A/N

Finally, this story is complete! I am sorry for my terrible posting schedule. I started this fic years ago, abandoned it, and then when the pandemic hit, I decided to take it up again. But I'm horribly inconsistent when it comes to updating. In the future, I've decided not to post anything new unless it's complete. In any case, thank you for reading. I appreciate your comments! I hope you enjoy the last chapter. It's a bit on the long side.


Chapter 22: The Burrow

Draco

They stumble into darkness, long grass brushing his legs, Ginny's grip tight on his arm. His shirt is clinging to him. It's wet with blood. He didn't think the hex was too bad, but he feels the pain in his chest stinging, spreading in hot tendrils.

Ginny drags him through the grass, and through the slim moonlight he can see a tall, ramshackle house at the edge of the field. They run towards it. Ginny pauses. "Can you Apparate to my bedroom." She points. "It's the second one there. You see, I left my light on." He nods, wincing. "I'll go inside," she says. "They're probably wondering where I've been. Maybe they've even heard something about the attack at the tea house from the Ministry."

Draco nods again. He's breathing hard, the adrenaline still pumping through him. His hands are covered in mud and sting with small cuts. "Wait, Ginny. You've got to clean yourself up before you go in." Again, he feels the loss of his wand. He could do it for her.

But she draws out a wand. He notices for the first time that it's not her own. It dark and knobby. She turns it over in her hand. "It works alright," she says. "It's MacNair's." She mutters a cleaning spell and the mud and grass stains disappear from her clothing. She meets his eyes. "Ok?" she asks.

"Ok." He takes her hand, squeezes it, then lets it drop. "Come back to me soon." Then he closes his eyes and imagines the bedroom with the glowing lights, and he Disapparates.

Her room is small. It's smaller than his own, of course, but also smaller than his most-recent prison cell at Grimmauld Place. There's a single bed in one corner with violently purple covers and few lumpy pillows. He pulls off the covers and recoils. The glamoured gnome is there, all knobby in flannel pyjamas. He shakes it hard, but it doesn't wake. He'll need a wand to break the spell.

He sits on the bed next to the gnome, feeling exhaustion settle into his bones as the adrenaline seeps away. The walls are lined with Quidditch posters. There's one poster of a particularly attractive wizard with his shirt unbuttoned, his hair billowing in an invisible breeze. Draco thinks he recognizes him from a band. There's an old desk pockmarked with quill scratches and ink stains, stacked haphazardly with books and used parchment. There's a set of crumpled robes on the floor, and in the corner, a pair of discarded blue knickers. Draco stares at them.

He hears footsteps on the stairs, and looks for a place to hide in case it isn't Ginny, but the room's cluttered and full of mismatched furniture, nary an empty space. He presses himself against a wall. The door swings open, and Ginny walks in.

Her hair looks windblown and her face is paler than usual. There's still dirt on the knees of her trousers, a spot she missed in the dark. "Mum was just finishing up in the kitchen when I came in. She felt my forehead and said I looked better. So I was right. Nobody noticed I was gone. Hermione must have done a good job of keeping them out of my room." She meets his gaze, and her eyes widen. "Draco, you're bleeding!"

She rushes at him and throws off his outer robe, peels away his shirt. He's got a gash on the side, winding up towards his ribcage. She wipes away the blood with his shirt, smearing it all over his pale skin, then stares at it in silent horror. She looks up at him. "Maybe I need to get someone. I don't know if I can heal this. I'm not very good at healing spells."

"You're better at hexes," he smirks.

She allows a small smile. "Yeah." She backs away from him. "My mum knows some healing charms, and I think she's got some Dittany somewhere in the bathroom cabinet."

He reaches out and grasps her wrist. "Don't call them. I don't want them to know I'm here yet." He winces. The cut does hurt. "Can I borrow MacNair's wand?" he asks.

She hands it over. It feels strange in his hand, not as intuitive as his own wand. He casts a wound-closing spell. It's very basic, and doesn't do much for a significant hex, but it does quell the bleeding a bit. He casts it again, and the broken skin mends slightly, though an angry gash remains.

