Wilfully Chapter 21, a harry potter fanfic

Hello readers! I am back with a rather lengthy chapter (a bit too long, if you ask me - but it made no sense to split it into two). I wanted to thank you all for the tremendous support you've shown to this story and I hope you will like what's coming next. Do let me know!

There's a little bit of a mature scene in the chapter, though I tried my best not to make it too explicit.

Disclaimer: The Wizarding World belongs to J.K Rowling. This little fanfic belongs to me.

WILFULLY: CHAPTER 21

As a Quidditch player, Ginny Weasley was used to Bludger hits. They were part of the job, really.

And after having been on the receiving end of quite a few of them, she knew very well exactly how such a hit felt like. One minute you're flying, in complete control of yourself, and then something hits you out of the blue, knocking you off your balance, making you lose your bearings. Even after you have recovered from the blow, you know that things are not going to be the same as they were before, either because there is pain or elation at having escaped the pain.

Bludger hits in Quidditch were one thing, though.

Ginny was not at all prepared for a hit of this magnitude outside of work.

Ginny slumped on her bed and glared at the ceiling. The Quidditch training had been awful. Her mind had been so occupied with Draco and what he had said to her outside St. Mungo's that morning that she had barely been able to focus on the Quaffle. As a result, her performance had been absolutely shoddy and Gwenog had shouted at her in front of the entire team.

This was all Draco's fault – that ungrateful git! Did he not understand how difficult it had been for her to go to the hospital and inquire about Lucius Malfoy's health? She had done it for him, and then he had the audacity to send her away. And his reasoning behind that was that he loved his father too much to let her negative thoughts around him. Ridiculous!

But was it, though?

She had not really gone there to ask about Lucius, if she was being honest with herself. She had gone to see Draco, who had been injured according to the article in the Daily Prophet. She could not care less whether Lucius Malfoy lived or died.

"You have every right to abhor him. But I can only allow the people who wish him well to be here. I want my father to survive."

Draco's words rang in her ears and though they had most definitely bruised her ego, she could not help but see the sense behind them. If their places had been reversed, if her father had been in the hospital, she would not have wanted anyone who did not genuinely care for health to be there. Otherwise it was just for show, and nobody who had a loved one teetering on death would ever appreciate that.

So, she could safely admit to herself that though she was unsettled by Draco's earlier words, she was not really offended.

What was the problem, then?

Well, Draco Bloody Malfoy was the problem, of course.

After the war, when she and Harry had gotten back together, they were still dealing with the trauma and the losses they had suffered, as was everyone else, but Ginny had felt at peace. Harry joined the Auror Department, dividing his time between training and actual investigations, and she finished Hogwarts and then decided to play Quidditch professionally. They had a flat in London. He would make breakfast she would make the dinner. It was perfect... until it wasn't.

They broke up and even afterwards, she knew that no relationship would ever be like what she had with Harry.

She was right.

The dynamics between her and Draco were something else entirely. Never in a million years would she have predicted that she would one day fall into bed with a Malfoy, and yet she had. And then she had the rug pulled from underneath her feet when she found him to be charismatic and funny and raw in the most human way. There was no denying that he could be arrogant and elitist, but it was safe to say that he was neither the prejudiced bully nor the reluctant Death Eater he had once been.

Talking to him came easy, touching came even easier. But then he had told her about Voldemort's Curse.

Learning about that had chilled her to the bone. To think that Draco would be suffering that horrible pain, those episodes for the rest of his life as punishment for inadvertently protecting Harry back during the war. Merlin. Ginny had never, not once, thought about how difficult it must have been for Draco – or the more reluctant followers of Voldemort, who had had no choice but to side with his reign of terror. But now, now she was forced to think. The so-called Purebloods had been cruel during the war, there was no doubt about that, but had her side been slightly prejudiced too? Had they simply labelled all Slytherins as evil without even trying to understand that they had been backed into a corner?

Draco had borne the Curse and now, six years later, he was a better human than he had been before. Of that, there was no doubt. And Ginny did think that was brave, perhaps not in the same way as Harry or Hermione or Neville or her brothers, but brave nonetheless.

But Draco Malfoy was no hero. He was not Harry.

Draco's courage came from a place of keeping himself safe. Come to think of it, that's where his fear came from too. He was not the man who would fight the world just to see justice delivered, he would never take the more difficult road just because it was the right thing to do. No, he would do what served him better, he would protect those whom he considered worth protecting. Beyond that, he would never raise a finger, let alone a wand.

Ginny was, of course, different. And though she could not agree with his ways all the time, she had come to accept them. That had been their pact, after all: 'I won't try to change you if you promise not to try and change me.'

Besides, Draco never claimed to be perfect and she never deemed him to be. He was flawed, and yet she had come to…

Ginny sat up suddenly, her back ramrod straight. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. It all made sense now. She reached for her wand and cloak even before the thoughts in her head were fully formed; there was somewhere she needed to be, and it could not wait.

Lucius Malfoy had woken up and even though there was a long and complicated road to recovery ahead of him, the Healers did seem to agree that the worst was over. At least that is what one of the Aurors stationed at St. Mungo's told Ginny when she arrived. Nodding her thanks, she took a deep breath and strode into the private hospital room with her head held high.

Her abrupt entrance startled the Malfoys. Narcissa, who had been speaking, stopped mid-sentence and turned to glare at her. "Miss Weasley," she began coolly. "What is the meaning of this?"

Ginny did not grace her with a reply. Instead, she moved her eyes to Draco, who was sitting on the arm of the chair. Merlin, he looked exhausted. The dark circles underneath his eyes stood out in a stark contrast to his pale skin. His movements were slow and though he did not speak, she saw his brows drawing into a frown as he stared at her, clearly unsure as to why she had come here when he had so explicitly told her not to.

He was going to find out.

Summoning her Gryffindor courage, Ginny finally looked at the man lying on the hospital bed. Lucius Malfoy no longer looked like the evil peacock he once was; he was visibly weak, with parched lips and hollow cheeks but very lucid grey eyes. She would be lying if she said that she did not feel happy to see the man in such a frail condition. "I don't know if you recognise me, but I know you very well," she began, her eyes boring into the eyes of the man who had once slipped her a black diary and thrown her onto a course of suffering. "You haunt my dreams. Whenever I see Tom Riddle, you are there somewhere in the background, laughing."

"This is unacceptable!" Narcissa was outraged.

"Ginevra, please," Draco said, his voice low and tired, as if he had no energy left in him to reprimand her. He buried his face in his hands with a sigh. She felt bad for him but knew that she could not – would not – leave without saying her piece.

Ginny once again ignored them and kept her gaze fixed on Lucius Malfoy. "What you did to me was inhumane and I'll bet my career that you don't feel a shred of remorse. But I'm not here to dig up the past. I'm here to tell you that…" This was it. The big plunge. She took a deep breath. "I forgive you." Her words had no doubt shocked the Malfoys, for no one tried to interject anymore. Lucius' brow drew into a frown, and it occurred to her that Draco had the same eyes as his father. Merlin! "Don't think for a second that I am doing this out of pity for you. I have never hated anyone the way I have hated you. But my hatred for you is very little compared to my love for Draco."

