Ginny skidded to a halt, her heart pounding at the sight of Lucius Malfoy peering around the column which partly concealed his son.

How did he get here?

Draco turned to her, a look of terror on his face as he watched her draw near. Ginny stared at him for a moment, then at Mr. Malfoy, who was watching with what seemed to be a curious interest.

There was only one way to resolve this.

"MALFOY!" she screeched, stomping towards him, and raising a hand, slapped him with as much force as she could muster. Draco's head spun to the side, his silver hair flying across his face as he lost his balance, stumbling into the column and sliding to the floor.

"THAT'S FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MY BROTHER!"

She glared at Lucius as hatefully as she could. Draco was staring up at her from his position on the floor, his gray eyes wide, holding a hand to his face. She'd hit him so heart, her hand had left a wide red mark across his pale cheek.

Her lip twitched. "You just try and cross my family again, Malfoy—you just try! I swear I'll make you SORRY!" He looked so lost and desperately hurt. "I swear! You can join both your parents in Azkaban, and rot there for all I care!"

Draco's jaw dropped. Lucius Malfoy stared at her with such an expression it made her tremble. But she raised her chin defiantly.

"Get lost, Weaselette." Draco hissed, pulling slowly to his feet. "This is the last place you want to be at this particular moment."

"I don't want to be anywhere with you at any particular moment, Draco Malfoy! I forgot your Mother's trial was today. Had I known, I would NEVER have come here. But I'll take my chances to make sure you understand—we're not going to be pushed around no matter how great a hero you think you are!"

"I said get lost." Draco's eyes were blazing, and he reached inside his robes for his wand. "Right now."

"What, are you going to hex me right here in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, ten feet from the Wizengamot? That's absolutely brilliant—no wonder you're a Slytherin Prefect."

"They've given students breaks before. I think this is one situation they just might understand."

"Right. I doubt they'd be as kind to you as they were to Harry."

"That stupid little scarhead?" he scoffed coldly. "He'll always get the benefit of the doubt, with Dumbledore on his side. But Dumbledore owes me too—and Slytherin. The Malfoy name still counts for something."

"Oh, really."

"Yes…unlike some purebloods who aren't worth the House they live in. And considering the House—or rather the shack, really, well…lets just say its not much."

Ginny flushed bright red and whipped out her own wand. "Say that again, you stupid prat."

"Get lost, Weaselbeak. Before you end up looking more like your name than you already do."

"I'd like to see you try that. I'll give another go with my Bat Bogey Hex…I've perfected it…just for you. Do you really want to chance that?" Ginny sneered.

"I think I'll run the risk," he returned.

"Now let's not get carried away," said Lucius Malfoy coldly, stepping in front of Draco. "Miss Weasley…I suggest you depart from here as quickly as you can. We wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents to happen. After all, not all of us here are bound by the restrictions on underage wizardry."

She set her jaw.

"Ginny!" Neville Longbottom, a sixth year Gryffindor, was moving slowly up the hall, watching the scene with wide eyes. "Are you alright?"

Her wand began to tremble. "I…I'm fine."

Neville raised his chubby chin towards Lucius, placing a hand on Ginny's wand arm and slowly lowering it. "I think your father is looking for you."

"Get lost, Longbottom," Draco said suddenly, his voice like ice.

Neville glared. His experiences at the end of last term had stiffened his resolve, and though he might not confront Draco, he would certainly hold his ground. "Come on, Ginny. I'll take you up to your father's offices."

"Th-thank you, Neville," she said, suddenly shaky. She placed her wand back in her robes, casting one final glare towards Draco and his father. "Its nice to be in company you can trust."

He nodded, and placed an arm around her shoulders. "Come on."

Draco stared after them, a dark expression on his face. His wand was trembling as he watched them go, his eyes narrowed dangerously into slits. Ginny's breath caught. Behind him, Lucius Malfoy was staring at her exactly the same way.

Identical.

---------------------

Draco watched as Neville escorted Ginny down the hall, his face still stinging from where she'd slapped him.

He was so angry, he wand was trembling uncontrollably.

He'd never been full of rage in all his life.

How could she do this to me!

He stared after them, until they disappeared around the corner.

All the way down the hall with his arm about her shoulders!

If I see that Longbottom again I swear I'm going to crush him like a bug!

"Lower your wand, Draco. Showing your aggression will not help matters," said his Father suddenly. Draco jumped; he'd forgotten Lucius Malfoy was there.

There was a slightly pleased grin on his father's face. "Do not worry. The Weasley family will get theirs with time."

"What?" Draco tried to collect his thoughts.

"Put away your wand."

He shoved his wand into his robes, the picture of Neville and Ginny still burned into his mind. He raised a hand to his throbbing cheek. "I'll make them pay," he muttered.

"Yes. But later. Right now, the honor of the Malfoy family—your Mother—is our most important concern. Maintain your calm, Draco, and don't let them see you get angry."

"Yes, Father."

His father raised a calming hand, lying it softly upon his shoulder. Different from what he'd done only moments before. "Don't ever let them see your true feelings. DO NOT show them your heart."

Draco stared at his father for a moment. "No. Of course not," he repeated robotically.

A door swung open down the hall. The Wizengamot was departing, one after another. Within moments, his Mother emerged, looking triumphant.

"Resolved," she said finally, as she approached them. "There was very little discussion, although, of course, some of the more 'muggle-friendly' were a bit miffed, but they understood that little could be done on my part. The death of Bellatrix was in defense of the children of Hogwarts."

"Very good, Narcissa," said Lucius, his hand dropping from Draco's shoulder. "Even if it was your sister."

"She tried to kill our children, Lucius," said Narcissa with an empty expression.

"It may have appeared that way to some. To others she was merely being loyal—and rather brave."

"She was a murderer."

Lucius grinned coldly.

"I need not remind you," she huffed, slightly ruffled, "that I was not the only one who was angered by her actions. And I do not refer simply to Albus Dumbledore. I have heard that those in higher…standing than you would have held her accountable in much the same manner I did."

"Of course. Now that the plan has failed. Before…"

"She tried to murder my son, Lucius," Narcissa spat, staring at him coldly. She placed a thin hand Draco's shoulder, squeezing tightly. "I have been over this three times today, twice with my own husband. This discussion ends now."

