Ginny's first thought was Harry when an assault of daylight cracked open her eyelids and woke her from her uncomfortable sleep on the hospital wing cot.

He would've been there for her, she mused. Sitting by her side, tapping his foot, staring at her hand because he couldn't decide whether or not to hold it. His green eyes would have flashed with worry behind those awful circular glasses and she'd have privately smiled to herself at the furrow between his eyebrows.

He wasn't there, though.

Of course he wasn't. He never was. Not the real version of him, anyway.

Blood crawled over Ginny's tongue as she chewed the inside of her cheek, pulpy scars throbbing at the movement. A tutting sound hit her from a distance. She sat up in bed to appease whatever Madam Pomfrey was annoyed at but regretted it instantly. Her hip screamed in protest, making a concerning popping sound and ricocheting shards of pain down her side.

"Steady on," said a thin voice that was certainly not Madam Pomfrey. Ginny looked up and blanched when Hermione Granger stepped forward to nudge her shoulders back onto the mattress. In her other hand was a fistful of roses, obviously transfigured herself because one of them still had red tissue paper petals.

"Hermione," Ginny pointed out unhelpfully. Her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. "Thought you were Harry. I mean, angry. I mean, both, but not the first, 'cause that's weird - you know I'm over him, so why would I wish you were Harry - not that I do, of course, just asking the question-"

"Ginny. Stop talking," Hermione commanded, not unkindly. Ginny stopped talking. Her ginger mane was a rat's nest tangled around her neck and Hermione used a summoning charm to retrieve a hairbrush. She began the untangling process. With a grimace, Ginny sniffed her roses. Tried not to pass out when she leaned too far forward, nearly dislocating her hip for the second time.

"Just sit back, for Merlin's sake." Ginny looked away when Hermione chuckled. She noticed a gold chain hanging around her neck – obviously the gift from Fred - and tried not to shrivel with discomfort.

"What are you doing here, Hermione? And how long have I been here for?"

"Six hours," Hermione answered, tugging at a particularly stubborn curl, "and I'm here because I wanted to see how you were doing. You're in the hospital wing almost as much as Harry these days."

Ginny swallowed.

"Also, I have your wand."

The little Yew branch dangled at the front of the brunette's robes. Ginny plucked it and asked, "This has nothing to do with my brother and his advice concerning our relationship, right?" It wasn't meant to sound sour but Hermione's lip puckered anyway.

"Don't be daft. Fred has nothing to do with this."

Ginny stuck a finger out, exclaiming, "You said Fred! So he is involved!"

Hermione put the hairbrush away and placed her hands on Ginny's shoulders, staring deep into Ginny's brown eyes made drab by missed sleep. Her chest was heaving. Ginny felt a twinge of regret. Maybe being a git to Hermione Granger isn't entirely fair when she brought you roses and is brushing your hair.

"Percy is an imbecile, George never answers my owls, Charlie is in Romania, I barely talk to Bill, and Ron - " she paused to reel in a heavy breath – "Ron has made it quite clear that as long as I'm going out with Fred I am nothing to him. Hence, why Fred was the first Weasley brother to leave my mouth."

Ginny's lip curled. "I don't know how accurate that is…"

There was a stiff pause where Ginny held her breath. Slowly, she saw the gears click and Hermione gasped, slapping Ginny on the arm. "Ginevra Weasley!"

They were both giggling, though.

"Remember when George got drunk and put on Fred's jumper and tried to snog you at Grimmauld place?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "How could I forget? I'm one of the only people in the world who can actually tell those two idiots apart. Even Fred forgets it after he's had a few butterbeers."

Ginny was laughing properly now. "Percy totally fancied you for a while, too."

"The best bit was how ashamed he was. Even Ron felt sorry for the poor man."

Ginny's smile twisted as her hip thudded with pain.

"What happened up in the air, Gin?" Hermione asked incredulously. She pulled in a chair to listen and Ginny was surprised at how warm the gesture felt. But the memory of the Gryffindors coming to the library and harassing her and Malfoy turned her temperature right down.

"I don't know," she said coolly. "One minute I was flying like I always do and the next, my broom turned into a bucking bronco."

"It wasn't like when Harry's broom was possessed by Quirrel back in first year, was it?"

"I wouldn't know. I wasn't there," Ginny sneered, taking a page out of the Head Boy's book.

Hermione appeared unfazed. "It doesn't really matter… who could've done it? That magic is far too advanced for a student. All the teachers were on the pitch trying to help - Beckett, McGonagall, Slughorn - Tungstern! I didn't see him on the pitch! He could've been orchestrating the attack from the bleachers, either an unspoken charm or a puppet one -"

Ginny cut in. "And considering everything that happened between me and him, he could have a motive, too." Her chest grew shallow.

"Everything that happened?"