There.

She said it.

She took the plunge.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Draco raise his head to look at her, but she did not dare turn to him. Not yet. "Your son does not wish to lose you, Mr. Malfoy," she continued. "So, I forgive you for him and I hope you make a full recovery." And she meant it. She truly did.

Now, finally, with her heart practically in her throat, Ginny dared to look at Draco. Her admission had left him utterly dumbfounded. His gaze bore into hers, as if he was searching her face to see if she was joking, and she stared back at him, allowing him to gauge that she was not.

Slowly, she stepped closer to him and reached out to caress his cheek. He sat so still that he could have been a statue carved out of hard marble. "I'm going to go home now," she whispered, her voice soft. "Take care."

Nothing. No response at all. Had she expected one, though? Ginny turned on her heels and sauntered out of the room, giving him the space and time that she knew he would very much need to process what had just happened.

A daze seemed to settle around her as she walked over to the hospital Floo room and made her way back to the Burrow, where she had a lovely dinner with her parents. She talked about her upcoming match and how reporters from Quidditch Times would be visiting them later in the month for a special feature on the Holyhead Harpies. Her father told them about this shop owner in Knockturn Alley who had been fined for selling a gramophone that would play such shrieking music that the listener's ears would start to bleed. Her mother complained about how the gnomes were destroying the spring onions she had planted in their vegetable patch, and if they could just help her de-gnome the garden this weekend.

Afterwards, Ginny took a long shower, slipped into her pajamas, dried her hair, and curled up on the windowsill of her room with the book Percy and Audrey had given her on Christmas. She lost herself in the history of broomstick design for a long while, until she couldn't.

She had just told Draco Malfoy that she loved him. Shouldn't she be panicking, pacing, overthinking? But she wasn't. And then she realised that it was not a daze that had spread all around her and seeped into her veins – it was calm. She was not afraid or worried. She was just calm. Which made no sense.

When she had realised that she was in love with Harry, she had freaked out. Her feelings had terrified her, and she had spent many a nervous night before finally confessing them before him. Of course, the fact that he was the Chosen One and off to fight Voldemort was a huge factor behind the panic, but still, her fear of losing him somehow lingered long after the war was over.

With Draco, it was not like that.

She knew she had inadvertently fallen in love with an incredibly flawed man, someone who knew he had fucked up really bad and was trying to pick up the pieces of what he had broken and carry on with his life with as much dignity as he could muster. Ginny could relate to that, but more than that, she respected that. It was out of that respect that she had been able to muster the courage to forgive Lucius Malfoy, a feat she would not have considered before. And yet, now that she had done it, she felt oddly relieved. She would never think kindly towards the man, but somehow letting go of all that venom and hated that she had accumulated over the years had left her feeling light, as if a Basilisk sized burden had been removed from over her and she was free to breathe freely.

And breathe she did.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Her love for Draco was not like that all-consuming tornado she had felt for Harry, but rather like a soft summer breeze that filled her lungs with fresh air and played on her skin. It was a different love: younger certainly, and not as deep. Not yet anyway. If they continued to stay together, Ginny knew that it would bloom into something much bigger. But would she have the chance?

It was a leap of faith, blurting her feelings out before Draco in such a manner when she had absolutely no inkling of whether they would be reciprocated or not. It was entirely possible that he would dismiss her feelings and end things between her.

Even that possibility did not scare her.

Losing Draco would hurt, for sure, a wound deep into her heart that would take an eternity to heal, and perhaps not even then. She would have to shove her love for him into a tiny box, bind it into unbreakable chains and toss it into a corner of heart that she never visited – the very corner that already held a tiny box with Harry's name on it.

With a sigh, she glanced outside the window. The moon was full, illuminating the orchard outside the Burrow. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of pale blond hair and she shook her head as she rubbed her eyes. Now, this was a bit much. Just because she was thinking of him did not mean that she had to start imagining him. She was not a soppy, lovesick fool.

Giving herself a firm scolding, Ginny once again returned to her thoughts.

If she had the strength to stand back up after walking away from Harry Potter, she would most certainly find a way to keep on living after Draco as well. It would not be easy. There would be pain and tears. But she would do it. What she could have survived was the idea of falling in love with someone and not having the courage to say it. The heart could hold only love or fear at a time, but not both, and she had chosen the former. She had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy and she had dared to tell him that. There were no regrets whatsoever.

Hence, the calm.

Letting out a slow breath, she looked out the window once again – and gasped. She had not imagined it; a figure with white blond hair was indeed making its way towards the house.

Ginny jumped to her feet and ran down the stairs. Everything was quiet; it was almost midnight and her parents had already gone to bed. She raced to the front door and wrenched it open to find herself face to face with Draco Malfoy.

He did not seem startled, but rather blinked at her owlishly. He looked even more worn out than before. His shoulders sagged, as if the weight of his coat was too much for him to bear, and slight stubble had grown over his face, which he usually kept neatly shaven.

"Draco," she breathed, torn between surprise and concern. "Is everything alright?"

He was slow to answer. "Yes. I, uh, I came to thank you… for what you did earlier. I-I know it was not easy."

She nodded once, wondering if he was going to bring up the 'why' behind what she did. Her stomach churned nervously. But it was for naught, for he did not say anything. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair tiredly – and that's when she noticed the blood. "What's this?" Ginny demanded as she grasped his hand in alarm. Four fingernails were missing and the finger-beds were bleeding; the look of the cuts made it quite easy to guess what had caused the injury. "You splinched yourself!"

"Oh." Draco frowned at his hands, as if he had just realised that he was hurt. Which was bizarre; splinching was always painful, and nails even more so. "Yugo will fix it when I return to the Manor."

"Don't be ridiculous! You are in no state to be apparating again. Come on in."

"No, no." He shook his head. "I-I don't want to impose."

She shot him a look that said that he was being stupid and then gently tugged at his hand. For a moment it looked like he was going to protest, but it was rather obvious that he could not find the strength within to do so, so he gave in and allowed her to pull him into the Burrow.

Ginny took him to her room, where he sank into her chair while she fetched the medicine kit from the bathroom. Gingerly, she dabbed the Essence of Dittany at his fingertips so that the wounds healed, then pulled out her wand and cast a charm that grew his nails back to normal. "There, all done," she said proudly, noting that he was constantly fighting against his drooping eyelids. "Aren't you a sleepy head?!"

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I haven't slept a wink since before… your parent's anniversary dinner."

Merlin. That was three nights ago. No wonder he had bags underneath his eyes. "Alright." She tugged at his hand once again until he was standing. Gently, she started to pull off his jacket. "Let's get you to bed."

"No. I-I should go… Don't want to be a bother." They were feeble objections, and they soon died in his throat as she started unbuttoning his shirt. Within a few minutes, he was stripped down to his boxers.

Ginny pushed him onto her bed and pulled the blanket over him, then draped his clothes neatly on the back of her chair. She knew better than to keep a mess strewn about; he always threw a bitch fit, neat-freak of a prat that he was. Then, she went to put back the medicine box back in the bathroom, almost surprised at how responsibly organised she had become in the past few months of knowing him. Her mother would be so proud.

