of her head, his lower body resting on his knees straddling her hips.

"Because why?" he asked, impatiently.

"Well, if you'd give me some room to breathe I'd answer you," she snapped back, successfully pushing him away from her. Ginny watched Draco sit back on his heels as she crawled backwards, her palms digging into the blanket and sand that lay underneath, only stopping when her back met the solid wall of a tent and she slid up the hard surface until she and him sat almost eye to eye.

"You're breathing, now answer," he ordered.

"Because, you can be so charming and wonderful and compassionate sometimes. Giving a beautiful speech about how it's so important to help your mother only to turn around and be a complete pig about everything."

Ginny could see him studying her, his visible eye roving across her face.

"I'm sorry you couldn't see the humor in our little banter, Weasley. I thought of all people, or at least the way you claimed to have been dragged up, that you would have enjoyed our little blunt jesting sessions. I've been proven wrong, but don't worry; I assure you it won't happen again."

Ginny sighed. Why didn't he ever understand what she was trying to say? Why did he have to become so unreasonable? It was either black or white, one or the other, and if she didn't choose correctly he'd wrapped his invisible blanket around him, locking her out completely.

"Draco don't be that way," she begged, leaning forward hoping he would recline, but he didn't and their noses were inches apart. She could see his face perfectly now, feel his warm breath tickle her chin and neck.

"Don't assume you can tell me what way to be Weasley," he seethed, narrowing his eyes at her, but Ginny could see his lips twisting as if he were trying to fight against the question trying to escape. "Which way do you think I'm being anyway?" he asked, more demanding the answer from her in his whisper.

"The bratty little cynic, you tend to become when you don't get exactly what you want the second you want it. The world was not built to please Draco Malfoy's every whim." She smiled hoping that her playful tone would pry open his small reserve of amusement.


"Well, it should have been," he answered, matter-of-factly, pouting his bottom lip, "I honestly believe it would be a much better place to live."

"Besides being Harry and Ron-less exactly how would the world be improved Mister Malfoy?" she asked, wanting to hold onto his lightened mood.

He slyly grinned at her and Ginny couldn't hear his reasons as he named them off. Her attention had been stolen by his lips. The way they formed his words, giving small glances at his teeth hidden behind. The bottom row had grown in a little close, but his top row were perfectly even with the exception of his canines that she knew were too sharp.

'Are you even listening to me Weasley'- she watched his lips form. She loved the way his mouth shaped her surname, the tip of his tongue touching his top lip when he pronounced the -ley.

Ginny ignored him and moved the small amount of space between them, closing her lips on his. They were soft and willing against her own, as if he'd expected it all along. They opened easily to her and Ginny felt the change in pressure as he began taking control. His mouth, pushing into hers as his hands began slipping under her top, using his fingernails to tickle the skin of her stomach enticing that pleasant feeling of electricity under his touch.

Touching him was like a drug to her. She was addicted to the tremors her body suffered under his fingers as they lazily traced the skin of her hips and stomach. She loved the way his lips moved over her, kissing and nipping her ear and neck. The bright flames that had barely illuminated them before stained his hair shades warmer as she brushed the strands, reveling in the silky feel of them between her fingers and the smell of him that wafted off them.

She purred as he lifted her from her seat settling her on his lap, her legs instinctively looping his waist. Sitting, her lips and his were so much closer, she didn't have to cramp her toes and he didn't have to creek his neck. They were equals. They matched. With that floating around in her mind Ginny found kissing Draco was much simpler. She let his lips wander over the skin of her throat as his hands ascended the skin of her back.

Proving his growing knowledge of her body, he dragged his ring up her spine, the cold feel of the baguette making her shiver against him as he kissed her. Besides Colin she had never been this intimately close to a man before and she wondered if they were supposed to groan the way Draco did when she shifted her hips.

She listened to the metallic sound of him biting and dragging the golden chain of her necklace away from her skin. He'd never done that before, but she reasoned she hadn't been wearing it during their previous encounters.

Memories of when his hands were rough and the thing he'd accused her of before began fighting against the soft feel of his fingers, the taste of his mouth, and the burning inside her. Ginny reluctantly began pulling away from his prying lips, "You said I was a distraction," she croaked.

"You said I was a bastard on numerous occasions," he replied, matter-of-factly. "I forgave you."

"You are," she panted trying to push him down. "I'm not. People aren't distractions, Draco- dogs barking, Colin talking your ear off, stupid Crypt Keeper Five songs getting stuck in your head-those are distractions. Not people."

"Fine, you're not a distraction," he mumbled against her neck, kissing the neglected skin between her chin and throat.

"No, Draco. You're not going to make me forget by-" Ginny's train of thought began dissolving as Draco tugged on the skin of her earlobe.

"No, I was right Weasley," he drawled against her ear. "You are a distraction."

At his teasing words Ginny's resolve flew back into her body with the force of a Bludger. She reluctantly pulled away from him, "But a distraction from what?"

He only gazed up at her from his position beneath her, refusing to answer her question. His silences were disturbing, they could range from unspoken anger to mute ease and his avoidance of her question implied more dubious things to Ginny than she was willing to carry.

"What are we?" she asked. "I mean-"

"I know what you mean," he interrupted, his voice void of teasing or emotion.

"Then answer the question," she demanded.

He sighed, his eyes moving away from hers as he stared up into nothingness. "Why do you feel you must be categorized?" he asked, startling her.

Staring down at his face, Ginny contemplated her response. She'd never thought of herself as one to be labeled. Even as a Gryffindor, she never followed the formula to the tee. "I don't," she answered. "You're just avoiding my question."

