Disclaimer- Yeah, I'm completely delusional and think I own Harry Potter and all the elements it contains. Suuuuuuuure... Really, it's not mine. Also, Walt Whtiman's poem Oh, Captain! My Captain! does not belong to me as well.

Author's Note- I've finally returned to the world of fan fiction after a very long, long vacation. I honestly thought I never would return, but this story would not let my fingers sit still. There is one wonderful, wonderful person who made this possible and that is my fantastic beta, Jessica. So everyone, praise her and give her cookies for she is truly amazing. Also, I would really, really appreciate it if you took the time to review and give your two cents- constructive criticism is greatly appreciated and I will give you cookies for it. Or just review to say what you thought- anything, short or long, it's all cool. Enjoy!

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OEDIPUS
Little Boys

"All men are brothers, like the seas throughout the world;
So why do winds and waves clash so fiercely everywhere?"

- Emperor Hirohito

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She had been perched on the kitchen sill when Fred's shadow darkened the parchment of her book. It was evening now and she had been sitting there on the window bench all day, idly turning the pages as they went. She had even left the drapes open, enjoying the sight of the December snowfall and gratefully had not been disturbed all day- not until now, that is.

"What?" Ginny asked, looking up at Fred. His hair, she noticed, bright as ever, needed trimming and there was a spot of dirt on his nose. She thought for a moment to say something, but the thought passed quickly out of her head. There were probably a thousand things about her appearance he could point out and she honestly did not feel the need to open that door.

"Come get some wood with me. Mum's trying to build up a fire before the meeting."

"Isn't there some by the grate?" she asked, knowing very well there was. Just beside the great kitchen fireplace was an empty niche used specifically for every piece of wood they came across. Remus often went out into the small set of woods surrounding the Manor to chop some more- to clear his head, he would say- and therefore, Ginny had never seen the alcove empty.

Then again, Remus was probably tucked away in an unused room somewhere, taking his final sips of potion as he waited for the moon to rise. Maybe he hadn't had time these past few days to clear his head.

"Mrs. Longbottom used the last of it this morning. Mum said she can't stand the chill. She hasn't left her room all day."

"You sound surprised," she commented dryly, putting her book aside and rising slowly. Mrs. Longbottom was what Ginny believed to be a true night owl and it was more than once that she and Fred had whispered to each other about her odd habits. A vampire, they called her, when Neville and their parents weren't around to overhear.

"Well, it's not like the sun is out," Fred said, peering through the window. He was right. The sun hadn't made an appearance for over two days now, clouds covering the sky. But it was just this morning that Ginny had woken up to snow, and she had been excited. "I thought she might be on the prowl- looking for fresh blood and whatnot."

Ginny grinned, walking over to the kitchen entryway. On one side of the small corridor was a pantry and on the other, coat pegs. Throwing Fred's graying cloak at him, she said, "Scared?"

"Terrified."

"You should be," Ginny said, shrugging on her own yellow cloak and wrapping an old Gryffindor scarf around her neck. "She's never liked you much."

"The poor old bat. She's just jealous."

Ginny snorted, "Of what?"

"My devilish good looks, of course."

The comment was meant to be a joke, but Ginny's smile faded a bit because of it. She was looking at Fred now, and to be honest, there was nothing entirely devilish about him, at least not anymore. He used to have that wicked sparkle in his eyes and to some extent, it was still there. But now, more than anything else, she saw the purple smudges below his lids and his thin wiry fingers poking out of ripped gloves. They had always been poor, but Molly Weasley had always made sure her children looked presentable. No rips or tears and no sole-less shoes. Fred had all of these things and unfortunately, Ginny did too.

"I don't know, Fred. With a few new pints of fresh blood, that old bat could be giving you a run for your money."

"Not if we fed her Lupin."

Ginny snorted again. "Like that would- actually, what do you think would happen if we did that?"

"I honestly have no idea. Maybe she'll become some new breed of dark magical creature like a vampwolf or a werepire."

"Oh, how clever- crunching words together."

"Or maybe she'll catch us totally off our guard and turn into a unicorn."

"That's absurd."

"And we could use the old bat turned unicorn for breeding. We could have our own unicorn farm-"

"Never mind, why didn't I think of that?"

"And slowly the old bat turned unicorn will lead us towards a profitable income-"

"Oh yes, very logical."

"With which we can flee to Russia!"

"Yipee! The bitter and nasty climate of Siberia is so much better than that of jolly old England!" Ginny added sarcastically, waiting for Fred's next installment of the plan. Instead, he remained quiet a moment.

