Wilfully Chapter 24, a harry potter fanfic

Hello readers! I'm back with yet another chapter of this story. Thank you to all those who read and reviewed. I love you all!

I do want to say something quickly: I've been getting some anti-Draco reviews and PMs recently. If you do not like Draco or the Draco/Ginny pairing, you have every right to stop reading this story. We writers put our hearts and soul into writing these fanfics. Getting such pointless negative reviews is downright offensive. That being said, I always welcome constructive criticism. :)

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

WILFULLY: CHAPTER 24

Beware the heart, Draco Malfoy.

Such was the advice that his grand-mère imparted to him when he had found her crying in the Manor gardens a week after the death of his grandfather. She had told him to love freely, to never hold his heart back, but to always be aware that love would make him weak and force him to do things he could not even imagine.

He had been eight at the time and did not much care for what she was saying.

But now, now he could tell that there had been some truth to her words.

Draco had forgotten how ridiculously cold Boston could get even in February. As it were, the wizarding hotel he was staying at had done a marvellous job of placing warming charms on the sprawling terrace of his suite, which is why he found himself sitting there early in the morning, eating his breakfast of eggs and bacon while he enjoyed the view of the snow covered Boston Harbour and the expansive city skyline beyond.

It was pretty perfect, he mused as he took a sip of his tea and then grimaced. Or rather, it would have been perfect if not for the horrendous abomination that had been served to him in the name of tea. He wondered how America – a country that had been at the forefront of countless discoveries, both muggle and magic – had still not managed to perfect the art of brewing a good cuppa of Earl Grey.

Far be it for him to defend colonialism, but maybe – just maybe – throwing all that tea into the sea had been a bad idea; the colonists ought to have stolen it and learned the damned recipe properly. He almost winced at the thought, all too aware that it was in some form of bad taste. But what else was he to think? The tea that the hotel had served to him tasted like absolute piss. Not that the tea he had found anywhere else in this damned country was any better; he had nearly hexed the barista at this muggle coffee place called Starbucks when she had handed him a paper cup filled with boiling water and an atrocity that she called a teabag.

Bloody, classless Americans!

Truth was, he did not mean to think so sourly towards the country. Though he would never consider living here permanently (he was far too much an Englishman to do that!), he did love visiting the States. And he was very much looking forward to his weekend in Vegas with Blaise. It was just that he would rather be back home, where Yugo knew exactly how he liked his hot beverages and where he would be able to get back at Ginevra for the way she had teased him.

That right there was the problem: Ginevra Bloody Weasley.

It was alarming, and very much pathetic, that he was actually missing his girlfriend, even though it had only been a couple of days since he had last seen her. His father would be so ashamed of him if he found out what was going through his head. Malfoys, after all, did not do soppy under any circumstances.

Draco shook his head to force himself out of this bizarre corniness. It would not do to sit here like a desperate, homesick imbecile. He would get to see Ginevra upon his return to England, where he would proceed to shag her brains out, but for now he had a full day of meetings ahead of him, and he needed to finish going through a rather thick file that Greta had handed him before he had taken his Portkey. He summoned said file with a flick of his wand and immersed himself in it as he ate toast smeared with butter.

It was a little while later when he found himself distracted by the arrival of a tawny owl that brought him the morning's Daily Prophet – well, it was afternoon in England already, but the newspaper's delivery system in the USA was rather horrible. He really ought to write a letter to their offices and complain about it; surely if they paid less attention to the sensationalism of the Potter-Weasley-Malfoy love triangle and more to their administrative matters, their services would not be so terrible.

Thinking of all the eloquently offensive things he could write in the letter, Draco unfurled the newspaper – and froze.

27 DEAD, 82 INJURED AS DEATH EATERS ATTACK QUIDDITCH MATCH
By, Padma Patil

27 people were killed and 82 more injured in a deadly blast that blew up the Bodmin Moor Stadium only seconds after the Holyhead Harpies were declared victorious against the Tutshill Tornadoes.

A Tornadoes spokesperson has confirmed that Jamie O'Leary, who played as a Beater for the team, is among the dead.

The blast is believed to be the work of Death Eaters who cast the Dark Mark into the sky minutes into the attack. There have been no witnesses or arrests made so far. "I have tasked the Auror Department with finding out the perpetrators behind this cowardly attack," said Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt. "I assure you that no mercy will be shown to those found responsible. In the meantime, I ask the Wizarding community to stay calm and vigilant."

Eloise Goldstein, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Ginny Weasley, Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies (photographed below), were admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and are in critical condition, according to latest reports.

A source in the hospital has stated that the death toll is expected to rise. "The nature of the injuries inflicted are severe in most cases, and unfortunately, synonymous with Dark Magic. That was no ordinary explosion."