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, like, refusing his help in Quidditch, catching him in Beckett's stores, Halloween night…"

"Halloween night?"

Oh.

Oh, dear Godric.

"Yeah, we, um, had a little run-in incident thingy-majig," Ginny blabbered. Her neck was sweaty and her heart was racing and Hermione did not seem satisfied with the explanation.

A line appeared between her brows. "Ginny, I'm sorry about the library thing. I truly am. It came from a place of hurt and pain, not just anger, and that doesn't excuse it." She inhaled deep. "But suggesting a professor's motive for killing you was a 'run-in thingy-majig'? That isn't enough. You need to tell me what happened."

Words glued together in Ginny's mouth. She couldn't look Hermione in the eye.

Realization dawned on the girl's face like a sunrise. "Halloween night. The ball. I remember, you snuck away. Fred told me. You had been dancing with Malfoy and then you snuck away with him for the rest of the night. Alone… holding hands."

"It was nothing," Ginny began to explain, but Hermione butted in before she could start. Her friend had reached her last straw.

"No. I'm not doing this. Not with you. I can't. I refuse, Ginny."

"Hermione, listen, I promise you, nothing happened-"

"What exactly did Tungstern walk in on you two doing, hm? Studying?"

Ginny's stomach was a lead weight drowning her in air. "No, it's not what you think-"

"Were you busy with Head duties, as you like to say? Or perhaps it was head duties, just without the duties-"

"HERMIONE!"

She looked like she regretted saying that but her jaw was set. "Every single one of us is suffering because of the war. Dreams, flashbacks, anxiety, everything-"

"Could you just let me-"

"-and then you with the breakup, Ron and Harry leaving to the Academy, Fred almost dying, having to wait while we found the Horcruxes, fighting snatchers, the battles, Bellatrix's torture. I know. I feel it too. All of it."

Ginny's voice simmered dangerously. "What are you getting at?" Whenever Hermione listed things, it never ended well.

"I'm trying to say that we're all ruins of what we once were. No one is ever going to be the same. We're broken and trying to pick up the pieces. It's why I've been so impatient and frustrated with you lately."

"Get. To. The. Point," Ginny grit out. Hermione's jaw flexed.

"Trauma has changed everyone, and I want to support you through your healing process. But I can't do that when your coping mechanism is Draco bloody Malfoy!"

"There it is!" Ginny crowed. Her volume revved up. "The good old Granger bomb. I thought you'd never get to it."

"I stand by every word. I can't support you when your coping mechanism is Draco Malfoy," Hermione repeated, fuming.

"He's not who you think he is," Ginny said, and Hermione threw her hands up in the air.

"See? That! That sentence! At first I thought you were using him to make a point. Or get our attention. Or something manipulative. But then I realized, it isn't just the War that changed you. He did, too. He's getting into your head. He's the one manipulating you, turning you into this other person. He's going to hurt you like you've never been hurt before."

"Shut up." The angry, ugly thing in her chest was making its appearance like it always did when Draco's - Malfoy's - name came up. She felt the same searing anger as in the library.

No one gets to insult Malfoy except her. No one.

"Just shut up, Hermione."

"No." Her eyes flashed amber. "Ginny Weasley is my best friend. I just can't be friends with you. I can't be friends with this new Ginny who gets caught canoodling with Death Eater brats. I don't even know you anymore. You're like a stranger to me."

A bubble made its way up Ginny's trachea, expanding and wobbling until it popped and a laugh escaped her throat. "New Ginny? A stranger? You think I've become someone else?" Another laugh spilled out, then a snort. "Merlin, Hermione. You really think you know everything, don't you?"

Hermione's arms were crossed stubbornly over her chest. All her weight rested on her left leg. Ginny smiled, almost to herself.

"Maybe I haven't changed."

"I beg your pardon?"

Ginny tightened her shoulders. "You heard me. Maybe I haven't changed. Maybe I've actually been the same Ginny all along. Maybe my 'trauma'-" Ginny added air quotes, "- simply brought all the stuff you don't like about me to the light. Maybe I've been this Ginny all along, I've just been hiding it from everyone because I know they can't handle it."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but Ginny was the one who cut her off this time.

"Don't tell me you can't be friends with me anymore because I'm not the person you knew before. Don't. Because you're talking as if I can go back to that person - the girl with eighteen Valentine's day cards and top marks and loads of friends and Harry Potter." A lump formed in her throat.

She pushed on.

"You're saying that the old Ginny is a possibility for me to become again. Like you can just fix all my broken pieces, dust me off and have everything go back to how it was. But you're wrong."

Breathe in, two, three, four...

How do you not understand that we're a train wreck waiting to happen?

Breathe out, two, three, four...

Cold Colin. Bleeding Fred. So cold. Blood so red against the grey-

Chew cheek. Stay grounded

What do you know of the old Draco?

Swallow.