Ginny watches him. "Your hands," she whispers. He looks down, and sees there's blood on his hands as well, his knuckles swollen. It's from his tantrum in his bedroom, his ineffectual attack on his furniture and windows.

Draco realizes his hands are shaking and he balls them into fists.

"Come on," says Ginny. She opens her door and peers out. "Everyone's asleep except for mum, and she's down in the kitchen. The washroom's just down the hall" She looks at him for a moment, then casts a Notice-Me-Not charm. It won't hide him entirely, but it might deflect attention if someone happens to walk into the corridor.

They walk quickly and purposefully into the bathroom and shut the door behind them. Draco washes his hands in the sink, scrubbing his hands until they are raw, and the pink water runs down the drain.

He feels Ginny behind him. Then, he feels her arms slip around his waist from behind. He remembers he's not wearing a shirt. He feels her breasts press against his bare back.

He turns around, then bends down to kiss her. His head spins a bit, with exhaustion and adrenaline and the remnants of fear, a rush of lust.

"You should take a shower," she whispers.

He stares at her. "What if someone comes in?"

"I've locked the door. Everyone's asleep. Just..." she hesitates... "Keep quiet."

She reaches out and turns on the water. It hits the tub noisily, and the small room begins filling with steam.

Draco reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. He trails his fingers over her milky collarbone, his thumb running over the freckles, brushing aside her long red hair. He leans down and kisses her skin softly. It tastes salty and warm, and she smells like wind and rain, like flying.

She sighs, a breathy shaky sound. Her own fingers find his hair, run through it. "Draco," she whispers. "I'm sorry I haven't been clear about my feelings. I think it's because my own feelings have been so muddled about all this. You're right, though. I can't just let others decide how I should feel about you. I can't let Hermione or my parents' opinion of you dictate my own. I know you. They don't know you. They don't know everything you've struggled with. They don't know the choices you've made, and are still making, time and again."

He pauses, straightens and looks away from her, his eyes falling on the bathroom tile. "I know I'm not easy to trust, to..." He was about to say love, but he doesn't want to go there. It's too vulnerable a word, and it dies on his lips. He turns his bare arm towards her, face up, the snake and the skull black against his skin. "This Mark is a part of me now. It's there to remind me of everything that I was, of everything I come from. I'm not a good person. I know it."

She runs her fingers along the black mark, and Draco sucks in a breath. Her touch feels different on the skin there. The Mark seems to sense her goodness, her pull on him, and it aches dully beneath her touch. Her fingers are feather-light, just as they had been that night a million years ago, in the darkness, by the gushing waters of the underground lake. "No, I don't believe it," she whispers. "You had a chance today to go back to your old life. Your Father brought you home. Your parents would have protected you. You could have undone the choices you've made for me, but instead you risked your life and got on that broom, and you didn't turn back even when they called you."

"I didn't make these choices for you, Ginny," he says softly. "You only helped me make them. You helped me overcome my own weakness. If it weren't for you drawing me in like you did that night in the dungeons, I might still be at the Manor now. I'd be scared shitless and unhappy, but I wouldn't have the bullocks to do anything about it."

Ginny smiles, her eyes still downcast on the Mark. She bends her head, and her lips replace her fingers. They burn, and his whole body flushes with heat. "I want you," she says against his skin. "And I won't regret it, and I'm not confused. Not anymore." She lifts her face, and she kisses him hard.

Draco draws her into the kiss, pressing her against him. His fingers trail up her spine and unhook her bra. The room is filling with steam. He backs away and undoes his mud-stained trousers, pulling them off. His eyes on her face, he takes off his boxers and steps out of them. Ginny exhales, her eyes widening. "Come on," he smirks. He climbs into the shower, and the warm stream hits his sore body. She joins him a moment later, and she's naked as well, her body nearly flush against his in the small tub. Draco's heart is hammering. He wonders if he's liable to have a heart attack after all the stress of the day and the sudden jolt of desire. But his blood is rushing away from his brain, and he doesn't think on it too much.

"You're filthy," she says with a mischievous quirk to her voice. "You need a good wash." She takes the soap and lathers it over his bruised skin, her fingers running over him as she explores his body. She avoids the wound on his chest, allowing the water to wash away the blood. He closes his eyes, letting the spray hit his face, and he can feel her hands trailing lower down his abdomen. The water hits the tub, and the soap-scented steam is warm, and the slippery feelings of her hands is making him harder than he's ever been.

