June 1997
Draco was running, blindly running for his life. Professor Snape and a few others were ahead of him and more still were behind him. His sides were aching, his hands were shaking, and breathing was getting more and more frantic.
His memory of what happened over the next few days is mostly a blur. He was taken to a place, he knew not where, and greeted by the Dark Lord, Voldemort himself. After being enduring multiple rounds of the Cruciatus curseand a severely painful Legilimency session, he was sent home to his mother. Later he would hear that Professor Snape's encounter with Voldemort had been similar to his own. Snape was allowed to live this first time because he'd done what Draco failed to do.
Draco spent a few days at home with his mother, mainly sleeping and eating very little. His mother came to him with the news that he would be given a position serving the Dark Lord, delivering messages or some other such menial task. One could not always trust the Owl Post in those days.
Draco accepted the position, fearing there was no other path, and did his job well. He wanted no more of what he had experienced after failing to kill Dumbledore. He never knew what was contained in the parchments and parcels he delivered. It was not his place to know. Gradually, his life was changing from a luxurious and pampered one to that one of drudgery.
Hogwarts did not reopen that fall and even if it had, Draco suspected he would not have been welcome. He had little to no contact with anyone aside from his mother and those he dealt with daily, delivering messages. There were no Owls from old school buddies; there were no snogging sessions with Pansy Parkinson, or any other girl, for that matter. This was not the life he'd imagined he'd have at seventeen.
He began to resent what had happened to him, what he had been forced into.
xxxxxxx
January 2000Narcissa Malfoy had given over use of Malfoy Manor to the Dark Lord upon her husband's death . Lucius had died in battle with an opponent while trying to flee Azkaban. Draco remembered the first time he had walked through the door of the small servant's quarters, which were in a separate from the rest of the house
It was a stormy afternoon and the small house was dark and quiet. "Mother?" Draco called. No answer. Draco saw a small flicker of candlelight coming from under the door that led to the loo. "Mother?" he called again, rapping lightly on the door.
There was still no answer. He bent down to look under the door. There was a crack about an inch high between the door and the floor . He thought he saw a body sprawled on the floor. Thinking his mother must have fainted, he quickly opened the door.
When he opened the door, the a dreadful sight met his eyes . His mother lay on the floor, in the middle of the small bathroom, dried blood dripping from her wrists. Gelled blood pooled to the sides of her arms, her eyes were glassy, and a small smile lay forever etched on her lips. The blade which had made the offending wounds lay beside her, just out of her reach.
"Mother! No! Mother!" he screamed and began to cry. "Oh mother! What have you done?" He knelt beside her and gathered the limp body in his arms. He hugged her head gently to his chest, ignoring the blood he was smearing across his robes. He clung to her and cried until it was night and the candle had burned out.
That night he had buried her in the manor's rose garden, the one she had loved so much and had enchanted to grow year round. Upon filling in his mother's grave, Draco fell to his knees, unleashing a primal scream.
'Whoever is responsible for this will pay,' he thought as he collected himself.
Draco went back into the house at dawn, tired, covered with dirt and blood, tear-stained and feeling completely defeated. As he sat at the table in the small kitchen, he noticed a folded bit of parchment propped against a small, framed photo of what had been his family. It had his name written on the front. He grabbed it and flipped it open.
My dearest boy,
I see no other way out than to do what I have done. I know this will affect you and for that I am sorry. But I am more sorry for the things that your father and I have done wrong. Leave this place, Draco. Leave here and never come back. Get as far away from the Dark Lord as you can. He is wrong. Everything he stands for is wrong. Serve him no longer, I beg of you. Go and live the life your father and I could not give you. I know that it is hard to understand right now, but I love you and your father did as well. We always did.
Love,
Mother
Draco reread the letter several times before comprehending what it said. He knew his mother had killed herself, yet some part of him had hoped that she had been forced to- the Imperius Curse or something the like. But he knew from her letter she had done it of her own free will. The tears came once again, and in a fit of rage, Draco destroyed the few belongings scattered around the small room.
He stopped when he came back to the table and the framed picture of his family. It had been taken when he was eleven, getting ready to board the train to Hogwarts. His mother's arm was around him, and he and his mother were smiling and waving. His father was not smiling, a small sneer formed at the corners of his mouth. Yet Draco knew his father well enough to know that he had been happy that day, as his usual frown and snarl were missing.
Draco sobbed softly, slumping back down in his chair. He was truly alone now. His mother, the only person he had ever truly loved and the only person who had ever truly loved him- or ever would- was gone. Exhausted, Draco let his head drop to the table and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
xxxxxxx
October 1997Harry had been gone, along with Ron and Hermione, for nearly three months. Ginny and her parents were stationed in the Order Headquarters, at 12 Grimmauld Place. The Burrow was no longer safe.