Draco was already asleep when she returned to the room. Smiling slightly at how at peace he looked in his slumber, she slipped in next to him. Her bed was much smaller than his at the Manor, so it was going to be a bit cramped. Not that she was complaining. The warmth of his body next to hers felt good… felt like home. Merlin, she was turning soppy!

She was almost on the brink of sleep when he shifted behind her. An arm wrapped around her middle, its weight not unwelcome, and she felt his hard chest press against her back. She could feel his breath on her hair.

"I love you."

And just like that, Ginny was wide-awake. She whirled her head around to look at Draco, but found his eyes shut and his breathing even. She whispered his name once, twice, to see if he was awake, but he was not. Had she imagined it, or did he actually say that? She can't have imagined it. But then again, she was almost asleep and those were the very words she ached to hear. The answer did not lie in his face, but she continued to stare at him. It was hours before her heartbeat finally slowed to normal and she succumbed to sleep.

A buzzing sound woke Ginny up, and she quickly reached out and turned off her alarm clock. The damn thing had been a gift from George, and she had learned the hard way never to continue snoozing once it activated. If ignored, the clock would continue to ring louder and louder until it blared like a bloody Banshee. It was probably her mother's most favourite product from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

She sat up with a grumpy groan. Of all the things she expected George to create, a clock that would ensure the so-called healthy habit of waking up early was not one. One day, she was going to take the damn thing and bury it underneath her stupid brother's bed!

Her crabbiness vanished the second her eyes came to rest on the blond lying next to her. Draco was fast asleep, which was a testament to how exhausted he must have been; he was an early riser and an incredibly light sleeper. Well, he was allowed to have a bit of a lie in, she mused as she slipped out of the bed. It was a pity she couldn't just lie there with him.

The sounds of amicable conversation reached her ears as she made her way downstairs, alerting her to Ron's presence at the breakfast table. Great, this will make things more awkward.

"Morning," she greeted as she walked into the kitchen. "Do you not have food at your home?" she could not help but ask her brother.

Ron looked up from his huge portion of scrambled eggs. "Mum cooks better."

Ginny rolled her eyes. He was not wrong; they had once had the misfortune of eating food made by Hermione. Let's just say, her expertise lay in books and not in the kitchen. And though Ron was quite a decent cook himself, he was too lazy to get off his arse and actually make something – not when Molly Weasley's kitchen was always open and ready to serve.

"Draco is upstairs!" she blurted suddenly. Everyone stilled and stared at her, causing her to blush. She really ought to learn tact someday. But her boyfriend's presence in the house was not something she could keep hidden, could she? "Um, I mean, he came to see me, and I asked him to stay overnight."

"That ferret stayed the night in our home?" Ron blanched.

"Shut it, Ron," she snapped.

"No! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Stop it, you two!" Molly scolded them, then fixed her gaze on Ginny. "It would have been nice to know in advance, my dear." So that they would have had a chance to discourage her from the idea; this part remained unspoken, but well understood.

Ginny frowned. She was not a teenager anymore. Hell, she was twenty-three and should be allowed to have anyone over for the night. But she also understood that while she very happily lived with her parents, it was their home and they got to set the rules. Besides, accepting the presence of a Malfoy for a dinner was one thing, to have him overnight was another. "It's not like that," she explained. "Draco splinched himself. I couldn't let him go. He would have injured himself more."

Molly frowned at that. After watching Draco collapse and nearly die that one time, she had grown something like a semi-soft spot for him. She did not like him, but she no longer hated him, which was good progress. "Splinched?"

"Yes, mum. I healed his nails."

The conversation was interrupted by the clear sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Draco was awake. Perhaps it would be best if she just told him to leave, go home, Ginny thought. She was halfway out of her seat when her mother spoke loudly.

"In here, Mr. Malfoy."

Ginny slid back into her chair, looking incredulously at her mother. She was not the only one.

"What are you doing, mum?" Ron hissed.

Draco appeared in the doorway, looking like a Niffler that had been caught robbing a jewellery store. He had dressed himself in previous night's clothes, and even though he had undoubtedly cast a charm to make them less dishevelled, he did not look like his usual impeccable self. Of course, one could not really blame him, seeing that those clothes had been through a violent prison break and days in hospital. "I do not wish to disturb your meal," he said slowly. "I shall leave."

"You may. After breakfast." Molly pointed her wand at an empty chair, which quickly pulled out, waiting to be occupied. "Sit."

Ginny hid a grin. She knew from experience that it was impossible to defy that firm, motherly tone. Draco was no exception. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, then took a seat and silently reached for some toast and jam. The morning light made the light stubble on his face shine; his facial hair was not as bleached, but blond nonetheless. It was very attractive, though she preferred the smooth shaven look on him more.

"How is your father, Mr. Malfoy?" Her father asked after a minute of tense silence.

"The healers are hopeful," Draco replied politely.

The usual response to that would have been a nod or probably the words 'good to know', but no Weasley was ever going to say that about Lucius Malfoy's recovery. Not even Ginny. She had forgiven the man, sure, but that did not mean she was going to celebrate his health.

Ron, who had been glaring at the blond the entire time, spoke up. "Say, Malfoy. Has your Dark Mark Hurt again?" he asked casually. "I saw you grab at it in Azkaban."

The words seemed to suck the air out of the room. Ginny sat up straighter, startled, and turned to Draco, who had frozen as well. He had not mentioned anything about his Dark Mark acting up. Was it true?

"I thought only Voldemort could…" Molly began. She sounded worried as she glanced between her son and the ex-Death Eater. "Surely, he isn't back."

"He isn't," Draco said shortly. He took a sip of his tea, clearly pretending that he was unperturbed with the conversation. "Unless the mighty Golden Trio did not finish their top-secret mission properly."

Harry had told Ginny about the Horcruxes, but it was a guarded secret that could not be allowed to let out. So, he had told the Ministry and the press that they had been off on a secret mission given to them by Dumbledore that would assure that Voldemort would not be able to return. It was partially true, and it was all the people were able to get out of them. Rita Skeeter still published articles demanding transparency, but she was ignored. As she should be.

"We did," Ron snapped.

"Then the Dark Lord is gone," Draco said simply. "And perhaps your useless Ministry ought to pay attention to actual problems, such as the fact that these Death Eaters were only able to break into Azkaban because the Dementors aided them."

"I spoke with Minister Shacklebolt yesterday," Arthur said. "The Ministry will be banishing the Dementors from Azkaban now that they have broken their pact again."

"Harry always said that the pact was a bad idea in the first place," Ginny could not help but say. She remembered how frustrated he had been right after the war when the interim Ministry officials had decided to draw up a truce agreement with the wraith-like creatures. "But no one listened to him."

Draco snorted in disbelief, as if he did not think anyone could ever say no to Harry, and she shot him a dark look.

"Yes, well, there were more important things to do after the war," Molly said with a sigh. "Trials to hold, people to bury…" Her gaze flitted to the Weasley family clock on the wall. Over time, extra hands had been added to the clock to include the spouses, grandchildren and even Harry, but the hand that said 'Fred Weasley' had fallen right after the Battle of Hogwarts and it still lay at the bottom.