"I'd say anything's better than jolly old England at this point."

Ginny tried to look at him, but ended up just staring at the ground instead. She knew better than anyone else how Fred felt, shut up in this mausoleum. She had thought Grimmauld Place was bad, but at least the others had been there- Harry, Ron, Hermione, Tonks… George. The thought tugged at her composure.

"Aw, come on, Fred, it's not so bad," Ginny lied. He knew she was lying too.

"Of all of us, I was always sure you'd be the last to say that."

She tried to laugh it off, but failed miserably. And now she was looking at the floor again. Silence had descended upon the two until Fred finally opened his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by the shriek of one Molly Weasley.

"Fred! The wood!"

"I'm going! I'm going!" Fred shouted in the direction of her voice, then turning his gaze back to his sister. "Let's have an adventure shall we?"

Reaching down to pick up the seasoned axe resting up against the doorframe, she gave as strong a smile as she could. "Where to, oh captain, my captain?"

"To the smallest tree we can find!" he exclaimed, opening the door for his sister. Then he added, as though it were a secret, "I've never chopped down a tree in my life."

"We'll aren't we a winning pair? Neither have I." And then, there was snow. She had plunged into the great white sea, feeling the flaked wind stinging at her nose as precipitation clung to her eyelashes. She could feel the grin rising across her cheeks. Snow. Real, shining snow. She poked her tongue out between her chapped lips like she did when she was a little girl, spinning around as the snow fell its way into her coppery hair.

"Gin!" Fred called from where he was shutting the door, "Didn't your mum ever tell you what a bad idea it was to run with an axe in hand?"

She stopped, looking down at the tool in her hands and laughing, extended it to her brother. "You take it then. I wouldn't know what to do with it anyways."

"Gladly." He took the axe and pointed out into the thick horizon of trees surrounding the yard. "Why don't we try over there- Ginny did you just throw a snowball at me?"

"What? Me? Why I never-"

"Because really Gin-girl, two can play that game."

"But honestly, Fred, I don't know what you mean!"

Ploof. The axe fell to the ground and a snowball was flying through the air. Ginny laughed as she ducked, dodging to the side as another whizzed by her head, "You'll never catch me alive!" she shouted, throwing another snowball at her brother, but he was already sprinting towards her, picking up more snow as he went.

"Don't underestimate me, Gin!"

Ginny screeched as a snowball hit the back of her neck, snow wedging itself in her scarf and dripping down her neck. She turned to pelt another at Fred over her shoulder, but he had stopped. He was standing there, still as a statue and looking at the sky.

Suddenly, a wild shot rang through the air, sounding very much like a Muggle bullet. Ginny shrieked and jumped, trying to find what her brother was looking at. Another shot and then Ginny too saw it in the air- a stream of yellow sparks shooting through the cloudy sky- distress.

Fear enclosed a cold fist around her heart.

"Ginny," she heard Fred yelling at her, "get Mum- tell Mum!"

She nodded at him dumbly, looking back at the sky. "Go!" he yelled again and she was off, running hard towards the Manor. But the snow had fallen thick and heavy, and the going was slow. Over her footsteps, she heard another shot and shouting- lots of shouting. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw figures coming through the trees and she could feel the fear rising in her chest. The snow was too concentrated to make them out. Her breathing was heavy and her heart was pounding, adding a new sprint to her step as she rushed towards the door. She was running and running but then suddenly she was falling. She'd tripped on a fallen branch and she pushed her hands out in front of her to break the land.

Pain shot through her body and she saw red against the snow. She had tripped, but not on a fallen branch. She could see the gleam of her own blood in the metal, making her reflection dark and twisting. Wildly, she looked back again still seeing the figures coming closer. Adrenaline pumped throughout her body. Clutching her hand, she stumbled to her feet and ran again- harder than ever until she reached the kitchen door with a thud.

"Mum!" she screamed. More running. She dashed through the house, water, blood, and snow trailing behind her. "MUM!"

Molly caught her in the dining room where she was trying to fix up the fireplace. There was going to be an Order meeting there tonight, Ginny knew, but now she wasn't sure.

"Ginny, what is it? What happened to your hand?"

Breathless and croaking, she answered, "Distress signal- in the yard. There are people coming- lots of people."

"Where's Fred?" Mrs. Weasley demanded, already on her way out, wand held firmly in her hand. Ginny followed.