A full list of the casualties and the wounded can be found on page 6.

There were two photographs on the front page. The first depicted one end of the Quidditch Stadium in flames as almost half the audience stands crashed to the ground while the Dark Mark danced high up in the sky, barely visible through the smoke that had risen amidst the chaos.

But it was the second photograph that had Draco's heart plummeting: Ginevra lay on the ground, eyes closed and the side of her head slick with what must be blood. Potter knelt by her, his hands caressing her cheeks tenderly for a moment, and then he looked up at someone who was not included in the photo and shouted for help.

Draco stared at the horrible image for what felt like an eternity, his brain refusing to believe that what he was seeing. It was a joke. It had to be some sort of a wicked, cruel joke.

And yet it wasn't.

He stood up so abruptly that his chair toppled over. His eyes moved over the Boston skyline, but all he could see was Ginevra. It was as if the damned photograph had somehow been imprinted onto his retinas. Ginevra – unconscious, frail, injured, critical.

He needed to get back. Now.

In the end, it had taken him a lot longer to return to England than he would have liked.

He had made quick work of packing and apparated to MACUSA Headquarters in New York to get his Portkey rescheduled, only to find himself arguing with the witch at the help desk.

"In light of the recent terrorist activity that has taken place in England, we cannot simply fulfil your request without getting a go-ahead from the British Department of Magical Transportation first," she told him impatiently.

"But I have a valid Travel Permit," he argued. It was a shame, really, that it was not safe to apparate all the way across the pond. Brooms and Flying Carpets would take too long, so would muggle aeroplanes.

"I see that, Mr. Malfoy, but there is a protocol to international travel. We can review your application–"

"I don't have time for that. I need to get back as soon as possible!" Whoever had decided that international travel for wizards and witches must be closely monitored by the Wizarding governing bodies in all countries was an idiot. However, it was because of this obtuse system that the transportation departments of the various ministries were always engaged in active communication with each other, so perhaps he would be able to pull some strings there. "I'd like to speak to someone in the British Department of Magical Transportation myself."

The witch shook her head exasperatedly, as if she did not think she got paid enough to deal with the likes of him. "I'm sorry, but this is not how things work here. We cannot–"

"Get me in touch with Percy Weasley," he commanded. Ginevra's brother was the Head of the useless department. Surely, he would be able to understand why it was imperative that Draco was given a Portkey immediately. The two of them had gotten along quite well at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's anniversary dinner, so it would not be very complicated to convince him of the situation. "I know him."

"We have been told that Mr. Weasley is not in the office at the moment. His sister was gravely injured in the attack."

"I know," he snapped. "She's my girlfriend!"

The witch looked at him with something akin to a mixture of pity and annoyance. "I understand. You should get in line at the Urgent Portkey Issuance Office. Down the hallway, to the right."

Draco had glared at her, fighting the urge to hex this impertinent woman. It would not do to get himself thrown into jail, but it did help to fantasize about such scenarios as he made his way over to the office she had directed him to – only to come to a halt when he saw the ridiculously long waiting queue.

For the sake of Merlin's tit, it should not be this difficult to travel back to his own home!

In the end, he had paid extra to get 'Priority Access', which was just a fancy name for bribe in his opinion, but he did manage to cut through the enormous queue and paperwork that entailed; thank Salazar for a class system that allowed him to use his wealth to buy VIP treatment. He had been granted a Portkey in a matter of an hour, and he found himself appearing at a designated Portkey Arrival point near Bristol.

From there, Draco wasted no time in apparating to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, which was flooded with an intake of patients and concerned family members. He had always found the hospital to be a rather sombre place, but the mood in the reception area was downright depressing. There was not a single chair in the waiting area that was empty, howls of pain and wails of grief lingered in the air as Healers with bloodied robes bustled about.

He had to patiently wait in line to speak to the receptionist; unfortunately, there was no such thing as preferential access in the hospital and even if there were, no one in Britain would have granted it to a Malfoy. Already there were enough glares and suspicious whispers directed in Draco's direction, but he firmly ignored them all. His priority was to find out where Ginevra was.

"Miss Weasley was discharged earlier this evening," the receptionist told him.

"So, she's alright?" Draco asked, but the receptionist had already moved on to help the next person in line. The article had said that Ginevra was severely injured, but the Healers would not have let her go home if she were still in a critical condition, right?

Feeling ridiculously frustrated, he apparated in the cornfields outside the Burrow and strode towards the wonky Weasley residence, adamant that he would not leave until someone took him to see his girlfriend. Enough was enough, for Salazar's sake. He was worried sick. His heart was in tatters and his stomach was twisted into infinite uneasy knots. He needed to know that she was healthy and safe.