An uneasy silence followed her words and Ginny cleared her throat in an attempt to break it. She would not, could not, think of her dead brother. It was simply too painful. "I remember Harry voicing his concern about the new pact too," she said as she mentioned an agreement with renewed terms that had been signed between the Ministry and the Dementors only a few months ago. "I don't understand why the Ministry still wishes to keep those things around."

"I suppose it feels like the easy way out," her father supplied, though he seemed to disapprove of the Ministry's choice as well.

Draco shook his head, clearly irritated. "What fools were you all to trust them again after they so openly sided with the Dark Lord!"

"Funny, I could say the same thing about our treatment of you," Ron snarled. "You still haven't answered my question about your Dark Mark, by the way."

"Tell you what, Weasel." Draco slammed his fork and knife onto the table. "Either you, Potty and your group of incompetent baboons draw up valid charges that are not based on mere prejudiced speculations and come arrest me, or you stop bothering me with these pointless interrogations." He stood up, his chair dragging on the wooden floor rather nosily, and turned to Molly. When he spoke, however, his voice was composed. "The food was delicious, Mrs. Weasley. As always." And then he stormed out.

Ron was fuming, and her parents looked bewildered, but Ginny hurried to follow Draco to the front door of the house. "Defensive much?" she could not help but call out.

Draco paused, his hand on the doorknob. "I'm not being defensive," he muttered, then caved under the look she shot him. "Your brother was behaving like an arse."

"So are you."

Her response seemed to anger him. "How would you have me behave, then?"

"It's not my place to tell you how to behave, Draco."

"Then stop judging me!"

"It's not your place to tell me what to do, either."

"Fair enough," he admitted after a moment's silence. Then, with a sigh, he went on in a much softer voice, "Thank you for taking care of me last night, Ginevra."

Ginny wondered if she should ask him whether he had said that to her last night. It would certainly answer a query that had kept her restlessly up into the early hours of the morning. But she could not just put words into his mouth. It would be wrong to pressure him into thinking that he was obligated to reciprocate her feelings. Besides, he had given no indication this morning that he had confessed his love last night, or that he loved her at all. In fact, he had not even acknowledged her confession yet. "You're welcome."

"I really should head back to the Manor before I go back to the hospital. Merlin knows how much official letters will be piled up for me," He grumbled, then leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead. "I'll see you later, darling."

"Honestly, Ginevra, one of these days I am going to sit you down and instil in your brain the concept of punctuality," Draco drawled as she hurried into the Entrance Hall of the Malfoy Manor.

"And on that day, I will set your hair on fire."

"You wouldn't dare!" He sounded aghast and Ginny laughed, unable to keep herself from eyeing him appreciatively. He was impeccably dressed in a formal grey suit and was clasping a dark green cloak around his shoulders, ready to leave. "Come on, then. I made reservations at The Nymph's Cellar."

Ginny was impressed. The Nymph's Cellar was one of the poshest and the most expensive wizarding restaurants in the whole of Britain, which meant that Draco really wanted to make tonight special. It was not difficult to guess why. Two weeks had passed since that night he had stayed over at the Burrow, and he had been so busy dealing with his hospitalised father and running the Malfoy Corporation that they had only exchanged a handful of letters and met for a quick cup of coffee in the following days. It had been a pleasant surprise to get his owl, asking her out on a proper date with the promise that he would 'charm her like never before'.

It was a sweet thought, which is why she felt a pang of guilt at what she was about to do. "I, um, I don't want to go out."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"The training was so long and then we had this interview with Quidditch Times that lasted forever," she all but whined. "I think I'm done with being around people for the day."

"But I made reservations, Ginevra."

She could tell that he was not really upset, merely disappointed. Gentlemanly prat that he was, he no doubt wanted to make amends for being an absent boyfriend for the past couple of weeks – something she had not complained about, nor was she about to. "Let's stay in," Ginny pleaded with a pout. "Please?"

Draco pressed his lips together in distaste, then caved in with a sigh. "I don't understand. If you had no intention of going out, why are you–" he gestured vaguely towards her face, "–like this?"

"The interview with the Quidditch Times was followed by a photoshoot." Which was why her hair was styled into casual beach waves and there was makeup on her face, applied by the best professionals, that made her look much better than she ever could herself. She was wearing a rather plain sweater dress and long boots, having changed out of the dress they had given her for the shoot; It would have been Christmas all over again for Draco if he had seen her in that bold outfit, and he was a prat so she didn't want to make him too happy.

"Well, then," Draco took off his cloak and his jacket, charming them with a casual flick of his wand so they floated away to his closet. Then, he started rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows.

The sight of his Dark Mark caused her to falter. She remembered what Ron had said the other day and wondered if there was indeed something that Draco was hiding. She almost asked him but decided against it. He would only clamp down his emotions and put up an emotionless mask. No, she would have to pick an appropriate time to bring it up.

"I'll ask the house-elves to fix something up," he said.

"No. Let's do it ourselves."

"What, make dinner?" He looked at her as if she had just claimed that Snape had the best hair in the world. "You can't be serious."

"I am deadly serious."

"It's peasant work, Ginevra."

"It's a good thing, then, that you're not the King of England." She walked over to him and held out a hand. "Now, lead me to the kitchen."

Draco grumbled for a moment, but took her hand and obliged, leading her through a maze of hallways until they reached their destination.

Holy Merlin's pants!

The kitchens of the Malfoy Manor were simply grand. The walls were lined with oak cabinets and stainless-steel appliances (she wondered what their power source was). There were two islands with granite counters in the middle, and Ginny made her way over to the big one that had a long counter to work on and an eight-burner stove. The second island stood a little way off, empty except for a large basket of fresh fruits. Dried flowers hung from the beams, though they seemed to emanate a rather calming scent.

Two familiar house-elves, Yugo and the tea-hater Soodey, were both very shocked to see them there. Their shock soon turned into outrage when they found out that Ginny and Draco planned to cook dinner themselves. It was partially because they could not fathom the idea of their beloved Master Malfoy Sir doing menial labour, and partly because they did not wish to hand over their well-maintained, organised kitchen to two humans who they suspected would create a mess. Their objections went on for about two minutes before Draco lost his patience and barked at them to leave them be – which they did very, very reluctantly.

A quick scan of the cupboards, a trip to the fully stocked pantry and a few summoning charms later, Ginny felt that she had everything that she would need to whip up a nice Mediterranean chicken salad and cheesy jalapeño bites. As she charmed the knives to start chopping the vegetables, she glanced at Draco, who looked as out of place as Voldemort would have looked at a Muggle theme park. "I was thinking we could bake brownies too," she said. "Or you could."

"Excuse me?" he blanched.

"Well, I'm making the dinner, so help me out with the dessert."

Normally he would have jumped at the chance of turning this conversation into a vulgar innuendo, but it was a testament to how opposed he was to actually doing chores like a normal human being that he merely crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. "I will not be helping you out at all."

"You will, or it will be your penis that I'll start chopping next."

He scowled, then walked over to stand next to her, eyeing the utensils she had summoned as if they were going to spring to life and eat him whole. "And I thought tonight was going to be romantic."