Lucius returned her gaze, before turning to Draco. "I suppose…"

"Narcissa. Congratulations on this small victory, I see that your family was able to offer their support." Albus Dumbledore emerged amidst the crowd of wizards.

Narcissa turned to him. "Hello, Albus. Thank you."

He smiled at her, though his eyes lacked their customary sparkle. "Lucius, I believe there is someone looking for you."

Two wizards Draco recognized as working for the Ministry's Defense Department were pushing through the crowd.

From Azkaban…

Lucius's face darkened. "Thank you, Albus. You are always looking after us."

"Of course," Dumbledore replied pleasantly. "Everyone must be taken care of."

"Especially some," returned Draco's father. "Though it appears even at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter remains a danger to all, including my son."

"A person's greatest danger is often to themselves," said Dumbledore. His blue eyes had suddenly grown dark, and cold. "You would do well to remember that, Lucius. As it were, Mr. Potter has returned to the…comfort…of a safe haven. And next year's school term won't be so simple to breach. Draco, so long as he does nothing to endanger himself, will be quite safe."

"I see."

"Yes," Dumbledore continued, staring past Lucius, "all of our choices will be profoundly important in the coming weeks. Our choices are what define us, you know, and are what will set us free—or confine us to a wretched end."

Lucius shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable. Narcissa's grip tightened on Draco's shoulder.

"Let us hope," said the Headmaster, "that the choices we make will not endanger those we love."

"I'm afraid we are a trifle late for that bit of advice," Lucius said, glancing at Narcissa.

She pursed her lips. "Thank you, Albus."

"Of course. And remember," he bent down slightly, staring at Draco for a moment, "that not everything results in death—there are some endings far worse. Remember that. Now then," he straightened, clasping his hands and staring at them pleasantly, "I understand the Ministry offers quite a banquet down in the Dining Hall—the macaroons are magnificent. Fourth floor, I believe. Goodbye."

Draco swallowed, watching as he receded in to the distance. "What in the bloody hell was he talking about?"

"Draco, language," said his mother. "Don't worry on Dumbledore. He's quite a powerful wizard, but it seems he's becoming an old fool as well. He's nearly as loony as his brother."

One of the Ministry guards nodded at them, clearing his throat. Draco glared at them.

Narcissa turned to her husband. "I suppose we had better say our goodbyes…those guards are not going to let us alone. Lucius?"

Draco's father was staring from Dumbledore's form to Draco slowly, lost in thought.

"Father?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes, then turned towards Draco. "Take care, my son. Remember what I just told you. And do not take to heart what Dumbledore says. He supports Potter, and you have no reason to trust him."

"Yes, Father."

"And let's keep ourselves focused, shall we? No more of these…disturbing reports I've been receiving from the outside. You are up for Head Boy next year, let us not get wrapped up in theatrics and sideshows?"

"Yes, Father."

"Narcissa? Keep a watch on our boy," he said with a cold stare.

"Of course, Lucius," she replied. "Take care."

"I shall see you both very soon, I promise," he leaned in, drawing Narcissa into a surprisingly soft embrace. For a moment, Draco saw his mother's stiffness fade, and she squeezed him back. When she drew away, she was smiling—a small smile, but a genuine one.

A wicked one.

"I believe you," she said softly. He smiled back, his eyes remaining dark, and cold.

He walked away from them, head held high, his cloak in hand. The Two wizard guards had to struggle to keep up. Narcissa and Draco watched him go, his mother's face growing slightly wistful. Draco was uncertain if he could maintain such pride in the face of such blatant disrespect. He'd certainly not shown it with his own enemies.

He looks so proud, even in the face of adversity. Nothing will tarnish him.

Draco wanted to be like him.

"Come along, Draco. We have a great deal to catch up on," his mother said, steering him towards the Entrance Hall. The wistful look had disappeared, and she was once more herself, as proper and resolved as ever. "I would like, first of all, to know what you were up to while I was away."

Draco gulped. He hadn't wanted to discuss that either.

----------------------------------

"I can't BELIEVE I did that!" Ginny cried, trying to control her sobs. "I can't believe I actually hit him!"

"Ginny, calm down!" Neville said, standing awkwardly before her. He'd found an empty office down the Hall, belonging to someone who fooled with enchanted shoes, and had steered her into it, trying to soothe her.

She never thought she'd get this upset. Somehow, she knew it had to do with Lucius Malfoy standing behind his son. He almost found out about it…I almost got Draco into such a bind…

"Ginny…" Neville sighed, kneeling before her, and drew a tissue from the nearby desk. "This is so…"

"Odd?" Ginny sniffled.

Neville stared at her for a moment, looking a bit tentative. "Er…to say the least, I'm sure. I was going to say dangerous."

"It's that too!" she cried, a fresh round of tears pouring down her face. "I hate it!"

"Then…if you don't mind my asking…why do you bother?"

"I don't know!" she clenched her fist around the tissue angrily. "He was such a prat yesterday—he didn't want to listen to a word I had to say. He left in such a stupid fit—he's such a bloody idiot!"

Behind them, a pair of red shoes began to dance. Neville shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

"But he can be kind too—I know it's hard to believe, but he can actually care about something…he cares so much about his family and his name. I know it sounds quite stupid, but he does have loyalty to something—I just don't know what!"

The red shoes made it halfway up the wall they were hanging from, and finally gave up, dropping down with a clump.

"Maybe I'm the fool," she sighed. "Maybe I'm the one hoping for a change that just won't happen."

"Well…I'm no expert on…basically anything," Neville said softly. "But I can say this—I've seen Draco Malfoy at his absolute worst, and then worse than that. I would never believe that he would be capable of producing a Patronus, even if he is skilled in magic. But I saw his Patronus last term, and I know that was because of you. Whatever you did, it made him capable of a supreme kind of goodness—I find that hard to believe, but the proof lay in the that Dragon, and I can't doubt that.

"Whatever you're doing, Ginny, just keep trying. I'm certain that he shall come around."

Ginny glanced up at him. He was smiling genuinely.

She'd never felt more compelled to hug someone in her life. And she would have, had she not been afraid she'd soak completely through his sweater.

"Thank you, Neville. Thank you so much."

-----------------------------------

Draco had left by the time she and Neville returned to the wide hall where the Wizengamot had been held.

The image of him tilting backwards, his silver hair flying out as her hand made contact, flashed through his mind.

She wrapped her arms around herself. If Draco was any kind of decent person, he'd understand why she'd done what she'd done.