"If you need an answer I'll give you one but I assure you. You won't like it."

"The facts are as shown Ginny: I'm a Malfoy. You're a Weasley. I'm an employer. You're my employee. I pay you for the services you render. You do your job well. Our relationship- if one would call it such- is strictly business."

Ginny felt her stomach surge at his words. She'd tried to prepare herself for harm when she'd felt the first signs of Draco worming into her heart. She'd tried to ignore his purposeless innuendos the day she'd healed his sunburn. She'd tried to shield herself from the fluster she felt at his rant in the alley outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. She tried to forget the way his lips and the softness of his hands burned her.

Watching the color drain from her face, Draco half-regretted what he'd said. He feared the nails and teeth, the fists and knees, that he knew she had no qualms to use on him. She bent over him, resting her weight on her palms and from their bodies' positions had her brother came out he would have certainly gotten the wrong idea but from the look she wore Draco knew that her intentions were anything but wanton.

"Then stay away from me," she hissed, lowering her face to mere inches of his. "If I'm nothing more than a Weasley than your underling then you should have no problem staying far away from me."

Feeling his face growing hot from Ginny's boldness, Draco lowered his eyelids until he could barely see Ginny through his lashes. How dare this girl presume that she had the right to say who he could and could not be around? "I don't have you tied down do I?" he replied, skimming down to the point their bodies touched.

Backwards Ginny crawled off him, painfully using his stomach as a brace to lift herself off the ground. She snatched her wand from the sand and walked away from him, hooking the top buttons of her pajama shirt, only turning back to face him when she released the wards from her tent and surrendered into the netted flaps.

Draco sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. He had the distinct feeling that something was ruined, that something he'd worked for and was so close to possessing, was gone. But he'd had nothing invested in Ginny Weasley. He'd had nothing to gain or lose when things involved her; he was confident she wasn't going to abandon his mother but yet he still felt stung at her words.

He felt angry that she thought they should be of greater importance than his mother. They weren't. She wasn't. She was just a girl, just another of that brood of Weasleys so why did he feel so strange about their row? Why was he uncomfortable with having her leave angry with him? Why had she left angry with him, anyway? He only told her the truth. She was a Weasley. He was a Malfoy. She worked for him and he paid her. That was the only truth she needed to know.

There was no need for her to know that he enjoyed her mind, her strange humor, her compassion. That he'd been with women before but none could make his body respond the way hers did at the touch of her skin or the scent of her neck. She didn't need to know that if this were another time, or another place, if they were different people under different circumstances, that things would be different. But they weren't different and she would have to deal with the hand he dealt her. There were no other choices.

Draco lay back on the blanket staring up at the few stars that still shined against the dawning sky. He'd put all this in the back of his mind, among the filing cabinets and the folders, because today was too important to have his opinions of Ginny Weasley distracting him.

TBC....

A/N: I could apologize a thousand times but it would still be the same: I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long, but this was a pariticularly hard chapter to write and quite long, but there is hope (at least I think there is) that the next one won't take as long, since I do have atleast 1/4 of it already written.

Anyway I have to credit Crypt Keeper Five to the song Monster Mash.

If you have any questions, complaints, or if you want updates- just drop me an email with your address or just leave it in your review.


FF.net Thanks:

infilitrate the enemy fat kid- (still cool as pen) I'm happy you're enjoying the story, and I hope I didn't disappoint with this chapter.

"I'm still not quite sure why you don't have hundreads of review by now. Your story is highly addictive!"
I assume people just don't like it but I don't worry over the quantity of the reviews but the quality. (wink) Thanks for the review.

letlyf- Sorry for the delayed update but y'know real life gets in the way. I hope you liked this chapter as much as the others. You got both fighting/snogging and snogging/fighting. Yes, Blaise is rather moving slowly but he's got his role to fill and I agree the plot did standstill last chapter, but I hope I got it up and moving again. I love Colin too, Gay or Not, I still crush/love him. I'm happy you didn't find Ron to OOC, it's always a big fear of mine when attempting to write the trio especially from their POV. Anyhow, thanks for reading and reviewing. I can't wait to get your thoughts on this one.

AnniBug- Yeah the Prices like the Weasleys happen to be red of hair. I totally agree about Hermione and Ginny both have such strong personalties only made stronger by each's need to be right. Thanks for reading and I apologize for not having reviewed "I Feel Your Pain". I haven't finished reading it and I like to give thought out reviews and like my writing it takes me awhile.

Sabacat-Thanks so much, I'm glad you enjoyed the Ron/Pansy scene in the last chapter and hope you like this one too.

Grumpy1- Thanks for your review. Yeah, I couldn't heap anymore angst on them last chapter after everything I had planned in this and future chapters. (smiles evilly) Thanks.

Lorraine7- I'm glad you loved it, and liked Pansy's affection for her child. I don't really see Pansy as the openly loving type, but her daughter would be the exception. She loves Rosemary as much as she can love anything. Anyhow, thanks for the review and I hope to read from you again.

AnImEfReAk81- Thanks, I'm glad you find my story interesting and I can wait to read what your thoughts on this chapter might be.

TarynMalfoy88- Thank you, I hope I didn't disappoint.

Danielle- You're always so consistent with your reviews. Thanks a lot for the compliments and I hope to keep it up too. I do hope you enjoyed the D/G goodness in this chapter it "might" be their only for a while or at least until they make up. (wink)

Jazz- Thank you, I hope you got my e-mail and that you enjoy the new chapter.

Evon- Last but certainly not least- Thanks for the review, I'm very happy you think I'm Tony the Tiger GrrrrrrrrEAT! I'm sorry your internet went down, sometimes computers just suck.