A/N: Thanks to all of you who have reviewed with such enthusiasm, and who are still with me, although I've been away for awhile. Just a reminder: we saw in Chapter 11 that Draco once killed a Muggle boy. The boy's father saved Draco, thus "buying his life". The idea is not original with me; it comes from "Victor Hugo's Les Miserables", and before that, from the Christian doctrine of redemption.

A million thanks to my beta, Lina, who is Greek, and helped me better understand Crete and its climate. Any mistakes are mine, not hers.

Thank you to Gabriele, for his formatting work.

Chapter 12

Ginny was planting daffodils.

The brilliance of October had faded to a wet and sullen November, and as the weather deteriorated, she found herself restless and moody. She was increasingly snappish with people at work, and Myra, her friend from the office, finally brought her up short on it.

"What's gotten into you, Ginny? I asked you a simple question about your weekend plans, and you've nearly bitten my head off. What gives?"

It didn't help that they were eating lunch at the same pub where Ted had taken her on their first date, nor did it help that Ted was, at that very moment, having lunch with the little blonde Junior Assistant from Magical Games and Sports in a quiet corner of the pub. He hadn't noticed Ginny, for which she was profoundly grateful, but she could see him from where she sat and it put her on edge.

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry, Myra. I'm just... I know I'm grouchy these days. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry to be so uncivil."

Her friend considered her with concern. "Maybe you need a holiday. You didn't have one last summer. Why don't you look into a cruise, or something? I'm sure it would do you good."

She smiled weakly. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. A cruise is exactly what I need. I should look into it."

Myra was satisfied, but Ginny was not. In truth, a holiday was the last thing she wanted. A holiday would give her too much time to think. Too much time to feel bereft and aimless and lonely... The truth was, she was homesick.

She lay in bed that night and thought about her family. At The Burrow, Molly would be cleaning out the flower beds: cutting back the dry canes of the summer flowers and putting in new bulbs for spring. It was funny how a person's train of thought ran, late at night when defences were down, in that twilight place between waking and sleep. Putting the garden to bed, Ginny thought, had always given her something to look forward to in the spring. You planted bulbs in good faith; winter would come and everything would be cold and dead for awhile, but in the end, everything would thaw and the flowers would come up. You couldn't stop spring in a garden.

Here at Four Winds, she had nothing to look forward to. There was just herself, and Draco, and Lolly, and they all lived their separate lives, worlds apart from each other, and in nine months or so it would be over and done with, a part of the past that would be best forgotten. There was no future for her here.

But a tiny part of her rebelled at living a life, even for a short time, with no future to it. So she stopped by a nursery one night after work and bought a basketful of bulbs: tulips and daffodils and hyacinths and narcissi. And she spent a Saturday planting them on the south side of the house. Draco had a professional gardener who had long come and gone from cleaning out the beds and wrapping the young hedges in burlap against the coming winter. Ginny ignored these beds and dug her own; a simple oblong on the sunny side of the chimney where she planted her bulbs. They would bloom in April, when she would still be here to see them come up.

She was nearly done when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Draco approaching, just home apparently, from wherever it was he had disappeared to this morning.

She sat back on her heels. "Oh, hello."

"Hello yourself. What are you mucking about in all that dirt for?"

"I'm planting flowers."

He came to stand above her and though the afternoon was beginning to subside into evening, she had to shade her eyes to see him when she looked up. "You don't have to bother," he said. "We have a gardener for that sort of thing, you know."

"I know. I'm doing it because I want to; I like flowers."

He regarded her as though she were a sort of curiosity. "You 'like flowers'?"

"Yes, I do. I always worked in the garden when I lived at home, and I find it very restful."

"I see." After a moment, he crouched beside her and looked at the rectangle of freshly-turned earth. "Well, what did you plant, then?"

She pointed. "Back here will be tulips, sort of in a row alongside the house. They'll bloom first, red and yellow ones. Then here I've staggered clusters of yellow daffodils and paper-white narcissi. In the spring, when it's warm enough, I'll plant some other flowers among them: pansies and Sweet Williams, and that kind of thing. I was just finishing up with grape hyacinths along the front border."

He picked up a cluster of pea-sized bulbs. "These?"

"Yes. Hand me one, will you?" He did, and she dropped it into the indentation she had made, patting the dirt carefully over it with her fingers. Next to it, she hollowed out another little hole and silently held out her hand to him. He dropped another cluster of the bulbs into it, and she planted it. They worked their way down the row like this, and when it was half-done, Ginny said, "You could start watering those that we just put in."

Draco pulled out his wand and carefully directed a sprinkling of water onto the row they had just planted. Ginny watched him, amused by his air of dedicated concentration. When he had caught up to her she said, "You did that very well." She thought he looked pleased.