Suppressing a grin, Ginny flicked her wand and the notepad that the house-elves used to note down grocery lists and menus for the week flew over to them and opened to a fresh page. Another wave, and the ingredients and instructions to bake chocolate chunk brownies appeared in black ink. "Get started, handsome," she said, and then in an attempt to encourage him, added: "It's not that different from potion making, and you like that, don't you?"

It soon became clear that while Draco was exceptional at chopping Gurdyroot, handling Moonseed and stewing Lacewing flies, he was absolutely abysmal at dealing with something as simple as warm butter and eggs. Still, he was trying, albeit reluctantly, and that is all that mattered.

"How is your father?" Ginny asked as she whisked up the marinade for the chicken.

"Much better now. In fact, they are going to move him back to Azkaban tomorrow since he no longer requires round the clock care," Draco replied as he charmed the utensils to beat the butter and the sugar together. "I asked mother to stay overnight at the hospital so she could spend some extra time with him."

It was a thoughtful gesture, one that did not surprise her. Draco was a loving son, he had been from the beginning, and a lot of his actions before, during and after the war had stemmed from his devotion to his parents. Ginny opened her mouth to compliment him when she noticed something – "Draco, no! It's one measuring cup of flour, not one teacup!" And then she started to laugh at the disgruntled look on his face.

"What difference does it make?" he demanded.

"Would you ask that if we were brewing some potion?"

"Potion-making is a precise art."

"So is baking."

He looked dubious, then scanned the instructions once again. "Alright, what do you mean by 'one to two pinches of salt'?"

"I mean exactly that."

"I have bigger hands, so my pinch would be larger than yours. So, how does one decide the exact quantity of salt?"

She rolled her eyes. He would have had a successful career in Wizarding Law with that ridiculous knack for arguing. "Doesn't matter."

"Precise art, my arse."

Ginny giggled at his grumpiness but did not say anything. A few minutes passed in silence as she finished grilling the chicken and tossed it together with the chopped vegetables. She was sprinking feta cheese on top when strong arms wrapped around her. She allowed a small smile to grace her lips, but otherwise continued to finish up her salad. A quick nip on her ear caused her to gasp. "Draco Malfoy," she said, her tone somewhere between a reprimand and an accusation. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"I have to have some payback," Draco murmured.

"Payback?"

"For making me work in the kitchen like some common man," he hummed as he pushed her hair over her shoulder and placed a series of butterfly kisses on her neck. He was clean shaven again and she liked the feel of his smooth skin against hers.

"Aren't you supposed to be working on the brownies?" she sighed and tilted her head to the side, granting him better access to her skin.

"In the oven. Won't be done for twenty-five minutes." His hands roamed down her sides and over the curve of her hips. And then, without any warning, he bit at the exposed skin of her shoulder – before sucking on it; the wooden salad spoon dropped from her hands as she grabbed at the counter for support. "We have to pass the time somehow."

"Oh?" This particular idea of passing the time seemed quite good, so she reached over her shoulder and buried her fingers in his soft hair. Her nails scratched at his scalp just the way she knew he loved, and sure enough, he let out a low guttural sound.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me, Ginevra?" Draco whispered in a hoarse voice. And then, to answer his own question, he guided her free hand behind her body until her fingers were pressed against a very prominent bulge in the front of his trousers.

She felt a warm flush spreading over her as she dug the heel of her palm into the bulge. He let out another sound and grabbed her throat. Tilting her face sideways, he placed a fiery kiss on her lips, his tongue demanding access that she granted only too readily. He devoured her mouth, there was no other way to describe the kiss. The touch of his lips, the licks of his tongue, the gnashing of his teeth all conveying a primal desire that burned in her own veins as well. Ginny was starting to feel lightheaded. Merlin, he was going to kiss her into oblivion–

And just when she thought she was going to pass out, he broke the kiss, allowing her to take a huge gulp of air. She kept one hand bunched in his hair but removed the other from between their bodies and held onto the counter; the kiss had rendered her knees too weak.

Draco's lips attacked the base of her throat once again, urgent and merciless. He knew her weak spots, knew where to touch her to drive her insane and he used that knowledge well. She let out a whimper as his teeth dug into her skin, and she started to roll her hips against his, feeling – knowing – that the raw desire that had pooled between her legs was similar to the one he was undoubtedly feeling as well.

She wanted him. By Merlin, she wanted him right bloody now!

The door to the kitchens swung open and Blaise Zabini walked in. He halted when he saw them, but instead of seeming shocked or embarrassed, his lips curved into a smirk.

His abrupt entrance had snapped them out of their activities; Ginny tried to step away, her cheeks warming considerably, but Draco's arm was still around her waist and held her in place.

"I was rather surprised when your angry house-elf told me that you were in the kitchen," Zabini said in a casual tone that one used to discuss the weather. "Because why in the name of Salazar's blood would Draco Malfoy set foot in here. But this makes perfect sense."

Draco pressed himself closer to Ginny, and she realised that he was using her as a shield to hide his rather obvious erection. Merlin, this was so bloody embarrassing! The movement was slight, the reason behind it not so, but Zabini must have noticed it for he grinned widely.

"Well, what are we having for dinner then?" he demanded.

She could not have answered even if she wanted to. Her voice had disappeared somewhere deep within her. Luckily, that was not the case for Draco.

"You are not having anything," he said shortly. "We are."

"Now, that is just downright discourteous. What would your mother say?"

Ginny glanced over her shoulder and saw Draco grimace. No doubt he did not want to think of his mother at a time when he was pressed against his girlfriend. Judging by the sneer on Zabini's face, that is exactly why the bastard had brought it up.

"Don't you have a wife to placate?" Draco demanded coolly.

Now it was Zabini's turn to grimace. "You just want to get rid of me so you can do the poking test on Miss Weasley."

"And Miss Weasley is very much looking forward to it," Ginny found herself saying. What a moment to find her voice! But they had been found almost dry humping already, it was not as if there was any dignity left to preserve. "So, if you don't mind?"

"Well, since you ask so nicely." Zabini sauntered over to the door. "I'm off to go see Daphne. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," she mumbled, glad that the man was leaving.

"Fuck off," Draco grunted. Once the dark-skinned man had left, he stepped away from her and calmly walked over to pull the tray of brownies out of the oven, which had turned off.

Ginny took a deep breath to pull herself together and started working on the jalapeño bites. Her insides were still mush, and she knew that his would be too, but the interruption had simmered down the lust that had flared between them. "So," she grasped at a topic of conversation. "Is Zabini still living with you?"

"Unfortunately," Draco muttered.

"The fight with his wife must be very serious, then. They looked so happy at the New Year's Eve Ball."

"They've sorted most of their issues, though I do not know how. Blaise hadn't spoken much about it and I did not pry," Draco told her as he moved the brownies onto a cooling tray. She noticed how tenderly he dealt with the dessert, as if it was his own child – which in a way it was. The elite git was so pampered that he had never set foot in the kitchens and fixed something up by himself. It was bizarre, really. "I am certain he will move back to his house soon."

The oil had heated up to the right temperature, so she started frying the bites, enjoying the comfortable silence that lingered between them. At least, it was comfortable for her. She noticed from the corner of her eyes how Draco stole glances in her direction and then shuffled his feet, as if thinking of broaching a topic that he was not entirely sure how to broach. But she could not think of anything that he would have to say, and when she raised a questioning eyebrow at him, he merely shrugged and started moving the now cooled brownies onto a plate.