He grips her all at once, finding purchase on her wet thighs. She swallows a surprised squeak. Draco pushes her against the tile, lifting her easily, and her legs hook around his waist. He grinds against her, his body flushed and hot. Ginny is moaning into his shoulder, and he trails kisses along her neck, bringing up one hand to squeeze her breast, roll a hardened nipple between his fingers. He wants to make this last, but he needs to thrust, his hips moving of their own accord. He grinds against her again, his erection sliding against her wet stomach, and they both groan.

There's a banging on the door. "Ginny?"

Fuck.

"Ginny, you in there? Will you hurry up! I need the loo!"

The knocking becomes more persistent, louder now than the steam and the water and the small sighing sounds she's been making against him. There it is again: thump, thump, thump. "Come on, will you! You've been in there for ages, and it's the middle of the night!"

Ginny growls in frustration. He loosens his grip on her thighs, and she stands up in the tub. "I'm in the shower, Ron. Just give leave alone!"

"I need to pee. You can't just hog the loo all night."

Ginny meets Draco's eyes, the intensity slipping away, washing down the drain with the soap suds.

Suddenly there is a bang and the door bursts open. Draco presses himself against the tile in panic, then reconsiders and wonders if he should hex Weasley out of the loo. If only he had his wand...

Ginny twists around to peak out from the bath curtain, releasing a cloud of steam. "Get out, Ron! I'm in here! Are you mad!"

"I need to go, Ginny! You get out!"

From somewhere down the hall, one of the twins' voices rings out. "Shuddup you two or I'll ring your necks! I'm trying to sleep here!"

"Fred stop shouting!" It's Mrs. Weasley. Draco groans. They've woken the whole house.

"Ron, just give me two minutes, alright? Just...go back to your room for two minutes and I'll get out."

"Back to my room?"

"Just please," Ginny moans, something between a wail and a growl. "I don't want you to be anywhere near the shower when I get out, knowing you'll just barge in like that!"

"I have to piss!"

"Go in the garden!"

"He most certainly will not go in the garden!" Mrs. Weasley again.

Draco groans, running a hand over his face.

"Just give me two minutes!" Ginny screams.

After some cursing, the bathroom door bangs shut again and they can hear footsteps. A door slams somewhere above them. Ginny twists off the water. She looks murderous, so much that Draco has to smile in spite of everything. There's only one towel. They grab their clothing – apparently, Weasley didn't notice his clothes next to Ginny's on the soppy floor.

Ginny finds MacNair's wand on the sink and transfigures another towel from Draco's sodden shirt. It turns out wrong in her haste - the size of a too-thin blanket and full of holes. Draco wraps it around himself like a cloak, and Ginny casts another Notice-Me-Not charm with a bit more care this time. She opens the door and peers out into the hall. Seeing it empty, the two of them shuffle quickly back to her room, dripping water all down the narrow corridor.

Draco meets her eyes, and they both begin to giggle. The stress of the day is too much, and Draco can't stop laughing. He tries to contain the sound, but Ginny's laughter is infectious, and they both end up collapsing on the bed in a fit, burying their faces into the blankets.

Draco lands sideways on the glamoured gnome and yelps.

"Shhh, shhhh," Ginny chokes out, hurriedly breaking the spell so that the small creature can scuttle away. "Someone might come in, now that the whole bloody house is awake."

"I hate your brother," Draco says, trying to sound stern. "And I can't believe you've only got one loo in a house for eight people."

"There's nine of us, actually, not counting Hermione or you or Fleur. So currently, there's twelve people in the house. If Charlie's back. I actually don't know. I've been so preoccupied with you." She pokes him in the chest with her pointer-finger.

Draco settles on the bed, drawing her into him. He wants to rekindle the moment from the bathroom, but he can feel the exhaustion taking over his limbs, weighing him down. He pulls Ginny against him and she arranges the blankets around them. Her wet hair is splayed on his chest, her breathing still hitched from laughter. He closes his eyes. He's not going to sleep. He just needs a moment to rest.