I'm sorry I'm too real for you to handle.

Breathe, Ginny. Breathe.

Don't die.

Push on.

(filthylittlegirldirtytraitorbloodtraitornonono-)

"You're wrong, Hermione. You do know me. You just don't like it. You don't like that my perfect little exterior is gone and that this 'trauma' has changed me into someone you can't control."

"Gin-"

"After all this, I think we've actually come to an agreement. I'm not the person you think I am anymore. It's true. I've changed. You know who I am now?"

Ginny almost choked on her own sentence when her eyes flitted upwards and met two steely grey ones at the end of the hospital wing hall.

"I'm real. I am Ginny Weasley. The only thing that's changed is that I've become too real for you to handle." A weight crashed down and lifted off her back in the same instance. A weird part of her fluttered at the thought that Dra - Malfoy - was listening.

And probably proud of her.

Two tears tracked down Hermione's cheeks. "If that's what it's become, then fine. I don't want to fight anymore. Do whatever you want, Ginny. Just know that I'm here for you when you decide to come back. When you finally put your real friends over him, because it's him or us. I'll be waiting."

She started walking away, just like that. Seven years of friendship hanging between them by a thread. Ginny called after her, "What if where I am isn't a bad place?"

Hermione wasn't listening, though. If she saw Malfoy lurking in the corner of the room, she didn't acknowledge him.

Ginny groaned and collapsed back onto her pillow. Yelped when her hip said no.

"It is true that you're seeing Madam Pomfrey almost as much as Potter was," came a familiar lazy drawl that sent both a bitter taste to Ginny's mouth and goosebumps rippling over her freckled skin.

"Most eavesdroppers at least try to be subtle about it," she muttered, looking away.

"Weasley." He sounded calm and level-headed, and it grated on Ginny's already shot nerves.

"What?"

"I hear you. They don't. But I do."

She'd felt so safe in his arms despite the pain in her hip.

He'd caught her when she'd fallen.

He was there. He had come to see if she was okay.

"Don't die-"

"Congratulations. You aren't deaf," she quipped, trying to sound baffled. (Failing).

"You know what I mean, Ginny."

Of course she did. She always did. She just really, really didn't want to. Because it meant that her desire to talk to him and squabble with him, knowing he'd still see her the same way as he always did, was real. No matter what she'd say, they'd stay the same. It meant that she did feel a sudden desperation to reach out, pull this starchy, annoying, understanding little git into her arms and breath in his scent and feel her cheek against his hard chest like she had in the field -

Draco - Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy - reached behind him and pulled something sleek and long and polished out. Something with the silver lettering 'Nimbus 2001' painted on its handle.

"What's that?" Ginny asked with a nervous laugh. Malfoy's expression remained elusive. He placed his broom across her lap.

"Yours," he replied simply.

Ginny balked. "No."

"Don't you dare try and fight me on this, Weaselette."

"No. I won't take it. I don't want your pity."

"This isn't pity. I want you to have it because I want you to have it." His long fingers tightened their clasp of his knees. The unbidden recollection of how he clasped her hair in the DADA classroom flashed bright and startling. She could practically feel his lips kissing her neck and his hand on her waist. A flood of crimson washed over her flesh. She was clearly delirious with whatever medicine Pomfrey had given her.

"I don't want your broom, Malfoy."

"Why?"

She considered lying to him and saying she'd feel bad because he'd have to buy another one. But when she finally met his gaze, she felt the truth tumbling out before she could stop it. "Because all it would do is remind me of the power you have over me."

He leaned back in his chair, countenance blanker than ever. "Elaborate."

"I hate it when you go into Rita Skeeter mode." Ginny narrowed her eyes.

A ghostly smile flirted with the corners of his. "I wasn't Dumbledore's spy for nothing."

"It's… it's so much, you know?" she began thickly.

"You're chewing your cheek."

Ginny continued, less thickly. "It's everything, actually. We're both purebloods but my family are shunned and bullied. You're richer than anyone in my family could ever dream of being. And you're good at Quidditch and you've always had a better broom and I just…"

"We're both purebloods but your family breaks the stereotype and are actually good people, Ginny," Malfoy interrupted her. The usual prickle at her name arose. "I may have more money than you but you're rich with everything that actually matters in life. You're the best Chaser that Hogwarts has ever seen and if my broom is always better than yours, so what? Even if I could ride Haley's comet, you'd still be a better flyer than me, and that's the truth."

Ginny said hoarsely, "You really think so." As if it were a statement, not a question.

"I know so." If possible, his face grew even more vacant. It made Ginny wonder whether the emotionless mein was really just a way of hiding his true, fiery, bubbling emotions from her.

It left her dumbfounded.

"I know we hate each other, and being in your presence makes me allergic to carrots, but I think we could make an okay team," Malfoy said, eyes flitting over Ginny's dropped jaw.