Huh.

Maybe he was not sure if he had made them right. He had, she could tell from the perfect cracked look and the wonderful chocolate-y aroma wafting in the air. Besides, this was her mum's special recipe. If followed correctly, there was no way in hell that the product would be anything less than delicious.

"You surprise me, Ginevra," Draco spoke up solemnly, causing her to look at him. "I have been waiting for you to bring up that night, but you haven't."

She frowned. "What night?"

"When I stayed over at your place. It's been weeks."

"What about it?"

"You haven't asked if I meant what I said when you lay down next to me."

Ginny froze. Her insides twisted with an odd sort of anxiety, as if she wanted very much to find out what he was going to say but at the same time every cell in her body wanted to run away because she dreaded the words that would come out of his mouth. She had dismissed his words as her imagination; that was what she had wanted him to say. And it was never that easy to get what one wanted. Besides, he had been exhausted and fast asleep by the time she had slipped into bed next to him that night. There was no way he had the strength or the sense to confess something as serious as love, if it was that. Which it wasn't.

But here he was, implying that he had said something and for the life of her, she did not know how to respond. So, she simply started pulling out the now fried bites out of the oil and laid them onto a plate she had laden with paper towels.

"Go on, then," Draco's voice drew closer until he was merely inches away from her. "Ask me."

The words angered her. Did he think this was a bloody game? And why in the name of Merlin's pants was her stomach in knots? She was a Gryffindor, a Weasley. She had faced Voldemort, fought in battles. Hell, even Harry Potter was terrified of her anger. Why, then, did she feel her shit freezing at the thought of asking Draco a very simple question? She did not ask, she would not because he was probably playing some odd Slytherin, Malfoy-ish game with her and she was not going to humour him. She did, however, turn to face him, her eyebrow raised in defiance.

There was an emotion swirling in his grey irises, and for the first time, she found that she could read him as if he was an open book. A breath escaped her lips, and it was as if she had been deprived of all oxygen. She was numb, numb with shock and anticipation for she knew – she knew what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth. Merlin, she knew.

"I do love you, Ginevra," Draco murmured. "Of course, I do."

Her heart swelled with joy until it felt too big for her body. She wondered for a moment if this was some bizarre dream, because it was not supposed to be this easy, not with Draco Malfoy of all people. And yet, as she gazed into those eyes, she knew it was. "I love you," she breathed.

"I know."

He leaned forward to kiss her softly. The touch made her feel giddy, as if she were soaring high up in the sky on her Firebolt, and she smiled against his lips. When he pulled away, though, she saw his darken with something that she identified as possessiveness. A shiver ran down her spine and she felt a spark ignite between them, filled with passion and want, and when their lips met once again, it was in a fervent desire to be closer to each other.

Her fingers made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt so she could run her hands over his torso. He was quite fit, with a hard chest and toned muscles on the abdomen, though he was not built enough to have prominent countable abs. He was, however, as much of a fan of throat kisses as she was, which is why he let out a shaky breath when she placed her lips on his collarbone. He had already given her a hickey or two. It was her turn now. Though, judging from the way, his mouth sought the skin of her shoulder, it seemed that he clearly thought there was more he could do.

Distracted as she was with the way his hands were groping her, she vaguely noticed that he had started to guide her away from where they stood. Merlin, if he thought that they would be walking all the way down this gigantic Manor to his bedroom, he had another thing coming. Ginny reached down once again and ground her palm over his trousers, noting with glee that they were once again tented at the front. She was rewarded with a growl–

And then she gasped as he whirled her around and bent her over the other, empty island; other, because of course that control freak of a git would not be willing to do anything sexual in close proximity to the food that they were supposed to eat. She almost laughed at this but heard a belt unbuckle, followed by the sound of trousers being unzipped.

Bubbling with anticipation, Ginny rested her cheek on the cool granite counter. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Draco reaching out and pulling her dress up, his face set, his eyes blazing. The determination with which he tugged down her knickers told her that this was not going to be gentle. Good, she would not have it any other way. She just wished he'd bloody hurry up already; her insides were already aching with need.

It was as if he knew exactly what she wanted, or perhaps his own desire was just as maddening, because her prayers were answered. He was everywhere, there, and she could not have kept the loud moan from escaping her throat even if she wanted to. Normally she would have been embarrassed at how loud she was being, but with such exquisite feelings coursing through her nerves, she could not bring herself to care in this moment.

The interesting thing was that Draco was being just as noisy as her, which was not a common occurrence. He had bent over as well, placing a lazy kiss on her jaw before resting his forehead against her temple, and she reached out and buried her fingers in his hair once again. His mouth was open against her ear, his breath hot and his constant grunts music to her for they somehow seemed to travel straight to her lower abdomen.

Afterwards, they would most probably make their way to the dining room and eat the meal they had cooked together, but for now Ginny was more than content with having some rather raunchy sex with Draco in the kitchen. They were newly in love, after all. It was allowed.

The Holyhead Harpies were slated to play against the Tutshill Tornadoes in six days.

Both the Harpies and the Tornadoes had already played all matches of the 'round robin' stage of the League and were tied on the points table, which meant that the winning team would go on to play the quarter final against Puddlemere United. Needless to say, the hype was palpable, and this match was the most talked about thing in Wizarding Britain after the Azkaban breakout and the re-emergence of Death Eaters.

The importance of winning this match was not lost on the team, which is why Quidditch practices ran doubly long and equally hard. They were going to leave no stone unturned. They were going to win. And if they had to endure training in chilly temperatures and body aches, then it was a small price to pay. Ginny felt her insides constantly quivering because of the pressure and anticipation. It was not an uncomfortable feeling, but rather one that filled her with determination and drove her to work harder. She was looking forward to the match.

Being a Chaser on a League level team came with its pros and biggest pro was most definitely the game itself. Words could hardly explain the thrill of competing against some of the best players in matches that were almost always tense. Another major pro was the fans. Ginny absolutely loved the feeling in her heart when she heard little girls say that she had somehow inspired them to pursue sports, or when people stopped her on the street to talk to her as if she were a part of their lives. Hell, she very much enjoyed that one time when a blushing seven-year-old boy propositioned her, though Draco did seem rather disgruntled by that. It was only when she had pointed out that he had been head-over-heels in love with Puddlemere's ex-Chaser Grace Fawley that he loosened up a little.

The con was most certainly the spotlight that the fame brought. It did not help that her history with Harry and Dumbledore's Army made her so alluring to the press, who were always interested in her personal life.

Exhibit today.

The vice-captain of the team had home early because of some family commitment, so Gwenog had asked Ginny to join her for a quick interview with a few reporters who had gathered into the press room of the Holyhead Harpies headquarters. It all started well, and they talked about how they were optimistic and training very hard for the upcoming match.

"You too, Miss Weasley?" Rita Skeeter asked from the back of the room, where she had remained unnoticed so far, which was odd considering her shimmery burgundy robes rather stood out against the plain cream walls of the room. Her blond hair was set in its usual elaborate curls, and her eyes twinkled behind her spectacles. "Surely, the attack on Azkaban would have been a major distraction for you. Your boyfriend's name was amongst the injured."