Ginny

Ginny sneaks into the kitchen and finds the icebox stuffed with wedding foods: meat tarts and sweet tarts and dainty finger foods. She takes a little from each plate, rearranging the rest so as not to show any gaps. She licks her fingers, balancing her plate of finger foods in one hand. She's sneaking back through the darkness when Hermione materializes from the shadows.

Ginny swears, nearly dropping everything with a great clatter. She manages to save the dish with only one tart down.

"Sorry, Gin," Hermione whispers, picking it up for her. "I heard you and Ron shouting, so I wanted to check on you. I've managed to keep your mum out of your room, and I know you told me not to raise the alarm until morning, but I was so worried." She does look worried, her brow furrowed, her bushy hair framing a drawn face.

Ginny feels a surge of affection for her. She's tempted to tell her everything – how close she came to never coming back at all – but she stifles the urge. She'll tell her, and Ron and Harry too, but not now, not tonight. "Thank you, Hermione. For looking out for me, for covering for me...for everything. I'll tell you more tomorrow. I'm just so wiped now."

She nods. "Anyway, I'm glad you came back tonight. I thought you might be gone all night, that once you and Malfoy got back to that inn, that maybe..." she turns red, even in the dim lighting. "I mean, you and Malfoy..." she shrugs again. "Gosh Ginny, you're not having sex with him, are you?"

Ginny is so shocked she laughs. "'I'm not actually," she says. Not for lack of trying, she adds silently to herself. "But I think I'm ready to. I mean, I think I want it to be him. My first time."

Hermione makes a face, and Ginny smiles a little sadly. "I know, I know...you don't like him. I didn't like him, either. Sometimes I still don't like him. But in a way...I kind of almost love him. A little." She feels her face growing hot, and she brushes back her damp hair with a grimace. She's not some sop to be going on about love, but she knows that she didn't love Dean, as much as she liked him. She knows that she did love Harry, and that she still loves Harry, but just not in that way. She loves Harry like she loves Ron: a familiar, comfortable kind of love. And Draco...she loves him in a breathless way. She wants to do things to him. She wants to strip him naked and discover every single part of him, to crawl inside his mind and lay him bare; to see every single bit of him laid out, just for her. Is that love?

Hermione is studying her with that furrowed brow. "Well, as long as you're not pressured into anything," she says at last, in a tone at once serious and sisterly and uncomfortable.

Ginny wonders if she's ever had sex, and is fairly sure she hasn't. She's fairly sure, in fact, that Hermione is in love with Ron Weasley and that one day they'd make that little red-headed family that would fit on a pretty greeting card. She wonders if Draco is still asleep in her bed, his hair darkened from the shower, his pale chest rising and falling with his steady breaths. The thought makes her want to hurry upstairs. "I'm beat, Hermione," she says.

"Of course. Yes. We can talk about all this tomorrow, and you'll tell me about Malfoy and all that."

"Sure, 'course I'll tell you."


She wakes up to the pale sun streaming in, falling across his chest. His hair is in his face, the gash seeping blood. Ginny sits up and summons the towel off the floor, pressing it gently to soak up the blood. Draco is so exhausted that he barely stirs, his eyelids thin and near-translucent. The healing spell didn't work too well with MacNair's wand. They're going to need proper medical help. They're going to tell the whole story, and she's probably going to get a lot of flack for putting herself in danger, putting them all in danger. A knot of guilt lodges itself beneath her ribs. What if they hadn't escaped? What if they'd lured Harry and the Order to Malfoy Manor as Lucius Malfoy had planned? Ginny shudders to think how badly things could have gone.

It had been Snape. He was the link, the key to their escape. He'd helped her, there was no way around it, which means there was something they didn't know. He'd killed Dumbledore, Harry had seen it with his own eyes, but if he was fully a committed Death Eater, then he wouldn't have helped Ginny. There was something going on. It gave her a bit of hope.

Draco's even breathing grows more shallow and he throws one arm wide. He opens his eyes, grey and foggy, his lashes long. "Hi," he says. His voice sounds raspy.