"Outside."

"Who else is out there? Who's coming?"

"People- I don't know who. I couldn't see- the snow, it was too thick- and they were in the trees."

The pair had reached the kitchen and without a cloak or even mittens, Molly stumbled into the frozen yard. Ginny, still close behind, could just make out the shadows coming towards them- five, maybe six- and they were all moving quickly, desperately towards them.

Please, she prayed, let it be them, let it be the Order.

But deep inside her, somewhere she didn't like to go, she prayed it was someone else. She prayed it would be the end. Because if that was the Order running at them and that distress signal belonged to the Order, something had gone horribly wrong.

And when things went horribly wrong, people died.

She thought it was Fred she saw first, heading the group, but it wasn't. It was her father, tall and foreboding in the wave of snow. She could feel her mother's tension break beside her. "Arthur!" Molly shrieked, scampering towards her husband.

"Molly, quick, get inside. We've got an injury."

The two women rushed back into the house, Arthur close behind. He held open the flimsy door as he shouted at the girls.

"Molly, put a kettle on! We need hot water- and bandages! Ginny clear off the table! Quickly!"

They wasted no time, Ginny throwing every scrap of food and spare utensil into a corner, wiping down the worn wood with her mother's apron, thrown over a chair. As her mother fuddled around the stove and bureaus, Ginny pushed the great benches beneath the table, making room to stand around it. She had done this before- twice.

Mad-Eye was the first person to enter after her father, scuttling over to the hearth. "There's no wood!"

"Fred's getting it," Arthur said as Hestia Jones hurried in. It was not a second later that she had flung open the pantry, leafing through the herbs and potions there, laying them out on the counter.

"There's no hellebore, either!" Hestia said, still rummaging.

"Yes there is," Molly said, "Ginny, upstairs, in the bathroom mirror, there's a package of hellebore."

"Going!" Blood was still running down her arm, but she moved deftly through the house and found the ingredient quickly. It slipped in her bloody hands. Stopping for a moment, she tore a ribbon off her cloak and wrapped it around her throbbing palm. It would have to do for now.

When she arrived in the kitchen, someone she didn't recognize was lying on the tabletop, trembling. It was a man- a boy perhaps- and the white shirt he wore was cut and stained. The holes were so big that she could see the skin below- or what remained of it. Large gashes ran up and down his torso and blood poured from a cut on his head. His right arm looked broken and she could see the shards of glass stuck in his crusty feet.

Ginny felt sick.

Hestia loomed over him, cutting off his soiled shirt with the flick of a knife. "Hellebore!" Ginny stated, holding it up for Hestia to see before plopping it down on the table. Fred was back, dumping new wood into the fire. Charlie and Tonks had arrived at some point as well.

Before she knew what was happening, a basin of steaming water was shoved into Ginny's hand. "Clean his head. It's old blood," Molly said shortly and Ginny was quick to do it. She moved beside Hestia, taking the wet rag from the basin and gently scrubbing at the boy's brow, washing the blood away. He groaned as the water streamed across his face.

Hestia surveyed the wounds, poking and prodding gently as if to hear the poor boy moan. Everyone stopped for a moment, watching her, and waiting for direction.

"Magic?" she asked. The question sounded like it was directed towards everyone, but Hestia's blue eyes fell specifically on Moody.

"No magic," he grunted, "I'm already worried about that distress signal attracting attention."

"No magic," Hestia repeated, looking hopelessly at the figure before her. Blowing out a bout of air, she put her hands on her hips and her face suddenly became very stern. "Tonks- you're on lookout. Make sure that distress signal really didn't draw any attention."

"Right-o." And the pink-haired nymph was out the door.

"Molly, I need a blood replenishing potion. No magic- but I think you can manage a simple one at least. Can you do that?"

"Of course."

"Arthur, I need a bedroom cleared out- one on the first floor preferably. It needs to be decontaminated- no dust, no dirt, and no ungodly, random magical creatures hiding in the curtains."

"The only bedroom on the first floor is the old butler's and housekeeper's quarters. Will that work?"

"Perfect. Fred, I want you to keep that fire going. Get more wood if you have to. It looks like we're going to need more than what you got."

Fred nodded and left.

"Alastor, I'm sure you already know what you have to do."

"I'm already out the door, Hestia," he murmured, "Good luck." Hestia gave the grizzled man a soft smile as he clunked out of the kitchen and into the yard.