The problem was, she didn't know if he was a decent person or not.

Why is there so much doubt? Why can't I just trust him?

"Ginny?"

Her father was walking up the wide hallway, a few papers under his arm. "All you alright?"

She grinned. "Yes, of course, Dad."

"Well…let's go. Your Mother will be expecting us home soon."

Ginny nodded, moving alongside him. They'd have to return to his office in order to Floo home. "What are you working on?"

"Oh, a bit of everything here and there. Those muggles continue to find interest in odd or extraordinary things. The last one bought an enchanted bird cage that always let her parrot out when she wasn't home. And this fellow," he flipped over one of the files, showing her a dark-eyed man with a large moustache, "has an infestation of nargles so bad they've moved up from filching socks and towels and are now assaulting his dress shirts. If he'd just clean out the lint filter every once in a while, he'd never have attracted them in the first place."

"Dad, can I ask you something?" she said abruptly.

"Of course, Ginny, what's wrong?"

"When you and Mum were first dating…did you ever…not trust her with anything?"

Her father turned bright red. "Uh…d-dating? This seems more like a question for your M-mum."

"But I'd like to know how you felt. Did you ever not trust her?"

"Well," her father shifted his papers nervously. "I don't suppose so. There were times I was angry with her, because she would do things I didn't like or didn't feel like doing. But I never felt as though I couldn't trust her." Her father thought for a moment, tapping his chin. "Except, perhaps, around teatime. She had a fondness for potions, particularly love potions, that was quite disturbing…"

"But…you always knew you could trust her to make the right choices—to think like you do."

"Ginny," her father pulled her aside near a large, circular window. "No one person thinks like another. Everyone is individual, so naturally people will always think differently.

"What is important is that you both agree on the most important things. How you feel about one another. Whether you would trust that other person to be there for you. All of the rest can work itself out, for the most part."

"For the most part?"

"There are things…things that might be difficult, depending on how important they are to you. Choosing sides with regards to Harry, for example."

Ginny glanced down at the marble tile. "If we don't agree on something like that, is a relationship worth it?"

"I can't answer that, Ginny. Only you truly know the answer. How important are Harry, Hermione, Professor Dumbledore—the Order itself—how important are they to you? How important is Ron? Is he more important than your heart?"

"Honestly, Dad? Honestly, I'm not sure. I just don't know."

"Then perhaps that's something you need to figure out," said Mr. Weasley, smiling softly at her. "Come along. If we don't return soon, your Mum really will be putting worse than love potions in my tea."

---------------------------

"This feels wonderful."

Narcissa spread her legs on one of the parlor sofas. The Manor had been polished until it shone; the House Elves had truly outdone themselves. There was not a speck of dust to be seen for miles.

Draco perched on the edge of an armchair, tossing his long cloak aside. "I'm glad everything went well today, Mother."

"Almost everything, anyway," she said, pulling herself up and walking over to him. She placed on elegantly manicured hand on his chin, and slowly tilted his head, sweeping away his hair to survey the side of his cheek. "What happened? Your father didn't strike you, did he?"

He started, pulling from the chair and out of her grasp, and checked his reflection in one of the ornate mirrors lining the wall.

A large purple welt extended across his cheek, with five smaller marks flaring out from the center.

A handprint.

He drew his fingers across his face. Ginny had left the mark when she slapped him. She'd hit him so hard, it had left a bruise.

"Draco?"

He frowned. "No, Mother. Father didn't strike me. You know he's never…"

"Then who hit you?"

He sighed. "Ginny."

"WHAT?"

"She saw me at the Ministry…I think she was going to say something, and she didn't realize Father was there. So she had to cover."

His Mother's lips were pursed. "By striking you?"

He turned away from the mirror, sighing. "It worked. Father believes she despises me. I almost wonder if she despises me."

Narcissa returned to her perch on the sofa. "If you ask me, Draco, this little affair of yours is much more trouble than its worth. Any woman less sensible than Ginny, and the uproar that would have been raised by your father—and the other Death Eaters—would have made Bella's attack on the school look like child's play."

"Mother, don't be dramatic."

"I am not," she said sharply. "Ginny was smart in protecting you. She understands, apparently, the difficult position you are in. It is you, I believe, who does not."

"I understand completely. Better than anyone could possibly guess."

She smiled at him, the grin not touching her eyes. "I know you better than anyone could ever, or will ever, know you. You love Ginny—or you think you do—but in your heart of hearts, Draco, you still wish to be a Malfoy. You do not wish to give up who you are."

He cast his eyes down, staring at the plush carpet. "Mother…"

"The trait is not a fault, Draco. It is the one thing that will save you, in the end."

He looked up sharply. "What do you mean by that?"

"The Second War is coming, son. Even Potter knows that. Ginny most certainly knows that. Only you try to hide the fact, from yourself most especially. There will be casualties on both sides, but everyone knows that no 17-year-old wizard, no matter how many spells Albus Dumbledore tries to teach him, will ever be able to conquer the Dark Lord. The side you choose to be on will determine your fate. And if you are known to be on the side that is headed for its doom, your fate will be sealed with a curse.

She raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps a kiss."

His lips curled into a sneer. "You certainly have picked up quite a few of Father's traits in his absence, Mother. Did your time in Azkaban make you bolder? Or was it finally taking the life of someone with your own hand?"

She rose from her seat faster than lighting. "You will not speak to me like that again, Draco. Or you will find a matching bruise on your other cheek."

He bent down, pulling his cloak off the floor with a neat sweep of his long arm. "Shall I turn that other cheek, then, and let you take it as you will? Seems to be something I'm quite good at, lately."

Without a second glance towards her, he marched towards the main staircase.

------------------------------------

"You did what?"

Ginny sniffled, rubbing her eyes. "I slapped him. I slapped him so hard I knocked him down." She was seated at the kitchen table in the Burrow. Outside the sun was just setting; she and her father had only just arrived a few moments before, covered in ash and Floo powder. Her father had gone straight off to find her mother, while Ginny had taken a seat at the table, greeted by Ron, Harry and Hermione, who were finishing up their supper.

She'd told them everything that had happened in no small detail. Now, Harry was staring at her with his mouth slightly open; beside him, Ron was laughing so hard he'd nearly fallen out of his seat.

Hermione struck him on the shoulder. "Really Ron. I know that maturity comes difficult for you these days, but you could at least try."