"I didn't take all those years of Herbology for nothing, you know. When will they come up?"

"April, I should imagine, though it's so infernally cold and dark here, who knows? It could be July before we see a sign of them." She held out her hand and he put another cluster of bulbs into it.

"Do the cold and the dark bother you?" he asked.

She considered this. "Not really. Well, the dark maybe. Winter must last a lot longer here than it does in London."

He shrugged. "You get used to it."

She dropped the last bulb into the ground and covered it over. "There. That should just about do it. Water these?" He did, and she began to gather her things. He bent and picked up the spade and the edger, leaving her the basket of hand tools. In silence, they walked to the little gardening shed behind the house and stowed the tools on their hanging pegs and washed their hands in the little corner sink.

"Thank you for your help."

"Not at all. I was happy to do it." He seemed to hesitate then asked, "What are you going to do now?"

Ginny glanced at her watch. "It's early yet for dinner. I think I'll take a walk; we won't have many more nice afternoons before the snow flies."

"If you don't mind the company, I'll show you a place I like."

Ginny was surprised to find that she didn't mind. He was being very... nice today, and she found herself thinking that if he could only stay like this all the time, then they might actually manage to be friends. "All right," she said.

He held the door open for her, and she went out. "This way." He led her around behind the gardening shed to a path she had never noticed before. They followed it into the gloom of the forest, where it soon narrowed and grew steeper, and rocky, as it began to climb the fell side. After fifteen minutes' hard going, Draco stopped. He gestured before him, toward a stand of spruce trees. Beyond them, Ginny could hear the sound of running water. She looked at him questioningly. "After you," he said, looking as though he were enjoying some sort of secret. She hoped he wasn't planning to do anything horrible to her.

Ginny pushed her way through the spruce boughs, and gasped in sheer delight. She was standing in a little, grassy clearing at the foot of a waterfall. It poured in a slender, silvery-white cascade from the side of the mountain somewhere high above them and crashed into a little pool at the far edge of the clearing. It was the loveliest thing she had ever seen.

Draco pushed out of the forest and came to stand beside her. "Well?" he demanded. "What do you think?"

She smiled at him, touched that he should think to show it to her. She wouldn't have thought him the type to appreciate something like this. "I think it's enchanting," she told him honestly. "How did you know it was here?"

"I saw it from the air one day, when I was flying. I don't think anyone else knows about it."

"Does it have a name?"

"Not that I know of. Should it?"

"Oh, I think so. Lovely places like this should be called something."

"Then you'd better name it." He looked down at her, clearly pleased with himself, and looking quite indulgent. There was no trace of his usual arrogance and irritability, and Ginny thought, unexpectedly, that she could almost like him, this way.

"Thank you," she told him. "I will, once I've thought about it. Does it freeze up in the winter?"

"I couldn't tell you; I only discovered it last spring."

They sat on a fallen log, far enough from the falls to avoid the spray and talk without having to shout. For a long time though, they did not say anything, but only watched the waterfall tumbling through the air and throwing up little rainbows all around the pool. It was a comfortable silence, Ginny thought, unlike most of their silences had been up until now. She felt that, along the way, something had shifted subtly between them, and thought that maybe, at last, they were settling into some sort of truce. She wondered if he felt it too. The absence of his usual rancour gave her courage.

"Draco," she said, broaching a subject that had been on her mind for some time now, "what do you do for work? You've never told me."

"You've never asked."

She shot him a sideways glance. "No, I've always been too frightened of you to ask."

He turned to stare at her. "Frightened of me? Why the hell should you be frightened of me?" He spoke as though the very idea were appalling, but there was something behind his eyes that might have been a smirk.

"Oh come off it! You're bad-tempered, and you've always hated me." Ginny smiled a little, to take the sting out of the words. "I think you like frightening people. I think sometimes you do it on purpose."

"I am not bad-tempered!" he said, offended. "And besides," he added, more reasonably, "you've always hated me too."

"Well, you have to admit you can be moody and sarcastic. It's very off-putting."

"Nonsense. That's all in your imagination; I'm a very sweet and sanguine person."

She snorted, and he quirked his mouth wryly. "At any rate," she said, "are you going to tell me what you do all day, when you're away from home?"

He picked up a dry leaf and crumbled it between his fingers. "Oh," he said lightly, "most often, I'm busy saving the world, one person at a time."

She shot him an arch look. "Very funny."

"Well," he amended, "actually, I own vineyards. And I manage my estates."

"Vineyards? Where?"

"I have one in Greece, and two in Australia."