She leans down and kisses him. She can't help it. Beneath the blanket, she runs her hands over his bare chest. She'd put on some pyjamas when she'd gone downstairs for food, but he is still naked. "We're going to try this again," she whispers against his mouth. She grabs the wand and casts a Muffiato, then locks the door.

Ginnny fidgets in an old loveseat next to Tonks. For once she's allowed to join the Order meeting, but only because of the extenuating circumstances.

Her parents are on the sofa, Remus is standing in the corner. Fleur is leaning against Bill by the kitchen and the twins are sitting on the stairs. The trio are together, as always, a tight circle on the carpet. She doesn't want Draco to feel like he's under interrogation, but he's sitting alone on a kitchen stool that has been placed at the front of the room, and all eyes are on him. His long legs are folded under the stool, his hair a mess (he hasn't bothered with arranging it, arranging his clothing.) The clothes he was wearing at the Manor were soaked in blood and are being laundered. He'd left his trunk and all his worldly possessions in the little inn, and until he can get it back, he's borrowed some of Ron's clothing to the mutiny of both. He's wearing a Canons hoodie and a pair of trackies. He looks like a different person.

The wedding is tomorrow afternoon, but all the preparations had been put on hold when she came downstairs and declared that Draco had returned. There had been a lot of confusion, a flurry of questions. She'd told hasty, edited versions of last night's events to her parents, then to Hermione, then to Remus and Tonks who'd Flooed in from Grimmauld Place. In the meantime, mum had gone upstairs to tend to Draco with the First Aid Kit and her worn copy of Magical Medical Ailments for Housewives.

"Malfoy's here?" Hermione had hissed, her eyes growing wide as they all assembled in the living room. "He was here last night?"

Next to her, she can feel Harry staring, but she averts her gaze, refusing to meet his eyes. The knot of guilt is still there, expanding, restricting her breathing.

"It was very foolish of you to leave Grimmauld Place, young man," said Remus gravely once everyone is seated.

Draco looks down at his lap.

And then the questions begin.

Hermione explains about the tracking charm.

Ginny fills-in the attack in the tea house, and later her imprisonment and escape from Malfoy Manor. She tells them about Snape, and the Order members exchange significant looks. They make her repeat it twice, combing over the details.

Draco says as little as possible. His answers are curt, his expression stoic as if he expects to be strung up and tortured at any moment. She itches to stand up and go stand behind his chair, to grasp his hand is solidarity. She pictures herself doing it, but her legs are wobbly and her heart is beating too fast, the eyes of her entire family on her. Harry's questioning gaze burns the side of her face. She keeps her eyes straight ahead.

"I don't understand why you would take this on by yourself, Ginny," says her father once all the questions seem to have petered out. "I understand why Draco left, but why you didn't immediately come to us when you found him is beyond me."

"You're still so young," mum interjects. She'd already had a good shout at Ginny earlier when she'd first heard the details upstairs, and she'd also crushed her into a hug and checked her over for injuries. But it seems like the public recap has brought on a repeat performance. "You can't do these things on your own. You need to tell us, you need to trust us. You could have been killed! You could have both been killed!" There are tears in mum's eyes and hot, accusatory anger in her voice. "You could have put all of us in danger – put Harry in danger!" She throws up her arms and Bill puts a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

"It's my fault," says Draco in a deadened voice. "I convinced her to help me. I thought it would be safe."

"You thought!" shrieks mum, and Draco flinches.

Remus stands up, his palms up. "Alright, Molly. Alright. Let's calm down. It could have been a lot worse, but thank Merlin everyone's safe." He turns to Draco. "I think it's time we returned to Grimmauld Place. Rest assured, you will not so easily walk out this time."

Draco stands, his shoulders hunched. "I won't leave again," he says. The experience at the Manor, the reaction of his mother and father, hang unspoken in the air.

"You'll come to the wedding?" asks Ginny in a rush as everyone begins to stand, and Remus reaches for the Floo powder on the mantel.

A buzz of conversation had started up, but now they all grow silent and stare at her. Then at Draco. She feels herself blushing furiously. Merlin, she hates these Weasley genes sometimes, but she can't let him disappear without knowing when she'll see him next.

Mrs. Weasley frowns. "Of course, you're invited," she tells Draco.