He tried glaring at her, but couldn't keep a straight face. Hermione crossed her arms. "One of these days, he's going to be a part of your family, and you're going to regret moments like this."

That stopped his fit, his face going as red as his hair. "The only thing I'll ever regret, Hermione, is that I wasn't there to see my sister give him his due."

"I didn't do it on purpose, Ron!" Ginny shrieked. "I shouldn't have hit him like that!" Hot tears filled her eyes once more.

Harry patted her hand softly. " 'S alright, Ginny. You were right to do what you did, for yours and for Malfoy's sake. If anyone from within the Death Eaters finds out about the two of you, neither one of you will be safe."

"So you think it was okay?" she asked softly.

He smiled at her, the corners of his green eyes crinkling softly. "I think it was fine."

Hermione was smiling at the two of them; the tips of Harry's ears turned red. Ron crossed his arms, a sort of half harrumph echoed from his lips.

"What are you going to do now?" Hermione asked.

"I dunno." Ginny sat back, pulling her abundant red hair into a knot behind her head. "I guess I should write him a letter. But I'm so tired of letters. They never tell you anything about what you really want to know."

"Ginny, is that you? Your father said you'd returned and you might want to…" Mrs. Weasley came into the kitchen, her face softening at the site of Ginny's tired, red eyes. "What happened, dear?"

"Mum…" Ginny stood as her Mother came over, and engulfed her in a wooly hug.

"I…uh…just remembered that Ron and I were going to practice Quidditch for a little while," said Harry, rising abruptly from the table. "Y' know, some of those things Malfoy taught you yesterday."

Ron looked up at him, puzzled. "Quidditch things…now? But it's half past eight. It's bloody dark outside."

"Ron, language," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Come on, Ron," said Harry hurriedly, raising his eyebrows. "You know…that, uh, special move?"

Ron glanced at his mother and Ginny. "I don't remember a special move."

"I do," said Hermione, pulling at his jumper. "It had something to do with evasive maneuvers, right Harry? I'll light the pitch for you. After all, we don't want you forgetting something important."

Ron set his feet. "We can always practice tomor…"

"I want to practice now," said Harry, interrupting him. He and Hermione half-pulled, half-dragged her brother out through the door. Mrs. Weasley smiled after them fondly. Then she cupped Ginny's face in her hands and kissed her forehead.

"I'll put on a spot of tea. Why don't you go and sit in the sitting room and get comfortable?"

Ginny nodded, making towards the large, fluffy comfort of their old couch. A few moments later, she was joined by her Mum, two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits.

Mrs. Weasley seated herself in a nearby chair. "Your father told me a little bit about what happened today, but he seemed puzzled—what happened that made you so upset?"

She recounted her encounter with Draco as Mrs. Weasley listened intently, frowning slightly at the conversation between Ginny and Lucius Malfoy. When Ginny finished, her Mum set down her tea, sighing.

"This all sounds so terribly difficult."

"That's exactly what it is. And that's why I asked Dad if he ever had a reason to distrust you. Mum—the look on his face—Draco's—he looked exactly like his father. What if that is what he is going to become?" she wrapped her arms about herself, suddenly feeling cold. "Will I never be able to trust him?"

Her Mum rose, moving over to squeeze on the couch beside her. "Ginny…I can't answer that. Only you can truly know whether, in your heart, he is trustworthy."

"But…did you ever moments where you distrusted Dad?"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head softly. "No, dear. I completely trusted your father from the moment I met him."

Ginny's face fell.

"But—" said Mrs. Weasley quickly, "Your father is very different from Draco."

"How?"

Mrs. Weasley chuckled for a moment. "Well, for one, he was neither as sophisticated or—dare I say this—clever? Perhaps that isn't the best way to put it. Rather, let's just say that while Draco is a deep, rather complicated soul, your father—for as smart as he is—wasn't. I knew him implicitly from the first time we were introduced. His joy, his pain—it was always written across his face. Your father is very intelligent, but he was never a troubled man—that's one of the things I love most about him. With Arthur, I never had to guess. I always knew—and still know—what he was thinking, straight off. Ron's a bit like him, in that."

Ginny frowned. "That seems best to me. You and Dad are so happy. You love each other so much. I don't think Draco and I would ever be that way." She glanced at her hands for a moment, toying with the fingers. "Perhaps we just aren't meant to be."

"That's not necessarily true," her mother replied. "Sometimes, the most complicated souls are the ones meant to have the love no other couple can match. Theirs is the deepest and truest love."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, not everyone is meant to love immediately. Sometimes people have to work at it. In cases like mine and your father, we were a match from the start. There was nothing exciting about our lives, and that was the way we preferred it. But there were times I envied people who had to fight for their romance—there was something so intrinsically deep, a bond so strong—something I knew I could never have. They'd had to overcome obstacles, to love so greatly. They'd truly had to fight.

"Not that I would change anything about the relationship I have with your father," said her Mum with a grin. "I wouldn't change that for the world. I love him as deeply as anyone else. But there are some romances you know of—who the world knows of—and there are some you don't. Mine and Arthur's—only our family knows how strong our love is. Most everyone else takes it for granted."

"That's not a bad thing, Mum."

"No, it's not. But at the same time, as I said before—there IS merit to working towards something. The bond you establish can't be broken—and it will be admired, and perhaps more importantly, set as an example—for everyone."

"Sounds nice," Ginny sighed. "Sounds like something from a play, or a storybook—it sounds like fiction. The trouble is, I can't think of anyone really who is like Draco in personality—who will have to "fight" for their love. I can't think of anyone who had to fight for their love, and ended up having an unbreakable relationship because of it. Aren't all those Romeos and Juliets just made up?"

"Are they? I'm not so sure," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "You might not be able to think of one—but I can."

"Who?"

Her mother tugged at a strand of her hair. "I'll give you a hint. Their son is just outside your door, probably giving your brother a lashing in the air."

Ginny's eyes widened. "The Potters? Harry's parents?"

A grin spread across Mrs. Weasley's face. "When I knew them, they were incredibly in love. But according to everything I'd heard before, Lily Evans despised James Potter all through their time in school. In fact, it wasn't until their seventh year that she even considered him at all.

"But look at who they became—James and Lily Potter were one of the most admired and respected couples in our world—and their love helped destroy the most powerful dark wizard we've ever seen. And they gave us Harry."