"Really." Ginny found the idea fascinating. "I've never seen a vineyard. Can I see yours someday?"

He seemed surprised by this. "You can if you like, though I can't imagine it would be very interesting for you." He was silent for a few moments, thinking. Then he said, "I have a small villa on Crete. We could go there some weekend and I could show you around the vineyard then."

"Crete! I've never been there. Could we go this weekend?"

He looked amused by her enthusiasm. "If you like."

"Oh yes, I'd love it! It must be very sunny and warm there right now."

"Well, it's warmer and sunnier than Scotland, at any rate."

"Warm enough to go swimming?"

"I don't know about the sea, but there's a heated pool at Journey's End so you can swim in any case."

"Oh, I can't wait!"

"I think you'll have to; it's a whole week away." He looked at his watch. "We'd better be getting back now; Lolly will wonder where we've gone to."

That night, he sat in his chair by the fire and watched her covertly. She was reading, and he too held a book, of which he occasionally turned a page, though his eyes were not even remotely focused on the words. Instead, he was thinking about the day. He had spent most of it in Australia, at the larger of his two vineyards there. It had been an ordinary day; nothing had gone terribly wrong, though nothing had gone particularly right about it either. What struck him about it was the odd restlessness he'd felt since he'd left Four Winds that morning. No sooner had he left than he'd wanted to be back home again. When, at last, he'd found himself in his own Apparition Port, he'd gone straight to the library. It was empty, and with his disappointment came the realisation that it was her he had been looking for.

Lolly had told him where she was, and he went in search of her. She'd been... planting flowers, of all things. He thought of how she'd squinted up at him, looking pink and windblown and happy, her fingernails quite filthy from digging around without gardening gloves. It was at that moment he felt he'd really come home.

She'd been so pleased with the waterfall; 'enchanting', she'd called it. And she was so childishly delighted at the prospect of going to Crete and seeing the vineyard. He didn't imagine she'd ever travelled much; likely her family hadn't had the money for it. Her exuberance over it had... how had it made him feel? It had made him feel as though he wanted to keep on giving her things, keep on surprising her: enchanting her. He'd never wanted to do that for anyone before.

Next weekend, they would be in Crete together. Suddenly, the week in between now and then seemed to stretch ahead of him like an entire month. He stared, unseeing, at the page of his book and wondered what kind of madness was overtaking him. Whatever it was, he couldn't stop himself smiling about it.

When they stepped out of the Apparition Port at Journey's End the next weekend, Draco watched Ginny a trifle anxiously. It was a small villa, much smaller than Four Winds, and had more of a cottagey feel to it. He hoped she wouldn't be disappointed. Ginny, however, investigated it all with an air of complete infatuation.

"It's lovely," she pronounced, when they'd finished a tour of the place. "So bright and airy. Oh, it's just what I needed in the middle of November!" And she collapsed, arms outstretched, into a pile of blue and white pillows on the sofa.

She liked the place. More than that, she seemed really pleased with it; he felt light with relief. "What do you want to do first?" he asked her. "I thought we'd save the vineyard for tomorrow – get an early start, you know – but we could go down to the village and look around the shops, or you could have that swim you wanted."

"Let's do both," she said, sitting up. "We could go to the village – what's it called again?"

"Xenia."

"Xenia. I can go swimming afterward. Can you give me five minutes? I just want to brush my hair and put on a jumper: it's cooler here than I thought it would be."

While she was in her bedroom, Draco changed too, discarding his robes in favour of a cashmere jumper and khaki trousers with a leather jacket. He looked himself over critically in the full-length mirror in the corner. He nearly always wore robes; they lent him an air of reserve that served to keep other people at arm's length, which was usually right where he wanted them. Somehow though, he didn't think robes would be right for showing Ginny around the village on, what was for her, a holiday. She was so informal and spontaneous; he didn't want to look like some sombre old clergyman walking next to her.

They came out of their rooms at the same moment and met in the corridor. "Don't you look nice! " Ginny exclaimed. "I don't think I've ever seen you in anything but robes before. This look suits you very well." She had put on a short jumper and jacket, and a tight pair of jeans that did something stunning for her hips. Draco couldn't stop his eyes from flickering over them, just for a moment. She saw him do it, and looked amused. He looked away, but felt his neck grow warm under her knowing smile.

The day was clear, and though there was an edge of autumn in the air the sun shone brilliantly from a cloudless blue sky. The tiny seaside village of Xenia was busy with tourists who had poured in from a cruise ship in the harbour: some were Muggles and some were obviously witches and wizards, but they seemed to accept the presence of each other without a second thought about the differences between them. They threaded their way along the crowded pavements, and Draco noticed that Ginny was squinting in the sunlight.