"You're such a ghoul. I'm surprised there isn't a 'Slip Caution' sign that appears whenever you touch your hair," she bit back.

At this point, though, their banter felt more like a necessary chore than anything else.

"Hermione's a nitwit."

"Hermione's a genius. She's just… Hermione."

"Nitwit. Know-it-all nitwit."

"Whatever."

"I have a plan."

"Do you, now? Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't. But you still do."

Don't die.

Ginny's vocal chords wobbled. "Shut up."

Draco - No, Malfoy. Merlin, what was wrong with her? - moved the broom and propped it up on the bed frame so Ginny could get more comfortable. She shuffled and her shirt rode up a bit, exposing a swathe of bruise-speckled flesh. Draco nearly turned the same colour.

"Whoever did that to your broom will pay. They hurt you. You could've died."

Ginny blinked.

"I'll never let you go through something like this again." Malfoy shimmered with fury. "No one should."

Ginny wasn't sure how to react (it seemed she never was, with Malfoy), so she slugged him gently on the thigh. "S'alright. I've been through worse."

It took him a moment to gain his composure, and then he smirked humorlessly. "Yeah. You've kissed Potter."

"Worse than that. I've almost kissed you."

Surprisingly, they both blushed.

(Ginny wasn't sure what to do with that, either).

Clearly ignoring the awkward wedge that had lodged between them, Malfoy added, "I have a connection that might be able to tell us about Ragwort."

Now that caught Ginny's attention.

"And where has this connection been all those hours spent in the library?" she spluttered.

"Azkaban," Malfoy replied drily.

Ginny went pink.

"His name is Randall Mace. I'm thinking we sneak ourselves onto the Hogsmeade trip and meet him there."

The floating candles in the hospital wing transformed Malfoy's platinum curls to a soft golden glow. Ginny watched wax drip down the length of one of them and dissipate just before it fell onto his nose.

"I'm in, ferret."

He smiled, a real smile. She did, too.

"I have to round up some firsties for detention. See you later?"

"I hope not." There was no malice in her tone.

He rose and strode away. The Nimbus 2001 loitered in her peripheral vision. His hair was buttery and gorgeous. Her heart fizzled.

"Hey, Draco," she called out. "Don't die."

He turned and saluted her. "On my honour, Weasley."

It took her a shameful six seconds to realize she'd called him by his first name and hadn't even thought about it.

xxx

November went by in a storm of Quidditch matches, NEWT study sessions and painfully friendly conversations with Hermione & Co.

Ginny found herself window-gazing more often than not. It felt like she was witnessing the winter season progress from behind the glass. She found peace in that. When the world was moving around her, it meant she was real. Grounded. Solid. She wasn't being left behind.

Groaning clouds crawled over the sky, dripping lightning and mist like trickles of sweat. Whenever the dreams got too bad or the memories too invasive, she'd let herself get lost in their funny little dance till the explosions died down and the dust cleared and the emerald green eyes faded.

She'd spiral into panic, however, whenever she'd look to the side and find a pair of grey ones judging her instead. As if they were some sort of sick, hateful replacement. It churned her gut.

On December First, Ginny stood on the Hogwarts castle steps wrapped head to toe in wool and cloak. She clutched a shivering piece of parchment and surveyed the students before her. A sea of gaping mouths plumed condensation into the atmosphere.

"You are to be back at the train station at six o'clock, on the dot," she commanded, though it wasn't as intimidating as she'd hoped it to be. Her red and yellow striped scarf ate up most of the words. "Stay in your assigned groups, be within sight of a prefect and don't even try to sneak off because I will send a bat-bogey hex after you all the way from the Great Hall. Understood?"

They all nodded, hats creating the effect of a cresting wave.

"Go. Shoo. Have fun." She waved them off and eyed her prefects as they ushered the gaggle of teenagers off to the Hogwarts Express. Piles of frozen leaves were heaped on the ground and frost licked at the naked boughs of trees. Ginny shivered and wondered if her and Malfoy had anticipated the depth of consequence that would hit them should they get caught prowling the streets of Hogsmeade.

She began marching off in the direction of the Lake which had a spiderweb network of cracks on its icy surface. Shadows shifted in the water below and Ginny could almost swear she saw a tentacle brush a thin patch.

The Head Boy and Girl had decided to sneak out separately in case one of them got caught. Better to sacrifice one than two, Malfoy had told her before he'd given her the illegal portkey that practically sang with Dark Magic. She'd decided not to ask where he'd gotten the enchanted candlestick or the philosophy from.

Pulling the portkey out of her robes, she looked over her shoulder to check the vicinity for anyone watching. A robin twittered in response.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the portkey with both hands and was lurched into a swirling vortex of blackness before she had time to scream.

"HUMPH."