Ginny thought for a moment. "I never considered Harry's parents had to work at their relationship. It's very odd they disliked one another! But…even if they did hate each other—even if Lily disliked him because he was a prat, or a bully, or a snob—Mum, James Potter wasn't from a dark wizarding family. Lily didn't have to worry about his becoming a Death Eater, or betraying her to follow someone like You-Know-Who."

"Of course not, though even pureblood families can have odd branches—look at the Blacks..." she stopped suddenly.

"Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Sorry, dear. But you are right—in caring for Draco, you are unique, for the most part."

"For the most part?"

"Well, no one I know of has fallen in love with a Death Eater. But everyone has a different relationship woe, even if the person they love is "good", as you would say. Consider the person who will fall in love with Harry."

Ginny's eyebrows furrowed. "What? Harry would be a great person to fall in love with—I mean, I think so, not that I would ever think now…but—I think he'd be one of the best people to fall in love with…I think."

Mrs. Weasley smoothed a hand over Ginny's forehead. "Sadly, I'm afraid that's just not true, dear. Harry is much more complicated a person than he appears. It will take a very special girl to be able to love him."

"Why? Harry's good, and kind, and so sweet and even innocent at times. And he is incredibly powerful—and he believes in all that is good and right…"
"And he is destined for greatness," said a voice from within the kitchen.

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley turned. Hermione moved into the sitting room, a cup of tea clutched in her hand. Her face looked strange—old, and careworn. "Do you mind? The boys are outside playing, and it's getting so dark, I can barely see them anymore."

Ginny's mum smiled. "Of course. Have a seat."

"Thank you." She settled into a nearby stuffed armchair. "In many ways—if you don't mind me intruding, Ginny, I couldn't help but overhear a part—I think Harry and Draco are very similar."

"Harry…and Draco?"

Hermione nodded. "They are both expected to fulfill a legacy. At this point, I think Harry understands that, and Draco has known for quite some time what he was expected to do. They are destined for greatness, both of them, and anyone who falls in love with them has to understand that. They have to understand the pressures they are put under, the extreme expectations they and others place upon them—the fears, the desires, the need to do well.

"Whenever those expectations are disappointed, they become a little difficult to live with. Remember what Harry was like last year? He had so much weighing on him, he was nearly unbearable to be around, sometimes. All the anger he'd had pent up inside because of Cedric's death…and no one to turn to, because Professor Dumbledore thought it would be better for him to left in the dark about many things. And all that ended up happening for that 'protection' was that we lost Sirius."

Ginny lowered her head.

"And now," Hermione heaved a great sigh. "He won't say anything about it, but we all know that he's somehow destined to fight Lord Voldemort someday."

Mrs. Weasley flinched; it was still difficult for anyone in Ginny's family to hear Harry say the true name of You-Know-Who, must less Hermione.

Hermione stared at the cup of tea in her hand, her lower lip starting to tremble. "It means he either has to kill someone—or be killed. Knowledge of a fate like that would be difficult for anybody, but it is especially difficult for someone like Harry—someone so unassuming, so kind, who never really sought to be anything special—just someone who wanted to be normal, because he was never normal before. Someone who's just learned he never will be normal. Someone who is expected to be a hero, and who has embraced that…against his better wishes, and without any regard as to what might happen to him because of it.

"To be able to love someone like that, you'd have to be a very special person," she said softly. "You would have to understand how he is feeling, and be there for him when he needs you, ignoring everything else. You would have to be his strength, because he will need every bit. And you would, most of all, have to be willing to let him go, because you will never be more important to him than the task he must complete. You would have to give everything for him, including your heart, so that he could give everything for everyone else—and with the chance that you might just lose him forever. I just don't know if there is someone like that out there."

"Cho Chang certainly wasn't," said Ginny stiffly.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Cho had reasons for being as shallow as she was—and it was true that Cedric was very important to her. But you're right. She should have tried to be understanding. I understood why Harry liked her—she was pretty, and smart, and one-hundred percent the kind of girl who led a normal Hogwarts life. Just what he wanted—a simple romance. But he can't have that, and the person who loves him has to understand that. I think he understands that now. I think he understands so well that he's not even going to try anymore."

"Don't be so certain," said Mrs. Weasley softly. "Whenever you don't look for it, that is when it is most likely to be there. He might just consider it if it finds him first."

Hermione smiled, still glancing at her tea. "For his sake, I hope so."

She was silent for a moment, then looked to Ginny with wide eyes. "In any case, that, to me, is how Draco is, a bit. He's just as complicated, if for different reasons."

"Yeah, I guess. But for all the similarities of spirit, there is one major difference, Hermione. With all that Harry has to face, at least you know what side he's on."

"That is a complication—but it isn't any greater a complication than the fact that Harry might possibly give up his life to save everyone else. If Draco betrays you, you lose him. If Harry chooses to sacrifice himself, we lose him. Both losses will lead to an incredible, painful heartbreak. They are two sides of a most perplexing coin."

Ginny pursed her lips. "I never thought on it in that fashion. But still—at least you can trust Harry. Draco, I'm not so certain. Harry won't ever betray anyone he loves for anything—even if he chooses to end his own life, that's not a betrayal, that's a sacrifice.

"With Draco, we have no way of knowing. He could betray any of us at any moment. He could be the reason Harry, or any one of us, has to die. Harry won't be the reason Draco chooses to betray me. Harry's death won't lead to the deaths of others. It will save everyone else. But if Draco does choose his family over me—it might possibly mean the loss of everything and everyone I care about. He could destroy us all, whereas Harry would save us all. That is the fundamental difference between them."

"I do not disagree with you, Ginny. But if you love him, perhaps you should consider Draco's side in all of this. After all, if you were told you'd have to abandon your family because their ideas were the wrong ones, it would probably be difficult for you too. Look at how you feel about Percy."

Mrs. Weasley frowned.

"Beg your pardon, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione quickly, catching sight of her face, "I didn't mean to…"

"No, dear, in a way, you're right. The fact that Percy betrayed us for his own beliefs, whatever they might be, is very painful, isn't it, Ginny? How we feel about Percy is how the Malfoys would feel about Draco, if he ever abandoned them, and probably to a much greater extreme. And I hope, that somewhere, Percy is just as torn as Draco is about having to choose between his beliefs and his family."