"We'd better get you some sunglasses," he said, "or you're going to wind up with a headache." They stopped at a kiosk that sold all sorts of touristy items: disposable cameras, and bottled water, and hats. Ginny examined the rack of sunglasses, then chose a pair and tried them on.

"What do you think?" she asked, turning towards him.

He studied her, and shook his head. "Too severe for you. Try these." He handed her another pair and she exchanged the first ones for them.

She looked at herself in the little mirror, and bit her lip. "I think they're too big." She handed them back and reached for a third pair. "What about you? Aren't you going to get some too?"

He had never bought sunglasses off a rack at a tourist stand in his life; his were always custom-made. He hesitated, but the sun really was aggravatingly bright, and he hadn't thought to bring his along. "I probably should," he said.

Ginny selected a pair and to his surprise, reached up and fitted them onto his face for him. It startled him, and reflexively, he drew back, but she merely cocked her head to the side, surveying the effect, and shook her head. "I don't think you should get the mirrored ones; I can't see your eyes, and it makes me wonder what you're thinking."

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking." He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it was true; her hands had brushed his face when she'd put the sunglasses on him, and his pulse was pounding strangely from the contact.

"No, I'm sure it would frighten me if I knew, so I won't ask."

From behind the dark lenses, he studied her face. "Do I really frighten you, or were you just joking the other day?"

She laughed, and reaching up again, took the sunglasses from his face. "I'll tell you a secret, Draco; I haven't really been frightened of you since I was fourteen."

He liked the sound of her laugh; he liked knowing he could make her do it. The irony of the realisation was not lost on him: as long as he'd known her, his objective had been to make her miserable. Now, he found himself enjoying her happiness more. He didn't try to analyze it too deeply: he was aware of a growing feeling in himself that was as close to peace as he'd ever come to experiencing. All he knew was that somehow Ginny Weasley was responsible for it, and he wasn't about to fight it.

They tried on pair after pair of sunglasses, studying themselves and each other until they each found a pair they could agree on. Draco paid the owner of the kiosk in Muggle money, and they moved on, looking in windows on one side of the pavement and examining sun catchers, fruit, and brightly-painted scarves in the merchant's booths on the other.

"Oh, look, Draco! Isn't that blue vase lovely?" Ginny said, stopping before the window of a little shop.

Draco peered into the window. It was rather pretty. "Do you want to go in and look at it?"

"What for? I'm not going to buy it."

He shrugged. "So we'll just look."

She smiled. "All right then."

When they entered the shop a little bell over the doorway signalled their arrival. A shop-girl approached them and spoke in strongly-accented English. "Can I help you find something?" Ginny told her what she wanted. Carefully, the girl lifted the vase from the window display and handed it to her. It was a cobalt blue, blown-glass affair with red and yellow flowers painted on it, and Draco watched Ginny light up as she examined it. Really, she was like an open book; had she never been trained to conceal the things she felt? He wasn't sure if he admired this quality about her, or if it exasperated him.

"It's made by a local artisan." The girl turned it over and showed Ginny the mark on the bottom. "He never makes any two pieces alike."

Draco signalled discreetly to the girl, and she smiled in perfect understanding. She took the vase gently from Ginny's hands. "I'll just wrap it for you, shall I?" She moved away, to the back of the shop.

Ginny looked startled. She began to protest, but he shook his head. "It's out of your hands now, I'm afraid."

She stared at him, half-pleased, half-exasperated. "Draco," she said, "a vase like that must cost a bomb!"

"Yes it would, wouldn't it?" he said airily. "You heard the girl; the artist never makes any two alike." This was all new to her, this buying whatever you wanted without a second thought about the cost, and he couldn't resist showing off for her the littlest bit.

"Yes, but still –"

"Don't you want it? I can always tell her to put it back." He made a move as if to go after the shop-girl.

"No! I mean yes, I do want it."

"Then don't argue with me," he said firmly.

The smile she gave him made something go funny with his breathing.

The girl returned with the package just then, and he paid her, putting an end to any further discussion on the matter.

They window-shopped until the sun was high in the sky, and they began to feel hungry. Ginny stopped in front of an ice cream shop. "I'll buy you an ice cream before we go back."

"Ice cream! I don't think I've eaten ice cream since my Hogwarts days," he told her.

She turned to stare at him. "Not eaten ice cream in nine years? I didn't think that was possible! Why ever not?"

He didn't know; he'd never thought about it. He supposed it was because ice cream seemed a frivolous thing and his life held little time for frivolity. Other than Betsy and Fiona, the women he knew always ate like birds in order to maintain themselves in varying degrees of stylish emaciation. He never would have dreamt of eating ice cream with any of them.