"Yes, but his injuries were minor," Ginny replied diplomatically.

"Mister Potter was there too. Were you concerned?"

She tried not to glare, but she did not have a very good control over her facial features the way Draco did. She knew what Skeeter was trying to do. This was a perfect opportunity to further those bizarre stories she made up about the Potter-Weasley-Malfoy love triangle. Unfortunately, the question left Ginny in a bit of a corner; if she answered yes then that would be misconstrued to her lingering love for Harry. If she said no, then she must be under the influence of the Malfoys. She tried to deflect. "Harry is more than capable of taking care of himself."

"But not of those in his charge, it would seem," Skeeter pointed out. "Why do you think he failed to stop the breakout?"

Ginny bristled. Harry was a hero. He defeated Voldemort and saved the entire Wizarding World, and this bitch was questioning his capabilities. How dare she? "Perhaps you should ask Harry," Ginny forced a small, apologetic smile on her face so that she would not appear too rude. "I'm not an Auror, so I don't have any information to give you."

Skeeter smiled, as if to say that she would be the judge of what information she could get from her. "And what do you say to the allegations that Draco Malfoy was one of the perpetrators of the prison break?"

"What?"

"Some are saying that Mr. Malfoy's presence at Azkaban was rather peculiar, and with his and his family's history in mind, it is entirely possible that he is in league with the Death Eaters."

"That's not true," Ginny said firmly. "Draco had nothing to do with what happened."

"How can–"

"I think we've digressed from the topic, haven't we?" Gwenog said with a good-natured laugh. She was quite good at assessing when an interview could potentially turn controversial and knew how to bring it back on track. She nodded at one of the other reporters, who mercifully asked them about their Keeper and the conversation once again returned to Quidditch.

Ginny tried to emulate Draco and keep a polite mask on her face, but her heart was very much uneasy. It was best to ignore Rita Skeeter's questions or refuse to answer, and yet she had let the woman bait her. And now, this hag was going to have a field day.

Shit.

Shit, indeed.

The next morning, Ginny descended the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and deciding that this would be the week when she blasts that stupid alarm clock to pieces (she fantasized about that every week, but never did it because her mum would just go get a new one), when she found Harry standing in the middle of the living room. He was giving her a look filled with disapproval and reprimand that made her feel like a little girl who had been caught stealing sweets from the kitchen.

"What?" she demanded defensively.

He wordless tossed her a rolled-up newspaper and she caught it, bewildered. It was the Daily Prophet and the bold headline on the front page read:

IS POTTER'S HEARTBREAK THE REASON BEHIND THE AZKABAN BREAKOUT?
By, Rita Skeeter

Harry Potter became the youngest Head of the Auror Department earlier this month. Though the promotion was welcomed wholeheartedly by almost all of the wizarding community, recent events have left people wondering if it was truly wise to place the 24-year-old Boy Who Lived Twice in a position of such great responsibility.

Three weeks ago, on the very day that Potter was handed his new office, a group of Death Eaters broke into Azkaban and managed to escape with nine of the most dangerous prisoners, leaving behind the Dark Mark in the sky as a sign of a renewal of the movement that was spearheaded by the Dark Wizard Voldemort until his demise six years ago.

Potter, who happened to present at Azkaban at the time of the attack, not only failed to stop the prisoners from escaping but also lost three of his fellow Aurors during the skirmish. One Death Eater was killed and two were captured, he announced in a press conference on the morning following the attack.

While this may seem like a little victory, sources from within the Ministry have informed the Daily Prophet that the Aurors have so far been unable to get any information from these captured Death Eaters and are no closer to making any headway about this new conflict than they were weeks ago.

Potter has worked as an Auror since he defeated Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts over six years ago, and with the access to Ministry's vast resources at his disposal, he has been a prominent figure in the fight against the Dark Arts not only in Britain but also in parts of Europe. Why, then, was he unable to prevent a mass breakout in Azkaban?

The answer to that question lies in Potter's heartbreak over Ginny Weasley.

Weasley, 23, who plays as a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, was involved in a serious relationship with the Chosen One before their abrupt breakup last year. She is currently dating Draco Malfoy – something that has caused Potter a great amount of grief. According to sources, the Boy Who Lived Twice is still madly in love with Weasley and wishes to rekindle their romance, even if it means engaging in a rather violent duel with Malfoy in Diagon Alley, a shocking act that was witnessed by many shoppers and passerbys.

It would seem that Potter is obsessed with finding a way to win Ginny Weasley's heart back, to the point that he remained completely unaware of a Death Eater movement brewing right under his nose. People close to the brave hero have expressed their concern for his wellbeing as he spirals further into depression and alcoholism every day.

"It's been months, but he can't get Ginny Weasley out of his mind," a Ministry official who wished to remain anonymous told the Prophet exclusively. "A few very attractive and intelligent women at the Ministry asked him out, but he just refused them all. He's retreated into a shell, poor bloke. He loves her, only she doesn't want him, and he refuses to move on."

Miss Weasley, on the other hand, seems to be quite content with the breakup and no longer harbours any feelings for her ex. During an interview last evening, when asked if the news of Potter's injuries during the Azkaban breakout caused her any worry, she responded quite indifferently.

"Harry is more than capable of taking care of himself," she said, dismissing the matter entirely.

However, reports suggest that her relationship with the heir of the Malfoy fortune are in turbulent waters as well. She was spotted walking away from him outside St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the morning after the Azkaban attack.

It is being suggested that the young Malfoy may be involved with the Death Eaters. Draco Malfoy, after all, was a known member of Voldemort's inner circle. After the war, he was charged with attempted murder and multiple uses of Unforgiveable Curses, though he managed to escape imprisonment on mere technicalities.

Though Miss Weasley firmly rejected this idea when asked, it is possible that watching her boyfriend tend to his father, Lucius Malfoy, who was once the right-hand man of Voldemort, in the hospital has reminded her of the dark past of the Malfoy family and placed her in a moral dilemma.

"She's barely seen Draco since the attack," a person close to Weasley said. "Of course, she's been busy with Quidditch, but the League has been going on for months. They always managed to make time for each other before."

Does this mean that there is some hope for Potter's personal life? For the sake of the Wizarding community, let us hope so. The Boy Who Lived Twice would be able to pay greater attention to his duties as Head Auror if he does not have a broken heart to deal with.

Ginny looked up, her gaze sweeping around the house, which was unusually quiet. "Where's mum?"

"Out," Harry shrugged. "Running some errand."

"Rita Skeeter is a good-for-nothing, nosy cunt!" Ginny swore loudly, safe with the knowledge that her mother was not here to scold her for using such crude language.

Harry chortled at her outburst, looking very amused but not at all horrified. He knew all too well how big of a potty mouth she could be when she was angry.

She sank onto the couch, staring incredulously at the newspaper in her hands. This was bad. This was really, really bad. "Harry, I'm so sorry," she said. "I swear, I didn't know– I didn't mean–"

"I know you didn't say anything wrong, Gin," Harry said as he took a seat next to her. "Rita Skeeter is very good at twisting the truth."