"Doubtful," Ginny sneered.

"Ginny…"

"Right then. So what should I do—be understanding while Draco traipses off to be a Death Eater? Worry forever that while he's telling me he cares about me to my face that he's hurting someone else I love behind my back?"

"No, of course not. But…well—do you believe there is a part of him that is good?" her Mother asked softly.

Ginny thought for a moment. "I believe there is a part of him that can be rede…"

"No," Mrs. Weasley said firmly. "Is there a part of him that's good now. Not a part you can 'save'. A part you don't have to save."

"Y-e-ess…" she replied slowly. "There has to be. He couldn't do what he's done—come all the way to The Burrow, speak with Harry—"

"Call me by my name," said Hermione.

"Right. He has to be good. He saved the school—he saved me. Inside him, there is a part that is good," she repeated firmly, as much to herself as to the other two. "There is a part of him that won't betray me."

"Then perhaps," said her Mum, stroking her hair, "you need to find a way to make him understand why that is so important to you. Why that part, and no other, is the part that should matter most."

"But what if he doesn't see things my way?"

"If his goodness draws from where I think it does," said Hermione, "then eventually he'll realize you're right. He'll understand that his life isn't so much about trying to change, but rather about accepting that some things are more important than others. "

Ginny sighed. "It sounds wonderful. If he accepts that. But what if you're wrong?"

Hermione glanced at her sadly. "Then for good or bad, at least you have your answer."

----------------------------------------

Draco lay back upon his bed, his arms bent behind his head, staring upward at the ornate canopy drapes that overhung the bedposts. Tenny had tended to his room and returned everything to its rightful place after the mess the Weasel had made of it, save for the absence of Hogwarts, A History, which Draco highly suspected Weasley had pinched.

Pinching an ancient book from your worst enemy, and not understanding why you want it so badly in the first place. He really is as daft as they come.

Still—there was a part of Draco that admired the tenacity. Weasley kept working towards an end, even if he was uncertain what that end was. He did everything in his power to protect his friends, whether that form came in protecting them during dangerous battles with Death Eaters or simply attempting to understand their point of view.

Draco couldn't go that far. He couldn't give up everything to protect someone else. Even when he and Ginny were learning to tolerate one another, he'd never been completely willing to let go to ensure she was safe. Protecting her had been about protecting himself too, whether it was from a manticore, a Dementor or his aunt.

And now his mum…

That smile she'd had on her face—had she always done that? She was taunting him, to be certain, teasing him about his feelings for Ginny as though they were part of a game. Had she said such things—threatened to slap him—because she was trying to insult him?

Or was it because she was trying to protect him?

His mother had always been extremely protective of him. When he was eleven, and had received his Hogwarts letter as he knew he would, his father had pulled him aside, convincing him that the best place for him to attend would be Durmstrang—a school far away, but one where he would get a first hand education in the Dark Arts, which Draco had always desired.

When his mother had heard of his father's intent, she'd put her foot down, telling his flatly that Draco would never leave these shores without her express consent. They'd argued for half the night, back and forth, his father asserting that the best way for Draco to fulfill his "destiny" was to attend a school where they might actually teach him what he needed to learn. His mother had countered that he could learn everything he needed at Hogwarts, and that the noble House of Slytherin and all its attending families shouldn't be snubbed by the leading wizarding family in England because Hogwarts didn't instruct on a few jinxes that would be better taught at home anyway.

That last bit had ceased the argument, his father relenting. That was the way it always was. His father was incredibly powerful, but very few people understood where the true power in Malfoy Manor lay.

But why would she tease me now…when she supported me last year?

Was it that she hadn't believed him before—that he had truly fallen for Ginny. Until she saw the mark? What about Ginny slapping him had changed her mind?

Or maybe it wasn't actually the mark—it was his reaction to it. He hadn't been angry, as he suspected she thought he would. Even now, as he felt the bruise throb slightly across his cheek, he couldn't be angry. Ginny had done what she had to, in order to protect them both. She had taken a step not many girls would have taken, to protect him from his father—a bold move, running the risk of losing him with such an act, and yet having the faith that he would feel as he did now, not angry, but admiring. That he would be able to forgive her in the end.

He'd gone beyond that—he didn't feel there was anything to forgive. His family had always done what it had needed to in order to survive, Ginny had done the same. She was no different from the Malfoys in that respect.

"And Mother realizes that," he said to himself. Narcissa wasn't just surprised at Draco's reaction, she was probably surprised at Ginny's decision—so similar to what Narcissa would have chosen to do. She'd come to figure out that a love between Ginny and Draco wasn't impossible.

And that bothered her tremendously.

He needed to speak with her, to clear the air.

There were five bells alongside his bed; he tugged on one casually. Tenny popped up next to him in just a moment, smoothing her neat pillowcase.

"Tenny comes, sir," she said, looking slightly exhausted. All the House Elves had been working endlessly to prepare the Manor for his mother's permanent return.

"Tenny, I need to speak with my Mother. Where has she gone?"

"Tenny is uncertain. Archibald may know, sir. Tenny asks."

Without another word, she disappeared. Draco rose from the bed, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his collared shirt, and reached into the front pocket. The picture of Ginny smiled back at him.

What are you doing now? Are you as upset as I am? What did you do when you got home?

He smiled. I bet you spoke with your Mother, and she made you tea and comforted you, telling you what you did was exactly what you should have done. She's also probably assuring you that everything will be alright. They're always telling you everything will be alright. I hope you don't become to naïve about things because of it.

He set the picture down on his mantle, picking up a nearby comb and pulling it through his hair quickly. He then unclipped the prefect's badge, and placed it atop a corner of the picture, leaning forward on his elbows to stare down at it one more time.

Picture Ginny waved to him, smiling. She'd had a slight gap in her teeth in this picture, and it grinned widely at him.

Tenny reappeared with a pop. "Master Draco, Archibald says the Mistress goes into the Night Wing, and is not being disturbed."

"The Night Wing?" Draco's brows furrowed. "What is she doing there?"

"She is not being disturbed. Master Draco is not going out of his rooms." Tenny looked like a commanding officer with that face; it was one she used extremely rarely, and mostly when he had been a very little boy, and didn't understand the distinction in rank between House Elves and wizards.