"Well we certainly can't let you go on in that state," Ginny said briskly. "It can't be good for you to go nine years without eating ice cream. Let me see..." She appraised him as shrewdly as Natty Toggs the tailor ever had. "I think... chocolate for you."

"Why chocolate?" he asked, amused.

"It suits you; it's dark and complex, mysterious yet classic."

"Am I all that?"

"Yes, I think you are."

He was ridiculously pleased with this assessment of himself, and submitted to the chocolate ice cream. She ordered vanilla for herself, and he protested that this did not suit her at all.

"What kind of ice cream do you think would suit me?" she asked.

"I don't know, something with a healthy dash of red pepper in it, I should think."

She swatted at him with her handbag. Draco laughed – an entirely spontaneous laugh, without malice or sarcasm – and it felt good. Strange, but good.

Lolly, who had come along for the weekend, had lunch ready for them when they got back to Journey's End. After that, Draco left Ginny to swim in the pool by herself while he went out to the vineyard to make arrangements with his manager for a private tour the following day. In the afternoon, they went to their separate rooms and napped, and then they ate supper on the veranda, overlooking a stretch of white beach where the Mediterranean unfurled itself, looking like some impossibly blue jewel held up to the light.

"Tell me about owning a vineyard," she said, when they were eating. "I don't know anything about it at all, and I'll have to have some sort of frame of reference when I see things tomorrow."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. Let's see... I know different wines are made from different grapes; that's about all I do know. What kind of grapes do you grow?"

He told her. She seemed genuinely interested in everything about the business, and asked endless questions, drawing him out and keeping him talking. Before he knew it, the light was fading from the air and a stiff, chilly breeze had begun to blow in off the sea.

Draco lounged back in his chair, feeling utterly lazy and content. "And now, I've talked long enough," he said. "If I tell you any more there won't be anything left for you to learn about tomorrow."

"It's all very fascinating," she said. "Thank you for the lesson." She rubbed her arms.

"Are you cold? You'd better put something on." Draco pulled out his wand, and pointed toward the house. "Accio jacket." His own leather jacket came zooming from the house, and settled itself over Ginny's shoulders.

"Thank you." She turned her face toward the water that now looked a deep sapphire colour in the gathering dusk. Her hair was twisted up into a clip in the back, and a few of the strands had escaped to frame her face. He watched the light play off them, turning them to copper and gold. She looked very pretty, with her bright eyes, and cheeks pink from the chill; he wondered how he had ever thought her as plain and provincial.

"Could we walk on the beach?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He looked doubtful. "You don't think it's too cold?"

"Oh, please? Just a short walk."

"All right, if you like." They pushed away from the table and found the path that led down to the sea's edge. The moon was just coming up from the rim of the water, and a few stars had begun to wink on in the sky. The path opened onto a rocky outcropping about two metres above the sand, where it ended. Draco wondered if he should try to help Ginny down. She was an independent thing, and might be offended by the gesture. Years of his mother's careful training overcame his doubts, however; he jumped down first, and turned to offer her his hand. She took it, and it felt very warm and fragile in his. She jumped to the sand, and gripped his hand, grabbing for his shoulder to steady herself. They looked at each other and something flashed between them that made Draco's mouth suddenly go dry. It would be so easy to pull her close and kiss her, the way he had in front of Betsy Kincaid at Four Winds the other night. Only, this time no one would be watching. This time he would be doing it because he wanted to. He hesitated. He saw Ginny swallow hard and look away from him. She pulled her hand away, and the moment was over.

Silently, they walked down to the water's edge, and started up the beach. The tide had turned and was coming in, and the sand was dry and fine. Without warning, Draco felt the brush of her fingers and she slipped her hand into his again. He glanced at her, startled. She was looking at him uncertainly, from under her lashes. A surge of warmth went through him, and he laced his fingers firmly through hers and tugged her closer to him. She smiled and studiously looked at her feet.

Draco felt as though he were floating ten feet above the sand. She had reached for him first. Did that mean he could kiss her? He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do more than just kiss her. They walked the length of the small beach without saying a word, and Draco did not register more than a cursory impression of anything around him. It was as if the question were hanging silently between them the entire time: What now?

By the time they neared the rock jetty on the far edge of the sand, Draco's thoughts were in turmoil. Kissing women was nothing new to him; hell, he'd done everything there was to do with a woman, and done it often. Ginny was a different matter altogether. She was not just any woman. She certainly was not the brittle, beautiful, anorexic kind of female he was used to going around with: to sleeping with. She was... she was better than that. She was warm and feisty. She was pretty and intelligent. She was the only woman he had ever both desired and respected: what if she didn't want to kiss him? Well, he was damned if he was going to live in the same house with her affecting him like this, and not do anything about it. He had to at least try.