Limbs flailed and robes tangled and Ginny spat out a mouthful of blood from where she'd bit down on her tongue. Her hand grasped the gutter of the Hog's Head pub. Just as she was about to get up, a thunderous crack split her eardrums.

"URGH."

Malfoy appeared out of thin air and wheezed as the cobblestone floor knocked the wind clean out of his lungs. He scrambled to his feet and tried to blink the soil off his face.

"Whaddya lookin' at?" he mumbled. Ginny grinned. His hair stood on end. His cheeks were an embarrassing fuschia. Draco - Godric! - Malfoy was utterly frazzled. In the gloomy afternoon, his eyes were the darkest of greys. Almost doe-like.

He had no business being this good-looking after she'd spent her entire life hating him.

"You're a mess," she pointed out. His hands went immediately to his hair. It was almost endearing.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "We're at the Hog's Head, for Merlin's sake." His nose wrinkled.

"You told Mace to meet us here?"

Malfoy said darkly, "He's always here. We're the ones meeting him."

"Is he a friend of your father's?" They had started walking around the pub to the back door, backs hunched with nerves. It occurred to Ginny that this was probably one of the first times Malfoy had broken school rules for himself, not the Death Eaters - or Dumbledore. It still took a moment to process the fact that he'd been on the Order's side the whole time.

Pretty much.

"He's an illegal herb dealer. He was the one who supplied Barty Crouch Jr with his Polyjuice potion ingredients. My father never had friends, only allies. Randall Mace was one of them."

There was a moment of silence between Malfoy pushing the back door open and continuing his sentence in a whisper-steeped voice.

"I suppose I take after him."

If Ginny didn't know better, his eyes were misty.

She got a little closer, put her own hand on the knotted wood. Her skin appeared scarred and calloused next to his. "Do you, though?"

"If you say Crabbe or Goyle's names, I'll hex you," Malfoy said drily. "They barely even constituted as allies."

"I wasn't going to say Crabbe or Goyle." With that, a hole ripped into Ginny's chest.

They waited at the threshold till a light drizzle made their hair frizzy.

"Maybe there's one exception," he said, voice so quiet she wondered if he was really talking at all. But with those words, Draco, Malfoy, whoever he was, had filled something dark and yawning in her heart, whether she realized it or not.

"I'm a terrible exception," Ginny said. She stared at the back of her hand in a trance. It was trembling. "We're supposed to be enemies, Dra- Malfoy."

"Yet we're standing outside the Hog's Head after three months of not killing each other and waiting on information that could possibly lead to the arrest of yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. We did that by working together." He seemed decisive. "We're worse at being enemies than we are at being friends."

"But I beat the snot out of you," she said feebly."We... we call each other names. We don't even like each other."

Malfoy shook his head. "But, somehow, we work. Don't we, Ginny?"

I can't even call you by your name without feeling guilty, Ginny thought, but didn't say.

She squared her shoulders. She was fighting air. If he was decisive, so was she.

(She could think about this later in the comfort of night and her bedroom).

"We do, Draco. Now let's go interrogate a drunk and incarcerate a creep without you going soft on me, please."

Draco snorted, shoved open the door and tripped her up on her way in.

The pub's lighting was almost as bad as Beckett's dungeons. Grime and filth seemed to hang onto the air itself. Ginny's ankle bent at a worrying angle.

There was the Draco she knew and hated.

Draco.

Draco.

That damned prickle assaulted her spine. Draco.

Why did it feel so awful yet so liberating to say his name? When he was Malfoy, he wasn't human. He was a monster, the type that sabotaged her father's career and bullied her friends and used her to summon the Dark Lord.

bloodtraitordon'ttestmebloodtraitor-

When he was Draco, he was the spy with the tousled hair and the pink cheeks telling her "don't die" and "sorry."

Draco.

Watching him make his way toward a shadowy corner, hands braced by his sides, she supposed that she'd already made her choice by following him this far.

Following Draco this far.

Draco.

It was too late to turn back.

It was Draco or nothing.

"... get rid of the girl. I don't want eavesdroppers."

"She's with me."

"Then why is she standing over there?"

"Ask her yourself."

Ginny hurried over to the most hidden table in the pub where a man in a flat cap sat behind an enormous glass of butterbeer. He looked South Asian and a pair of square glasses sat at the end of his nose. Ginny had to fight the urge to push them up for him.

"Hello, Mr… Mace?"

He grunted and swilled down his drink. She took that as a yes. Her head was still spinning from the strange and sudden realisation

"I know who that ugly bastard is," Mace said, jabbing his thumb in Draco's mildly offended direction, "but who are you s'posed to be?"

"Ginny."

"That short for anything?"

"Unfortunately."

Mace grinned, revealing a row of too-white teeth. "I can relate, kid. The name's Randall, but if you call me that, I'll poison you." He said it merry enough for her to be concerned.

"What do I call you, then?"