"I don't think...you don't have to..." He shrugs, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of the hoodie

"Come," says Fleur, next to Bill. "Ben oui, you are welcome at our wedding!"

Draco doesn't look up, but he nods jerkily, and then Remus flings the powder into the hearth and they disappear into it, followed by Tonks.

Everyone begins to disperse. "I'll write to Moody and Kingsley," says her dad, grasping her mum by the shoulders and squeezing, and then they both disappear into the kitchen.

Suddenly she's alone with Harry. Ron and Hermione have vanished into thin air. Ginny's face is still hot, and she can't avoid his eyes now.

"You're alright?" asks Harry. His voice is strange.

Ginny nods, fidgets with her hair, then lets her hands drop to her sides.

She stands up and joins him on the carpet. "It was really stupid. I should have known better, I should have listened to my instincts. I always want to be taken seriously, but now that I've messed up this badly I think maybe you're all right to leave me out of things."

Harry doesn't say anything, staring at a spot on the carpet with his eyebrows drawn together, his messy hair falling into his face. "I just don't understand," he says finally. "Why did Hermione give you that tracking charm? Why were you involved at all?"

"Harry..." she swallows. "We're broken up, aren't we. We're not together anymore."

"What does that have to do with it?"

Merlin, he was going to make her spell it out for him. "Did you ask Hermione? About the charm?"

"Yeah. She told me to talk to you. She said we needed to talk."

"Of course she did." Ginny sighs. "Look, I've been getting to know Draco a bit over the last few weeks." He grimaces. Draco. He already knows what she's going to say, but they can't just leave it there, can they. "We've grown closer, you know? He's not a bad person." Ginny thought telling Hermione was bad, but this is infinitely worse.

Harry looks beaten up and angry and miserable all at once. "I just don't understand," he says again. "When we broke up, I thought you knew how I felt. It's not that I don't want to be with you, Ginny. I still feel...I mean I..."

"I know, Harry. I'm so sorry."

He stands abruptly. "Right. Right. Ok." And he pushes past her and walks upstairs without another word.

Fuck. Her eyes feel sore. She scrubs her hands over her face.

Her mum's voice rings out from the kitchen. "Ginny! Come help me with the fairy lights!"


The reception has started. A little band is playing in one corner of the wedding tent, and sweet, tinkling music is winding through party. It's late afternoon and the sun is beginning to set in rich, golden streaks across the sky. Everything was lovely earlier. Fleur looked luminous, Bill looked star struck. They said their vows and kissed and held each other a little desperately. It was a beautiful, bittersweet ceremony.

Ginny's eyes were drawn to Draco for most of the day, but she'd hardly spoken to him at all since yesterday morning in the sun kissed bed, naked beneath the ruffled covers. She's been too busy helping set out the food and refilling everyone's champagne and and chatting up the guests (Aunt Murial talked her ear off for a good half an hour, then promptly fell asleep in her chair).

The evening is winding down, and she's finally free to enjoy herself properly.

Draco is wearing black robes, his white-blond hair falling down in his eyes. He must have gotten his trunk back at some point. She walks up to him, weaving through the crowd of guests, the clinking glasses and dancing couples. She meets his eyes, and he sighs as he winds his hands around her waist. She can feel people's eyes on them – her mother's eyes. Harry's eyes.

She tries to push them to the back of her mind, to only see Draco's face in front of her. She was too scared to stand by him yesterday, but she's not scared now. She wants them to see, she wants this to be out in the open, a spot of light in the dark, turbulent future that awaits them.

She leans forward and presses her lips against his mouth. He is solid in the uncertainty. He tethers her to this moment.

He's surprised; his kiss is hesitant, but his hands are strong on her hips, drawing her in. She breathes in his musky, expensive scent and she feels her head spinning.

"I wanted to tell you," she whispers, "that I love you."

He buries his face in her hair. He inhales deeply, and his hands are firm on her back, pressing her into him. "I love you," he whispers. "I'm sorry I left before. I'm here now. I'm with you."

They begin to dance, and the song plays slowly, and the night draws on. There might be sparks in the distance, a confused flurry of voices, but Ginny is only aware of Draco in front of her. Whatever awaits them. Whatever is coming. They will meet it head on, together.

The End