They reached the jetty, where the sand was in shadows, and Ginny started to turn back the way they'd come. He stopped, his stomach roiling with nerves in a way it hadn't done for ten years.

He pulled at her hand. "Hey."

She came into his arms as though she'd been waiting for it to happen. She slipped her arms around his waist and leaned into him, her cheek against his chest. Draco hardly dared to keep breathing. She was... perfect; warm and pliable, and willing. He moved a little, fitting her curves to the shape of his own body. With one hand, she began to trace a pattern on the small of his back. He closed his eyes and stifled the sound that tried to rise up in his chest. Did she have any idea what it was doing to him, to have her hands on him like that?

He stooped to brush his nose roughly against hers, coaxing her to turn her face up. She did, and he let his mouth hover above hers, just shy of touching it. Giving her time to be sure before everything changed, at once and forever, between them. She smelled wonderfully, of salt air and light sweat, and the wine she had drunk at dinner. Draco gripped her arms, not sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

She reached up and slid one hand into his hair, and pulled his head down. She kissed him. Ginny kissed him.

Her lips were dry and hesitant, and they destroyed any shred of self-possession he had left. The ground, and everything around him spun away until there was nothing in the world but the soft crush of her mouth against his, and the pounding of blood in his ears. He had never thought it would be like this: hadn't begun to imagine how she would make him fly. All his instincts, all his experience deserted him; he stood still, lost and drowning in her, and let her completely undo him.

Somehow – he could not remember doing it – he found the clip that held back her hair, fumbled it open and dropped it to the ground. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and he let go of her to bury his hands in the silky length of it, pulling her closer, shifting his mouth on hers.

She made a noise in her throat and broke away from him. They stood there in the shadows, their chests heaving raggedly while they stared at one another. She raked a hand through her dishevelled hair. His eyes lingered on the shape of her mouth, which was all he could see in the shadows. His mouth had been on it; it belonged to him now. A nearly feral possessiveness rose up in him; he reached for her again and pulled her against his hips.

"Let's go back to the house," she whispered.

His heart leapt. Did she mean...? He looked hard at her, but her eyes were veiled in shadows and he couldn't tell what she was thinking. He took her hand. It was all he could do to start walking, to not push her back onto the sand and put his hands all over her... to wait until they got to the house.

In silence, they walked back; by moonlight they found footholds in the rocks to hoist themselves up on the outcropping, until they were back on the path leading to the villa. On the way, they kissed again. He slipped one hand under her jumper and rested it on her waist. She let him do it. His head spun. Her skin was warm, and he was touching it. He still was not sure what she intended, what she would let him do. He slid his other hand, over her jumper, to the curve of her breast. He felt her soft gasp against his mouth, and then she moved closer to him.

Yes! She wanted what he wanted. He had to get her to the house now. Get her to his bedroom. He dragged his mouth away from hers. "Come on," he muttered hoarsely, pulling on her hand. He felt drugged and heavy, and at the same time strangely light and reckless. Journey's End came into view, and they went up the steps and into the pool of light spilling from the front windows. He held the door open and followed her in.

He was reaching for her again when Lolly the house-elf appeared in the doorway leading from the living room. Draco froze, a stab of dread going through him. Lolly would not bother him at this time of night unless... "Yes?" he said to her.

The house-elf seemed to take in the situation at a glance, his hands on Ginny's waist, their undoubtedly dishevelled appearances, and a look of real distress crossed her lined face. "Lolly is sorry, sir. Lolly would not disturb Sir and Miss, but..."

"Just say it, Lolly!" But she didn't have to say it. He knew before the words were out of her mouth what they would be.

"There is a Floo call for Master," she whispered. She twisted her hands together in agitation, and actually trembled.

'Damn it!' Draco clutched reflexively at Ginny's waist and pulled her close to him, closing his eyes and resting his chin on her head. Silently, he cursed the old Muggle who had bought his life for him all those years ago. Because this was what it always came to: his life was not his own to do with what he wanted. It did not belong to him; he had been called, and he had to go. After a moment, he collected himself. Surely, this call would not take long, and he would be back in Ginny's arms within hours. Without opening his eyes, he said, "All right Lolly. I'll be along in a moment." He sensed, rather than heard, the house-elf withdraw.

"What is it, Draco?" The sound of his name from Ginny's lips brought him back to the moment. Gently, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her freckled nose, and let go of her.

"I have to leave."

"What?" Her mouth fell open in astonishment. "No! Surely you don't mean right now?"

The pain of it was almost physical. "I'm afraid I do."