"Randy. Or anything you want, darling." His wink was clumsy and drunk.

Ginny felt Draco take a small step in front of her, hand on his wand. "I think Mace works just fine. Doesn't it, Ginny?" His tone was colder than ice.

"Yeah. Yeah, fine." Ginny looked curiously at the scene before her and opted to pull out a stool to face him. Draco didn't move from his protective position. His presence almost gave her strength.

Mace was buried in his glass again and Ginny cleared her throat. "I believe you know why we asked to meet you?"

Mace belched. "Potion shenanigans. And young Mr Malfoy here recalling a debt I owe his father."

Ginny turned to shoot Draco an affronted look. He'd mentioned nothing about blackmail when they'd gone over their plan.

"So let's get this over with so you can finally be a free man, hm?" Draco prompted. He ignored Ginny's glare.

Mace sighed asthmatically and downed the last of his butterbeer. "Go on, then. At least you've chosen the right connection for whatever it is you're fooling with. Randy Mace never misses."

A jolt shook Ginny's core. She was reminded so strongly of Tungstern that it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"We have one question, Mace," Draco said.

"Fire away."

"What is Ragwort?"

It was like a hurricane passed over Mace's countenance. All of a sudden, his skin was coated in a sweaty sheen and his eyes darted around his skull like a cornered animal.

"Keep your voice down, boy."

Ginny marvelled at his terrified reaction. She imagined the jar with the strange pollen and sediment floating about. It baffled her how something so small could inspire such fear in a grown man.

"So you know what it is?" Draco said triumphantly.

Mace seemed to be fighting his own tongue. His breath clicked as he opened and closed his mouth. "I can't tell you. It's… it's… Merlin, even the Dark Lord rejected it after investigating."

"You were a Death Eater?" Ginny asked, though she was unsurprised. Mace pulled a face at her.

"Only in name. I work for Randy. No one else."

Draco said impatiently, "You keep saying 'it.' As if Ragwort is more than just a plant, or herb, or whatever. We know that much, but why are you so nervous about it? Does it connect to a potion or spell?"

Any remaining calm leeched out of Mace. "I can't tell you, Malfoy. It's… abominable."

Ginny herself felt sweat pooling under her arms. There was something so horrified about Mace's expression that it made her worried they'd bitten off more than they could chew.

"Anything, Mace. Anything. Tell us anything we can get a lead from," Draco commanded. He leaned forward to stare Mace down.

"Remigro," Mace whispered.

"What?"

He swallowed. "I'm sorry. That's all I can say."

Malfoy was practically growling. "No. That's not enough-"

"It is!" The man scraped back his chair. "I've done enough. You kids have no idea what you're getting into."

"Don't you dare, Mace -"

"If you know what's good for you, leave everything well alone."

"I swear to Slytherin, you good for nothing crook-"

"It's all I can tell you."

"No it isn't-"

"You're too young to meddle in this." With a regretful look, Mace brought out his wand and vanished. A silver sickle clattered on the table in wake of his disapparation.

"For Merlin's sake!" Draco yelled. Both the empty glass and the coin bounced as he slammed his fist down furiously.

"Draco -"

"That coward -"

"Draco!" Ginny exclaimed. Something buzzed at the base of her skull. Something raw and unfamiliar that she hadn't felt since before the War. Ambition. "Malfoy, we have a lead!"

He clenched his teeth and nuzzled his forehead into his hand. "I know, Ginny, but it's only one word."

"Remigro." It rolled off her tongue wonky and new.

"Whatever that is."

A light flicked on in Ginny's head. "Let's ask Beckett." She was so excited her foot started tapping.

"Beckett can't even skin a mole without bursting into tears," Draco leered.

"People can be surprising."

"I suppose she's worth a try." He sniffed in disdain. His fists were still clenched, though.

"Beckett's wonderful," Ginny professed, eyes sparkling. "Probably the best teacher I've ever had."

Draco paused and looked at her. "Right."

They took the portkey back to Hogwarts and only nearly got caught by Slughorn who was eating his lunch of candied pears dangerously close to the whomping willow.

xxx

A pile of unread DADA books lay accusingly on Ginny's desk. She'd been putting off her psychism research for so long, she'd forgotten what her mock-NEWT essay was about.

"Why is Beckett so bloody obsessed with thestrals?" came Draco's usual complaint from his usual armchair in his usual drawl. "This is potions, for Merlin's sake, not Care for Magical Creatures."

It was the day after they'd confronted Randy Mace, and research on his cryptic, one worded answer - Remigro - was put on hold for them to finish their homework.

"I found the project quite interesting, actually," Ginny commented, rooting about her satchel for her least-matted quill. Her cheeks always coloured when her adoration for Rosaline Beckett was mentioned. Draco called her a teacher's pet. Ginny called him a joy-sucking prick. Then they'd hurl insults back and forth until something else distracted them. Rinse and repeat.