Bill visited regularly, as did Fred and George, but Ginny was still lonely. She longed for school, and for her friends. She got owls every now and again from Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and of course from Ron with Hermione and Harry adding a few words.
She was included in Order meetings although she was not of age. Her fighting at the Ministry at the end of her fourth year had shown everyone that she was not only ready, but also was willing and able. Thus, she frequently kept company with Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye and others as well as her parents.
Oliver Wood came into the picture that October. Hogwarts was closed as a school, though many of the staff remained there, helping the Order. Ginny, her parents, and the other occupants of 12 Gimmauld Place had relocated and were now living in Hogwarts.
Oliver had left Puddlemere United, the Quidditch team on which he had played for a few years, once the war got into full swing that fall. He had sought to join the Order.
Ginny remembered the first time she set eyes on Oliver. He strode into the Great Hall of Hogwarts. He was as handsome as ever and she immediately noticed the vacant space on his left ring finger. She grinned inwardly, thinking of what a boy-crazy girl she really still was, given the current state of the world.
Oliver was introduced and then asked to take a seat. There was a seat open by Ginny, who was on the aisle near the front, and he took it. The rest, as they say, was history.
Although only sixteen, Ginny had the body of a more mature young woman. She was constantly training and Oliver had immediately noticed the long, toned legs that peeked from under her robes. They had struck up a conversation and stayed out in the entrance hall of Hogwarts talking well into the night after the meeting.
'So you just graduated then?' Oliver had asked, referring to the events of the summer.
Ginny tossed her head back, laughing. 'Gods no! I should be entering my sixth year but it looks like I am done with only five years under my belt.'
Oliver had gaped at her. 'So you're what, sixteen then?'
'Yes,' she smiled softly at him. 'Not quite what you had in mind?'
'Oh… no… not at all. I just meant, well it seems to me you are much more mature. I know a lot of girls my age who are just that- girls. You are more…' he hesitated.
Ginny grinned. 'Well, being the youngest of six, I suppose most people would think I would be a big baby but my brothers, man, they weren't easy on me! I guess I've just grown up fast.'
Oliver had nodded, not taking his eyes off her lips. He had leaned in and kissed her, a kiss that she had returned fervently.
Their relationship had escalated quickly. It had been impossible to keep it a secret so Oliver had gone to her parents to ask permission to court Ginny since she was still young. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had agreed.
For Christmas that year, she had given him her virginity and he had given her a promise of marriage, a promise he fulfilled just eight months later in August, shortly after her seventeenth birthday. By the time they had known one another for a year, they had been married for nearly two months. Ginny really did love him, more than she had ever loved any other, even Harry. Oliver made a wonderful, attentive husband.
Still, despite the perfect marriage, Ginny always felt there was something missing. She never told anyone and she hid those feelings well. She thought it was just the bad turn the world had taken. Each day, each month became worse as Voldemort's forces grew stronger.
xxxxxxx
November 2001Ginny would remember the eighth day of the eleventh month forever. It was the day she became a widow. Oliver had been out on a run to attack some Death Eater spies that Tonks had found. He had gotten into a duel with Weldon Nott and had severely wounded Nott just before Nott had performed Avada Kedavra on him.
Ginny had a rumble deep in her gut that day and she knew something had gone terribly wrong. She had paced the entrance to the Great Hall waiting for the return of the group Oliver had been with. When only Tonks, Remus, Seamus Finnegan, and Fred had returned, she darted from the corridor and headed towards the room she and Oliver shared in what had once been part of the Gryffindor dorms.
Fred and Seamus had left Oliver's body outside, not wanting Ginny to see Oliver in his current state. He needed to be cleaned up before the funeral. Ginny didn't leave her room for the rest of the day. She spent it instead covered up with a soft shirt of her husband's, breathing in his scent and sobbing over her loss.
The following day, Ginny had emerged, requesting to see Oliver's body and was taken to the hospital wing that also served as the morgue. Madam Pomfrey had made Oliver as presentable as she could, given the ordeal he had been through. Ginny gingerly took his limp hand and caressed it, murmuring under her breath that she loved him and that if she had it to do all over again, she would have loved him more, loved him better.
Ginny shrouded herself in black for Oliver's funeral and took comfort in those around her after having separated herself from them for the previous few days. She let her mother cradle her in what had been the Gryffindor common room. She received an owl with a letter of condolence from Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
By the next week, Ginny had shrugged off her grief and shrouded herself with anger. She spent a good deal of time training. The dueling room, as it had came to be known, was in a shambles as she left it, sweaty and red from her rage.
She went out on the next three missions in a row and came back with the deaths of four Death Eaters under her belt, and two in custody that she and Moody would interrogate. At only twenty, she was a widow, and a brutally good soldier.