"But why?" She looked hurt and bewildered.

He put his hands on her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Ginny, I can't tell you right now; there isn't time. I just have to go, and I have to do it quickly."

"But... when will you be back?"

"Soon, I hope. I don't know though; it might be a day or two."

She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself as though she were suddenly cold. After a moment, she said, "Can you tell me what it's about after you get back?"

He lied, because it was the quickest way out, and time was of the essence. "Yes, I'll tell you when I get back."

"All right," she said softly, reluctantly. "Go ahead then."

"Ginny, I am sorry. I wouldn't go if I didn't have to."

"I know. I trust you."

I trust you.

The words seared through him like a brand, and Draco had never despised himself more completely than he did at that moment.

I trust you.

'If only you knew.' He kissed her again, briefly, almost desperately, then turned and went to the Floo in his bedroom. He did not look back because he knew if he did he would not be able to keep walking away.

Ginny did not fall asleep for a long time that night. She lay under a light blanket on Draco's bed and wondered at how quickly things had changed between the two of them. A week ago, they had been nearly mortal enemies; tonight, she had kissed him. Truth be told, she had been about to sleep with him. And he would have been the first. She was only slightly shocked at herself. He was a very good-looking man, after all, and kissing him... She touched her lips and smiled secretly to herself in the dark: Draco was no Ted; great Morgana, he was no Ted! She turned onto her stomach and buried her face in his pillow, giddy and impatient, and waited for him to come home. He did not return, however, and towards morning she drifted, at last, into a fitful sleep. She woke at ten o'clock and knew at once where she was. She looked at the other side of the bed: he still was not home. She went to find Lolly.

The house-elf would not tell her where Draco had gone. She only shook her head and insisted, tearfully, that she was bound to keep her master's secrets. She begged Mistress not to be too hard on her.

"But Lolly," said Ginny, beginning to be hurt and angry. "Can't you at least tell me when to expect him back? I don't know whether I should stay here, or go back to Four Winds. As it is, our tour of the vineyard is ruined; we were supposed to be there three hours ago."

Lolly wrung her hands. "If Mistress will allow Lolly to offer an opinion..."

"What?"

"Perhaps it would be best for Mistress to go back to Four Winds. It may be many days before Master comes home again."

She didn't want to believe it would be 'many days' before Draco returned, but she was familiar enough with his prolonged disappearances not to discount it. Going home seemed to make the most sense of anything. "All right Lolly, we'll go back to Scotland and wait for him there. Let's be ready to leave within the hour."

Ginny slept in Draco's bed at Four Winds that night, her arms wrapped around a pillow that smelled like him, but he did not come home then, either. By Monday morning, she was nearly in a panic of alternating fear and rage. What if he were in trouble somewhere, with no way to reach her, and no one to help him? And how dare he just go off and leave her hanging, without so much as a word of explanation!

She went to work, because there was nothing else she could do, and when she got to her office, her door was already open. "There's someone to see you, Ginny," said Lorelei, the assistant. "He said he was a friend of yours, so I put him in your office to wait."

Ginny looked around the doorjamb and gave a cry of delight. "Harry!" She went to him, and he stood to embrace her and give her a peck on the cheek. "This is a nice surprise," she said, smiling broadly. "I haven't seen you in ages! What have you been doing with yourself?"

Harry shrugged and stuffed his hands self-consciously into the pockets of his faded jeans. "Oh, a little of this, a little of that. I'm still with Auror Special Forces, doing International cases: espionage, organised crime, that sort of thing. Nothing very exciting."

"It sounds exciting."

"Well, it's a lot of paperwork mostly, but yeah –" in spite of his efforts toward nonchalance, Harry grinned. "– yeah, it gets exciting sometimes."

"Have you got time for some tea? I'd love to hear about your work."

"Yeah, I've got time."

Ginny went to the door and stuck her head out. "Lorelei, could you bring us a tea tray please?"

Lorelei did, and while they caught up on each other's news, Ginny observed Harry carefully. He was thinner than ever, and his eyes were lined and shadowed, as though he hadn't had enough rest in a very long time. His hair, as always, was a rumpled mess, and shot through here and there with grey. He was only twenty-six but he looked closer to forty.

"Harry," she said, when there was a lull in the conversation. "You look worn out. Are you working too hard?"

He gave a hollow laugh. "Working too hard for what?"

"Well, too hard for good health, for one thing."

"Yes, I suppose I've been working too hard for that." He shrugged as though he didn't care, and Ginny thought she understood.

"But not hard enough to escape?" she asked gently.

He glanced up at her with a curious deadness in his eyes, but did not answer.