"Who do you think you are, to speak to me like this? I need to speak with her, Teenisia, it is important…"

"She IS NOT to be disturbed, Master Draco," said Tenny, uncharacteristically harsh. "Mistress is giving these commands to Archibald, Tenny and all others, and they is not to be broken, even by the Master of the House, yes? Master Draco stays away from there until the Mistress is calling him."

And in a flash, before Draco could even speak, she was gone.

He stared at the spot where she had been, his face starting to burn. Had he just been given a direct order by a House Elf?

He marched over to the doors of his suite--and found them locked, tightened by the same magic used to seal the door earlier. House Elf magic.

His Mother had been serious, to grant the House Elves such power.

Draco strode back into his room, pulling his wand from his robes, and moved over to the door.

"Alohomora Maximus," he said softly.

With a click, the door popped opened. House Elf magic was strong—but wizard magic was stronger, when used properly. He'd have to thank Granger for that one, she'd taught he and Ginny how to master it over the summer.

He moved out quietly into the hall. If his mother was being serious, his rooms would be probably be watched, though attendants at Malfoy Manor were slim these days. Dobby had been particularly good at being watchful.

Why am I thinking of that traitor of an Elf?

He wished he'd found some of his father's ancient dark magical objects. There was certain to be an Invisibility Cloak, or a Rune of Silence, somewhere in the mix.

He slunk along the shadows, keeping a wary eye out for Archibald and the others. House Elves weren't good at patrolling, however. They always had to be doing something. And it wasn't as though he'd ever directly disobeyed a direct command before, either. His mother probably thought his knowing he was forbidden from the wing would be enough to keep him away.

Ginny had been a bad influence on him, in that respect.

The Night Wing shimmered with the candelabras that had been lit in the halls. The area was called so because the original constructors of the Manor had refused to put windows anywhere in the wing. Whether it be day or night, the furthest corners of the Night Wing remained enshrouded in black.

He moved swiftly towards the gallery that had intimidated Weasley only the day before. Very few things in the House made Draco shudder, but the large, imposing doors of the Saniescamara were one of them. He'd played it off for Weasley, but the truth was, the red-headed nit had been right. The doors were stained dry with blood, but not the blood of sacrifices—the blood of the persecuted. Those purebloods who had been tortured for their believes about pureblood superiority—those who had fallen at the hands of the muggles who believed them dangerous or different, or wizards like Dumbledore, who'd believed them wrong.

Everyone who fell, whose body wasn't charred or drowned, had a part of them painted upon these doors, not just as a reminder, but as an enchantment protection. For anyone without a pureblood heart—or a pureblood spirit—the door would scream with the voices of those whose sacred grounds were being trespassed upon—an evil, bloodthirsty sound that would not stop until the villain had been removed.

Draco had never entered here alone; he'd always accompanied his Mother, and only then for just a short time. But if his mother was in the Night Wing, this is where she would be. Though the Weasleys, and Dumbledore, believed otherwise, it was this chamber, four stories above the ground, that actually held the Death Eater gatherings—not the dank, stark halls of the Malfoy Dungeons.

As the Dark Lord said, the Death Eaters didn't need to hide their faces below ground. They needed to exalt in the heavens, above everyone else, where they belonged.

Draco lay a hand on the twisted snake handles, pushing the doors open slightly, wincing.

The door did not stir.

He grinned. The enchantment could never be broken, so he had passed the test. He was a true pureblood.

The huge room beyond the Saniescamara doors rose to the highest point in Malfoy Manor, a large, tiered tower. The short hall led into a gallery that sat beneath the tower, the moonlight the only thing allowed to filter through the large enchanted glass screens. In here, it was perpetual night. Not a trace of sunlight could come through.

In the center of the room, a black robed figure was standing, waiting. Draco silently pushed the doors closed behind him. He hoped his Mother hadn't lain enchantments for him. As it was only he and her, she would be less likely to, but after the conversation earlier this evening, he wasn't certain.

He crouched in the corner, hidden by the shadows of the high wooden support beams, and waited.

Narcissa Malfoy turned, her pretty silver-blond hair half-hidden by a cloak, eyeing the door. Finding it shut as she'd left it, she turned back to the center of the room, and raised her wand.

"Lumos Luna."

The pale moonlight that was filtering through the glass focused into a pinpoint, down through the center of the room, directly below the room's highest point. His mother waved her wand around, directing the light into a series of loops and swirls.

Draco's breath caught. The moonlight had been shaped into a skull, with a long, slithering serpent crawling from the desiccated mouth.

The Dark Mark.

He'd seen it once before in person, at the Quidditch World Cup, though he known the mark from well before that.

A cold breeze shuddered through the rooms, and silently, figures in black cloaks began appearing. One appeared right near him, and Draco pulled back into the corner, watching as the man pulled his robe down past the mark on his arm, which glowed a bright, icy blue.

One by one the Death Eaters appeared—all those who were not imprisoned in Azkaban, which was not many—moving silently to the center of the room, towards his Mother, who had completely covered her face.

The Death Eaters knelt at her feet, in a huge circle around the Dark Mark. She stepped back, allowing the mark to fade slightly.

"Apparacia," she said softly. The Dark Mark reached out again, swirling into an ambiguous mass, until it slowly began to retake shape, to form into a face—old, cold, decrepit.

"Kneel," the face hissed quietly. Narcissa fell to her knees, as low as the other Death Eaters. The glowing face surveyed the area, the only part of the light that shone beyond the silver a pair of startlingly bright red eyes.

Draco felt his breath catch; of all the tales he'd heard, of all that he knew and had been taught, he still hadn't been prepared for this moment.

The Dark Lord.

"You have done well to call them here," he said. His voice was deep, and sharp, cutting through the dense air like a knife.

"My Lord…I beg forgiveness," said his Mother, falling to her chest. "I have betrayed my Lordship with the death of one of his own."

"The death was a deserved one," he hissed. "You may rise, Narcissa. I have no issue with you. Your sister should have known better. Let it be a lesson to any Death Eater that wishes to act out of turn—the Dark Lord tolerates no such actions. Death will fall at the hands of my more loyal servants if such should happen again."

"Yes, my Lord," echoed the prostrate servants around the room.

Narcissa rose to her feet. "Those unjustly imprisoned in Azkaban are awaiting your orders before they break. Are we to move on my Lord?"

The form before her wavered slightly. "Are they ready?"

"They are ready," she said firmly.

"Then we proceed."

"My Lord," said a shaky voice from the outskirts of the circle. "What about Potter? Should not we take care of him first?"