"Of course you found the project interesting," Draco sniped, slamming his book shut for the singular purpose of added dramatic value. "You're practically in love with the Pale-Eye freak."

"Don't call her that," Ginny said tonelessly.

"Why? Because you can't handle honesty?"

"Because I can't handle the sound of your voice, ghoul."

"That sounds a lot like an excuse."

"Anything to avoid talking to you."

Ginny saw him smirk in her peripheral vision. "Your lack of consistency is concerning."

"Thestrals are interesting, okay!" She finally threw her hands up in defense. "Especially when you suddenly go from not seeing them to seeing them."

Draco went still at the implication hanging heavy in the air. His jaw flickered beneath his skin, like he was trying to say something but couldn't get the words out. He settled on changing the subject when Ginny awkwardly cleared her throat.

"What's Tungstern doing in DADA?" Smooth. Very smooth.

"Psychism rubbish," Ginny sighed, accepting the diversion and dipping her quill in ink. She wrote out the date in the corner of her parchment. "He's as obsessed with it as Beckett's obsessed with thestrals."

"Explain psychism to me," Draco demanded. "Slytherins haven't covered it yet and I want a head start."

Ginny's first instinct was to refuse and throw her quill at him, but the blank piece of paper staring rudely back at her seemed a more painful ordeal.

She began, "Well, psychism is really just a type of enchantment. You use an object to induce it."

"What's it for?" Draco interrupted.

"It's used in law enforcement and even some marriages if you really want it. For, like, mental communication and stronger emotional connection and stuff. But that's very rare. It's all very rare, to be honest. No idea why Tungstern sees it as important to teach."

"How is it used in dark magic?" Draco asked impatiently. Ginny's features simmered with disgust. Some things never change.

"In dark magic, it's a parasitic. Similar procedure to creating a horcrux but a lot more complicated. You have to place a projection of your soul into the object and some of your blood, I think, and then make sure your victim connects physically and emotionally with the object. And the projection of your soul, too. Duh."

"Sounds tame enough."

"Tame?!" Ginny spluttered. "You're mad!"

Draco winked at her. She felt uncomfortable yet butterflies spewed into her abdomen. Her mouth went dry with shame. She continued, a little more flustered than before, not meeting his eyes.

"The rest I don't really understand. Something to do with desire and willingness. Tungstern sucks at explaining. In the end, though, you use it to control your victim and take their strength for yourself. Mentally and physically. And I'm pretty sure it only works if the victim wants you to do it."

The temperature of the room seemed to go arctic. Ginny hadn't fully processed how horrific the topic was. She was too busy trying not to fall asleep in Tungstern's lectures to pay attention.

"Well that's a light-hearted essay you've got waiting for you," Draco said sarcastically.

Ginny sighed. "Speaking of which, can we go to the library for some extra reference? I'm drowning over here."

Draco made a five minute lawsuit of why he had exactly twenty-six better things to do than go all the way down to the library with Ginny. The huffing and puffing as he gathered his things was almost comical.

They both ended up downstairs in a pile of books anyway.

"Malfoy! Weasley!"

Ginny winced as Tungstern's familiar rusty bark pierced the silence hanging over Madam Pince's bookshelves. The students in the library looked up to glare at him.

"How are my favourite pupils doin' today?" he asked, grinning so maniacally that the worn, leathery skin around his eyes crinkled.

"I don't know. I haven't seen Zabini or Granger since yesterday," was Malfoy's dry answer.

Any pretense at joviality dropped from Tungstern's facade. "I s'pose that one was a stretch."

Ginny said nothing. She watched Tungstern's dead arm in a trance and wondered how quickly she could escape through the back window.

"I have a bone to pick with you two, in fact," Tungstern said, as if forgetting that he was a teacher with authority, "what with you sneakin' 'round my classrooms like two breeding rabbits."

Ginny cringed so hard she almost threw up.

"But I'll let it slide," he said. His voice went croaky. "I was young once, too."

"Professor, is there something we can help you with?" Draco inquired in the polite way that Ginny had learned meant get the bloody hell away from me.

Tungstern's creepy blue eyes slid to Ginny. "Yes." It sounded like a funeral knell. "Have you finished your psychism revision, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny gave a strained smile and gestured to the pile of books next to her satchel.

"Good, good." He ran his good hand through his salt and pepper hair. "Very good, considering how you must be feeling."

Ginny became immediately aware of her hip pressed against the leg of the desk. A phantom stroke of pain brushed the joint.

"The accident was a month ago, Professor. I'm fine."

"Accident?" he snorted. "Some accident that was. You can't be fine. Your broom was clearly sabotaged. What did it feel like?"

A confused fog settled around Ginny's ears; one that emerged whenever Tungstern went off on his weird rants.