"And pulling fake facts out of thin air." She crumpled up the Prophet angrily and tossed it onto the fireplace, watching the paper burn with a savage glee. If only she could find a way to set fire to Skeeter as well.

"That, too." He nodded. "Just… don't talk to her next time. At all."

"I won't," she promised. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He was not angry, but he was upset. It can't be about the article, not entirely at least; Harry had been the subject of Rita Skeeter's articles for far too long, so he had learned to ignore them for the most part. What exactly was bothering him, then, she could not tell. And then she realised with a pang that Harry had become hard to read for her.

He had grown a slight beard, which suited him immensely. His jet-black hair was slightly longer, falling over his earlobes, though just as untameable as ever. He had developed a habit of running his fingers through it, not to make it messier like his father used to do, but because he felt the need to do something with his hands when he was thinking. The lightning shaped scar on his forehead was hidden behind the usual fringe, though as noticeable as ever. Overall, he looked handsome as ever, but also tired.

Which prompted her to ask: "How are things?"

"The Dementors are gone. About time!" he told her. "Azkaban will now be completely under the control of the Aurors, which means we need to hire more people. I'm buried under applications these days, shortlisting candidates that we want to put through the tests and training."

"What about the Death Eaters?"

"The two we captured both know Occlumency, so they were able to resist the effects of Veritaserum. Without the truth serum, interrogating Rowle has gotten us nowhere. He only speaks to taunt." Harry pressed his lips together. "The other Death Eater is a new recruit by the name of Jacob Hall. He hasn't said anything either, but I have a feeling that we might be able to crack him if we resort to harsher methods of interrogation."

"Torture?" she asked grimly.

"Not the Cruciatus. Nothing that will cause permanent harm, either. But yes, torture."

She looked away, unsure what she felt about this. On the one hand, torturing people for information felt like something that Dark Wizards would do. But on the other hand, this was a Death Eater and any information he would give would most probably help save innocent lives. Still, was it alright to use such methods, even if it was for moral reasons? And how long did it take for the line between righteousness and unjustifiable to blur? After all, even Voldemort thought himself the saviour of wizard kind.

"Has Draco said anything?" Harry asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. "About the breakout?"

"No. Why?"

For a moment, it looked like Harry was going to dismiss the conversation as something inconsequential. "I just… I get the feeling that he knows something."

"Feeling?"

"Yeah, like he's hiding something. I tried asking him, but he was uncooperative." He shook his head in anger. "He's an arse, always has been."

"I think you're letting your old rivalry cloud your judgment."

It was obvious that Harry disagreed with her statement, but he did not say that. "He never really explained why his Dark Mark is active," he said, reminding her of the altercation the two men had had in Diagon Alley, the one Skeeter had mentioned in the stupid article as well. It had not been over Ginny, not really, but because Harry had demanded answers and Draco had refused to give them. "And Ron told me that he saw Draco clutch at it in Azkaban, as if it was hurting."

"But only Voldemort could use the Mark, and he is dead." Draco had said so too back at the Burrow that day. Unless, he really was back and there was only one person who would know about that. "Has your scar hurt recently?"

"No. Not since the Battle of Hogwarts." Harry looked just as troubled with the conundrum of the Mark. "So, it makes no sense for Draco to grab the Mark, does it?"

"Are we sure that really happened?"

"That's what Ron saw, and I trust him." There was an odd accusation in his voice, as if he thought that she was choosing her relationship with Draco over her family.

"I do, too," she told him firmly, fixing a glare on him until he shifted uncomfortably. She could understand Harry's concern; it was his job to investigate every loose end and no matter how much he denied it, he was going to be wary of Draco because of this lifelong enmity the two of them had. Her relationship with Draco probably had a part to play in there somewhere too, though she knew that jealousy was not the main motivator behind Harry's suspicions.

She trusted Draco, though, and knew that he was not involved in any of this ugly business. If only the blond would stop being a prat and actually give some honest answers to Harry, then the Aurors would leave him alone. But he had that damned Malfoy ego, which made him be difficult just for the sake of it, not realising that his arrogance was painting him in dubious colours. Maybe… Maybe he would talk to her. He had, after all, been nothing but honest about so many other things. And Harry would most definitely trust her word. Yes, this was the best way. "I'll talk to Draco," she offered.

Harry shook his head. "I'll handle him myself."

"Oh, so you're going to drag him off to the Ministry and prove Rita Skeeter right?"

"I don't care what Rita–"

"Not to mention that you would be incriminating Draco for nothing," she went on. "You have no evidence of his involvement in anything like this. Your suspicions are based on just a feeling, as you just said so yourself, so do not put him in unwanted limelight. Let me ask him about it."

"I don't want you involved in this, Gin."

"I'm not a child. Stop treating me like one!"

"Ginny, no."

"Fine," she said only to put an end to this conversation. In all the years that they had known each other, she had never truly obeyed Harry's commands blindly, and she was not going to start now.

He was probably thinking the same thing, for his lips quirked. "It's just that, you're not an Auror. It's not your job to question him."

"I'm his girlfriend. I have every right to ask him a question."

Harry looked very uncomfortable, but it was obvious that he had realised that he would not be able to change her mind. "Just… be careful."

She smiled at that. "You don't have to worry about me. I know you don't trust Draco, but I would trust him with my life."

"Really?"

"Yes."

He did not like that answer for multiple reasons, but before he could go down that road again, Ginny jumped to her feet and held out her hand. "I'm going to fix myself some pancakes," she said lightly, well aware that this particular breakfast food was Harry's weakness. "You want some?"

As expected, he took her hand, his lips curling into a smile. "Always."

As a Quidditch player, Ginny Weasley was used to Bludger hits. Sometimes you see them coming, and sometimes you don't know what has hit you until it has hit you.

Falling in love with Draco Malfoy had been like the latter experience. She had been completely blindsided by the magnitude of her feelings for him, and to find out that he felt the same was like… like having Christmas every day!

Ever since she had started seeing Draco, there had been things that she had ignored because the sex and the conversation was good and she never thought that their relationship would ever turn serious, so there was no point in bringing up such topics. Now, though, she could no longer play the fool.

She trusted Draco, of course, and knew deep in her heart with absolute certainty that he was not involved with this new Death Eater movement. Harry's suspicions about Draco and his Dark Mark were misplaced. But to prove that, she was going to have to speak to Draco about all the things she had been ignoring.

It was time.

Not gonna lie, this was a difficult chapter to write and I am very nervous about posting it.

I did not want their declarations of love to be like a fairytale. I wanted there to be a feeling of 'Oh wow, it's amazing that they're in love because they're perfect together but is it wise and are they sure?!'. Draco and Ginny's love is still in its infancy. It is not the deep, sure love that Ginny/Harry or even Draco/Pansy had at one point. They still need to work on it. At least, that's what I think. I may have completely messed up the romance in this story by doing this! God, I hope not.

Please let me know what you thought about the chapter. I am dying to hear to hear your opinions on the matter!

(Also, a friend told me that I was being sort of a bitch by not replying individually to the reviews. Is that true? If you want me to respond, please let me know. I'll be more than happy to do so!)

Until next time x