The Dark Lord's silvery face ballooned out into a massive ball of light, exploding throughout the room. Draco slunk back, trying to hide his exposed form.

"POTTER IS MINE!" the Dark Lord screamed, his voice echoing through the room, rattling the timbers and the large door. A faint murmur was heard from within the door's thick wood, a few screams echoing across the blistering silence.

Twelve wands raised around the Death Eater, who fell to his face.

"Forgive me, My Lord!" shrieked the man, whom Draco could faintly recognize as Abalar Zabini. "Please, my Lord, PLEASE!"

The light faded, Draco blinking to clear his vision. "Potter is mine. Do not worry about him, or that fool Dumbledore. We proceed as planned."

"Where shall we begin, My Lord?" said Draco's mother, her voice shaky. "With whom?"

"The graveyard," said the face of the Dark Lord. "Is yours ready?"

Narcissa nodded slightly, the folds of her cloak shimmering. "He will be."

"He will be First. One week's time," he said again. "With the full moon. Be ready, and do not doubt. Tell your husband and the others they break from Azkaban in six days time."

"Yes, my Lord," said Narcissa, bowing low before him. The other Death Eaters followed behind her.

"Seven days," said the Dark Lord softly, his form beginning to fade, "and it begins as Dumbledore could never have imagined."

The light faded out, dispersing as quickly as it had appeared.

Narcissa rose to her feet. "Seven days. Prepare them."

The Death Eaters rose to their feet, and without hesitation, began to glide away, apparating like eerie shadows from within the room.

The Death Eater who had questioned the Dark Lord rose, his cloak drooping from his shoulders. "I am sorry…" he said, directing the words towards Draco's mother.

She stared at him for a moment, her silver eyes barely visible beneath the folds of her cloak.

"Crucio."

The other Death Eaters did not pause; they left the room in a continuous wave, not acknowledging the one of their numbers writhing in excruciating pain before them. They had disappeared all together by the time Narcissa chose to lift her curse. She strode over towards the twisted body, her heels clicking on the hard stone of the chamber.

"A warning, Abalar. You would do well to keep your questions to yourself unless spoken to, unless you want Blaise to witness your untimely demise up close and personally."

"N-no, of course not, Narcissa. Forgive me."

"Go."

He stood shakily and raised a trembling wand, his body disappearing in a flash. Draco didn't know how he managed it—apparating took a great deal of concentration, not easy in a rational state of mind, much less when you were in severe pain. More than likely he apparated to a nearby yard—anywhere, just to get away from Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa surveyed the room, sighing. She moved to the center of the room, staring upward at the still focused beam of moonlight.

Draco watched her for a few moments, a pillar of strength. She was frightening. He'd never realized just how frightening she was.

"You can come out now, Draco," she said after a moment. "If you are done with your eavesdropping."

Draco nearly leapt off the ground.

She knew I was here!

She was staring directly at him, her gray eyes soft, traces of warmth filtering through. "Come out, Draco. It is time you knew the truth."

He moved towards her. "The truth?"

"About your destiny."

"My destiny?"

"The one you heard me speak of last year."

He moved into the dim rays of moonlight. "Last year…" He was dimly aware he sounded like a broken record.

"When you eavesdropped on my conversation with your aunt."

He quite nearly dropped his wand. "What!"

"Don't look so surprised, Draco. You're not very good at sneaking," she gestured to his hiding place, in the corner. "Kreacher told me about last year. Everything you overheard."

She held an arm out to him. "Come."

He walked over slowly; where Zabini had lain, writhing in pain, the stone was ripped with five identical marks stained in blood. Nail marks, where he'd gripped the stones.

"Come."

When he was next to her, she removed her cloak, allowing her hair to tumble out. "You did as I thought you might, Draco. You held in the secret of Bellatrix's attack until the last possible moment; exhausting all your options before informing Dumbledore. It was how I knew that you would be able to bear this fate, even if you were giving your heart away. You still believe in your blood, your family.

"Which is why," she said, turning to face him, "I can tell you the truth—the entire truth, now. But I have to be careful…quick, I suppose…your heart has wavered as of late, and you are slipping."

Draco glanced aside, at where the Dark Lord had been. "Whatever truth, Mother—I am willing to serve my family. You know that. I would not betray you."

"Of course you would not. Not intentionally. But the best intentions are often mislaid at the most inopportune times. And this time, you cannot afford to be inopportune." She placed her long fingers on Draco's shoulders, turning his face to meet her eyes. "You cannot, because you are the chosen one, my son."

His brows furrowed. "The chosen one? What does that mean? Is that the 'first' He spoke of?"

She nodded. "From the time you were born, your fate has been intertwined with that of the most powerful of all wizards. For within you was born a power he could never have—the power of the purest blood. The Dark Lord has always desired a pure blooded vessel—for even he, the most incredible of all wizards, was cursed with a muggle parent. He cannot even enter our chamber here, because he would be deemed impure." She gestured towards the massive, bloodstained doors.

"The only way he could ensure his strength, and the continuation of the proper order of wizards—those Salazar Slytherin deemed worthy—was to show the world that a pureblood could conquer anything. He could not accomplish this feat—but the children of his followers most certainly could. And those with the purest blood would be the most deserved of all."

Draco watched her, wide-eyed. She ignored his expression, stroking his hair. "You are the purest of all the children—the child of the noble House of Black, and the Noble House of Malfoy—the only child to have such a heritage. Naturally, it would fall to you to become the one destined to take control."

He swallowed. "H-how? How, Mother?"

She grinned. "You share more with the Dark Lord than you know, Draco. You seek power—you have ambition. You love everything about your heritage, about your beliefs. You would defend them to the end of your life, and—as of now, at least—have chosen them above the petty feelings of you heart.

"Those are the desires He shares. What you seek for purebloods is His ultimate goal. You see, you are not so very different. Within you lies all that is Him—one heart, one mind, one spirit.

"And soon," she said softly, her eyes glimmering, "you shall share one body, too."

Gosh, it seems so long since Chapter 2! But the plot is finally developing nicely, and for all those of you who were wondering, I wasn't laying off completely—I was actually spending most of my time on Chapter 4, which should be out soon—in fact, I've worked on every one of the seven chapters alongside trying to complete this. I hope you enjoy it, and know that the rest of the story should not have so long a hiatus.