The room seemed to have cleared out quite a bit, now only holding Hestia, Ginny, Charlie, and the boy on the table. Hestia's smile faded as her gaze fell on the two siblings. "We have to operate."

"Operate?" Charlie echoed, looking desperately at his sister, "What do you mean operate?"

"I need your strength and Ginny's hands. He's been hit multiple times with some sort of cutting curse and I think some of his injuries might be due to actual weaponry- cursed or not, I have no idea. We need to close his wounds and stop the bleeding- without magic. Have you two ever heard of stitches?"

Stitches… Ginny's mind raced back to just four years ago when her father had landed in St. Mungo's, bitten by Voldemort's very own pet. His wound, infected and cursed, would not close. The healers there had used stitches, a Muggle practice, and it had not worked. It had been ugly.

She felt a spout of doubt rush through her.

"Do you think it will work? Stitches?"

"Do you have any other ideas?"

It was quite obvious that neither Ginny nor Charlie had any clue as to what they were doing, much less any ideas.

"Well, tell us what to do," Charlie said, and then it was down to business.

"First, we need to get some hellebore in him to ease the pain. We've got no painkillers on store and to make them would take hours and magic- things we don't have. Once that's done, Charlie, I need you to put pressure on the bleeding and stop it so Ginny and I can get in there for the stitches…"

The rest was a haze. Ginny cut off her mind from her body, moving here and acting there as Hestia directed her about the patient. She could hear the boy groan and tremble at her touch, gasping and jumping when she moved wrong and it scared her. The blood caked around her fingers as she worked, no matter how hard Charlie tried to stop it. She could smell the liquid, stinging at her nostrils and it made her sick. But she worked on, biting her lip as she went. After a torturous hour, Molly came in with the blood replenishing potion Hestia had asked for and they all took a break as the designated healer administered it to the boy.

Ginny could barely breathe, looking at the torn body before her, stitched together with her own shaking hands. She could barely focus when they returned to working, knowing one slip of the hand could mean the end. Sweat pooled at her brow and when she went to wipe it, blood smeared her forehead. The boy still twisted and turned under their touch and it was a miracle when he would finally pass out, delirious from the pain and the fever.

Ginny wanted to scream when she had to remove the glass from his swollen feet. Each jagged piece ended in a piercing scream that made her want to cry. Maybe she did start crying- she couldn't remember. It was hard to recall the exact process of the operation, each move she made. It was like a cloud had fogged her brain and she was suddenly sure of absolutely nothing. But there was one thing she remembered, the boy's groans and his screams. She would remember those forever.

Just four hours after Ginny came into the kitchen to find a boy on the table, the operation was over and their patient was somewhat stable and breathing- though suffering from great pain and a great fever. Hestia collapsed in one of the chairs pushed against the wall while Charlie ran to bathroom, throwing up the dinner he didn't have. It was then that Ginny finally finished the job first given to her by her mother. She picked up the basin, filled it with new, warm water, and went to work at cleaning his body. She started at his feet, wiping down the tiny scars where glass once was, moving up his chest and torso as she cleaned every stitch she knew would one day be a scar. And finally, she washed his face, scrubbing away the blood that marred his pointy features and his blond hair.

Pointy features and blond hair…

Ginny gasped, stepping back from the table. She stared at the man- no, the boy- in front of her, studying the features she knew so well. It was only when a large thud came from across the room that she looked up. Mad-Eye Moody stood in the doorway, staring at her.

"Draco Malfoy?" she asked quietly, looking to the great Auror for some answer, some explanation for this madness. All this fuss, this commotion, four hours of strenuous labor, of saving his life and it was Draco Malfoy? Draco Malfoy who had teased her so mercilessly in school, who had disgraced her family time and time again, who fought not only against her brothers but Harry as well, who was the Weasley's arch nemesis through and through, who had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts Castle, who had almost killed Dumbledore, and whose father set a diary in her cauldron so many years ago? Draco Malfoy who she had loathed, hated, despised, and abhorred and still continued to do so? Draco Malfoy!

She didn't understand!

Moody nodded.

Ginny felt so completely and utterly frustrated. Don't just nod! She needed more. She needed an explanation! "Why?" she choked, but he did not respond. He simply clunked across the kitchen, walking as slowly as could be, with no answer coming from his lips.

"Why?" Ginny asked desperately, but this time to Hestia, still slouched in her wooden chair. The girl barely felt the frustrated tears streaming down her face.

"Because he's still a little boy," the woman said quietly, "and little boys still make mistakes."

xxx

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