She edged forward on her seat and put her hand over his. "Are you still trying to outrun the memories of the war?"

"It was a bad war," he said, with a bitter twist to his voice. "I don't think I'll ever outrun the memories."

They were silent for a while. Harry was right, Ginny thought: it had been a bad war. They had lost so many people they'd loved: Charlie, and Percy, and Hagrid, and Dumbledore. Neville had died in battle, and so had both of the Creevey brothers, and – oh, too many more to name. Scores more of their friends had simply never been found. In the end, the Death Eaters had been routed; Voldemort had been destroyed, and they had all gone home.

But the scars had taken longer to heal; some of them never would. Harry had taken it all particularly hard. He had had so few people to love in his life, Ginny reflected, that when he did love someone he did it so fiercely and loyally that losing them was bound to destroy him. They all had to deal with their pain in their own way, though. If working night and day, punishing himself into the ground was Harry Potter's way of working through it all, then what was she to say about it? She had learned long ago that there was nothing she could say, so she did not lecture him, only joined him in his silence.

At length, he roused himself and gave her a crooked grin. "Anyhow, I didn't come here to be maudlin. I actually came to see you about work."

"Your work, or my work?"

"Both, actually. I have a proposition for you."

She raised her eyebrows and waited for him to go on.

"Are you still interested in working with Auror Special Forces?" Harry asked her.

"Well... yes, I suppose so. Jobs with ASF are supposed to be nearly impossible to come by though, aren't they?"

"Yes, and I'm not saying I can get you a job, but I can help you get a foot in the door with them, I think."

Ginny was intrigued. The idea of one day getting out of the Ministry and working for Special Forces... it was a dream she'd nearly given up on. "What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"There's a case we've been working for nearly six years now." He picked up a thick, manila folder from the floor under his chair. "What do you know about the Dark of the Moon Society?"

Ginny frowned and sifted her memory. "It rings a bell... I haven't heard about them since Auror training though. Aren't they some sort of international group?"

"They're wizard mafia," Harry said bluntly. "You're right; they're organised internationally, with headquarters in Russia, Indonesia, the United States, and here in Britain. They work closely with the Muggle mafia on every continent, and they've got a finger in every major political pie in the world. They're a ruthless, bad-ass bunch of people, and believe me you do not want to cross wands with them."

"What kinds of things do they do?"

"What don't they do?" Harry began to tick them off on his fingers. "Prostitution rings, drug cartels, supplying weapons to terrorists, human trafficking –"

Ginny interrupted him. "Human trafficking?"

"Oh sure. There's a roaring slave trade that goes on under the skin of every nation, no matter how squeaky clean it looks on the surface."

"Surely not in England!"

"Yes, in England too, I'm afraid."

Ginny sat back and tried to absorb this. "So... you've been working on this case involving the Dark of the Moon Society for six years. What are you trying to do?"

"We're trying to bring down some of their big wands. It's taken us six years to gather enough intelligence to have the hard evidence it'll take to put them away for good. We've tracked down the heads in Russia, Asia and the US. We've only now got a lead on the British man, someone who calls himself The Baron."

"The Baron," Ginny repeated. "Do you know where he is?"

"Not yet. That's where you come in."

"Me? Whatever do you need me for?"

Harry grinned. "We don't exactly need you, silly: we have more than enough people to find this guy. I thought, though, that if you did it for us it would serve two purposes. First, it would get you a leg up with Special Forces: do a good job and they'll remember you when a post comes open."

"Oh, that sounds exciting! What's the second thing?"

His eyes glittered strangely. He opened the manila folder he held and drew out a thick sheaf of parchments. "A chance to avenge yourself on an old enemy."

She looked at him quizzically. Harry thumbed through the parchments, until he found the one he wanted, and pulled it from the stack. "These are the vital statistics, last known address, etc of the man we believe to be The Baron." He handed her the parchment, and Ginny looked at it.

Her stomach plummeted to the floor and she stared at the photograph in disbelief. Harry's words came back to her in a confusing rush of syllables: "...weapons to terrorists... human trafficking... ruthless... mafia... human trafficking..." The room began to shift oddly around her, and she groped for the arm of the chair to steady herself. She looked up at Harry, who had his arms crossed over his chest, looking smug and triumphant.

"Are you sure?" she could hardly do more than whisper it.

He nodded, "Nearly. We think Draco Malfoy is The Baron. Find him for us, and we'll nail him to the wall. Find him, and we'll have him in Azkaban faster than you can say 'Dementor's Kiss'."

A/N: Like you, I'll be reading HBP next week. If Book #6 doesn't render this story completely implausible, then I look forward to meeting up with you for Chapter 13 soon. Until then, happy reading!