"I don't know, sir. I was scared, if that's what you're asking."

The hand was in his hair again. He sounded frustrated. "I mean, how did it feel up here?" He tapped his temple.

Fuller than whatever floats around your noggin.

Ginny didn't say it out loud but she wanted to.

"Scared. Freaked out. Sir, I'm sure you saw more of the ordeal, considering your place on the field-"

Ginny cut herself off abruptly. Her mouth turned to dust. Hermione's words clanged in her head. Draco whipped her neck around to face her.

Tungstern wasn't on the pitch.

Tungstern was nowhere to be seen when she was being tossed about like a rag doll.

When she, Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall had met up the next day, Tungstern had told McGonagall that the same broom malfunction had happened to him once.

Tungstern had wanted to coach her in Quidditch.

Tungstern had a motive.

idiotidiotlittlegirlcan'tbelieveyousostupid-

"Professor," Draco said slowly. He nudged Ginny's shin under the table and her hand curled protectively over her wand. "What do you want?"

"Did you hear voices? See visions? Hear one voice in particular?" he asked, oblivious to the careful barriers that had sprung up around the Head Boy and Girl.

bloodtraitoridiotbloodtraitorouttogetyou-

"I think it's time you leave, sir," Ginny said. Her grip on her wand tightened.

Tungstern finally blanched. He looked up, down, left, right. Opened his mouth and closed it. Clenched his teeth.

"You pay attention to your psychism now, eh?" he said pointedly, though Ginny had no idea what he was pointing at. He gathered his robes and glowered at them both. "And tell me what really happened up in the air. Soon."

"Goodbye, sir," Draco said. It was a command.

Tungstern made a low noise of anger and stomped off.

Ginny let out a shaky breath. She felt sweaty, anxious and unsettled. The tips of her fingers were tingling and she knew she had to do something before she spiraled into panic.

"For one thing, he's so suspicious it's embarrassing," Draco began when Tungstern was out of earshot.

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Ginny rasped. Draco surveyed her with something that could've been mistaken as softness but when Ginny looked closer, he had hardened up into his stony mien.

"Only because you're too weak to be in position to converse."

Ginny frowned, not expecting the lash out. "I am not weak-"

"I doubt you're even strong enough to breach the topic of the Christmas masquerade ball, by the way your nerves have frayed."

"Malfoy!"

"Back to last name calling, too. A sorry excuse for a defense mechanism, even for you."

"I'm going to murder you-"

"Go on. Maybe you'll actually be able to knock me out this time."

His irises glinted and Ginny blistered and just like that, he had distracted her.

Moved onto a different kind of negative emotion, yes.

But when she chucked an almanac at his head and he squeaked, fondness seemed to be the intruder in the charred battlefield of her feelings, not anger.

xxx

A letter.

Another one.

Another bloody letter from Harry bloody Potter.

He didn't know when to quit.

Ginny didn't want him to quit.

It set her chest on fire while dousing her in ice-cold fury yet sucking her stomach through her shoes and slapping her ribs with excitement.


Dear Ginny,

I've just about given up on hearing a reply from you, but that's in order. I'm sorry. If you're reading this, I'm sorry. If you're not, I'm still sorry. You deserve so much better.

Oh, Ginny. What do I say? So much has happened yet I have so few words. The nightmares have come back and I haven't told Ron because he's got his own to worry about. And Hannah's, too. Somewhere along the way they've become a strange, toxic support system for each other. It's almost endearing to watch.

I adore the Academy. I adore Korea. I adore my friends and the food and being an auror. I don't adore the language but I've never been good at languages.

Ginny, I adore my job. Learning how to be a hero, a real hero that does things the right way in the name of Wizarding law, is something I will never get over. Quidditch is a blast, but serving justice makes the thrill of flying look like child's play.

And Ginny, there's something else I adore. More specifically, someone.

Her name is Sua Park and I think I've fallen in love with her.

She's my auror partner, if you remember from my last letter, and she's brilliant.

I'm telling you this because I'm bringing her to the Burrow at Christmas. I know you'd rather hear about her now than meet her and find out. I hope this doesn't hurt you. It shouldn't, because you could never love me after what I did. You probably hate me. That's okay.

It'll probably shock you more than anything else that any woman was capable of falling in love with a man like me. For a while, I didn't even think myself worthy of love. But Sua showed me so much about the world and myself that I realized that was a lie. Being loved by her is a easy as breathing. Loving her is EASIER than breathing.

I'll stop there because that's enough of that. But know that I still do love you. Ever so much. And I hope we can somehow make amends and be friends again when you meet Sua and I at Christmas. But until then, I wish you all the best. THAT'S what you deserve.

Yours sincerely,

Harry Potter


xxx

a/n: Sorry it's been so long folks. But I have a plan and it's going to be written, one way or another. Stay tuned. R&R, please please please.