He rammed his fist on the front door a lot harder than necessary. A few seconds later, the door swung open and he found himself face-to-face with Fleur Weasley.

"Bonsoir," Draco said as the good manners that had been ingrained into him as a child took charge. "Pardonnez-moi d'être sorti du bleu." Forgive me for coming unannounced.

"Ce n'est pas un problème." Fleur stepped aside to let him in. It's no problem.

Molly Weasley was sitting on the couch in the living room, her eyes bloodshot as if she had been crying. Her eldest son sat next to her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. The little girl, Victorie, was curled up by the fireplace, painting what appeared to be a get well soon card, though she seemed rather grim as well. They all looked up in surprise when Draco entered.

"I came as soon as I could," he said in lieu of greeting. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs," Mrs. Weasley answered. "In her ro–"

But Draco had already marched towards the stairs. He was halfway up when he heard a loud cry, followed by an admonishment. He ran up the rest of the way and came to a sudden halt in the doorway of Ginevra's bedroom.

The Golden Trio was carelessly lounging inside – Weaselbee leaning against the closet, Granger sitting on the windowsill and Potter occupying the chair by the desk – but Draco's gaze was fixed on the red-haired woman on the bed, propped up against the headboard with the help of fluffy pillows.

He almost had to do a double take, because there was no way in hell that that was Ginevra.

Her left arm was wrapped in bandages from just below her shoulder all the way to her fingers; it was bound in a navy sling, no doubt to help with the weight of the heavy bandages that made her limb seem twice its size. There was an ugly, dark purple bruise on her face that extended from her temple to her cheekbone. Her eyes were wide and wet, her beautiful lips trembling with emotion.

She must have sensed his gaze, for she turned her head in his direction. "Draco!" she cried as she held out her uninjured hand towards him. "Draco. Oh Merlin, Draco! Look at me. Look at what they did to me."

Draco crossed the room in three strides so he could grab her hand. It was the touch of her warm skin – much more warmer than normal; did she have a fever? – that finally brought the reality crashing around him. Whatever he had expected to find when he had come to the Burrow, this was not it. He had mentally prepared himself to face an injured Ginevra, sure, but not a weak one – not one who was so clearly broken by the trauma that she was reduced to hysterical sobbing. "It's alright," he said dumbly as he sat down on the edge of her bed. "You're alright."

"I can't feel it. I can't feel my arm at all. It's over. I'll never be able to play Quidditch ever again!" And then she let out a loud wail that caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up.

"Of course, you will be," Granger spoke up, and he blinked in surprise as he remembered that there were other people present in the room as well.

"No, I won't. My career is over," Ginevra shook her head vigorously. "I don't feel a single thing in my arm. I can't even move my fingers. I'm a cripple too now."

"Too?" Weaselbee frowned. "Who else is a cripple?"

Draco made to keep a mask of cool indifference on his face; the last thing he wanted was the damned Golden Trio to get even an inkling of his Curse. However, he could not fault Ginevra for almost letting slip his secret, nor for calling him a cripple, even though she had vehemently disagreed with him when he had referred to himself using that word a couple of times before. He probably should find words to deflect Weaselbee's question, but he was too shocked to come up with a snarky response. He could only watch the others talk as he tried to wrap his head around what had just been said about Ginevra's injuries.

Luckily for him, Potter did not seem to be any curious about her slip of tongue. "Stop crying, Gin. You're going to be just fine, trust me," he said.

Ginevra turned her head to glare at Scarhead, her eyes blazing with fury. "Trust you? Yes, I have every reason to do that!" she spat venomously, then turned to Draco in a way that reminded him of the way he used to look as a little boy whenever he was about to tell on Nott in front of his parents. "Y-You know what he did? He told the Healers– he was going to let them cut off my arm."

"That's not true," Potter protested. "I'd never let them–"

"I heard you myself!"

"Blimey, Ginny, you only heard part of the argument and reached your own conclusions," Weaselbee spoke up. "Harry nearly got himself thrown out of the hospital because he fought the Healers for you."

"I told them that amputation should only be an option if everything else fails," Potter told her solemnly.

"And in case you haven't noticed, you still have your arm." Weaselbee added. "So, just stop crying, okay?"

"A lot of good that did." Ginevra furiously swabbed at her tear-strained cheeks, but it was obvious that she did not have her emotions in control to be able to stop weeping. "My arm is dead."

"It is not, and you're not going to get better if you don't rest," Granger said firmly as she shook the empty vial she had been holding. "The potions you've taken should have already put you to sleep, but you're being so stubborn that it's not working."

"I want to play Quidditch!" Ginevra shouted.

"And you will," Draco spoke up. There were plenty of questions that he still wanted answered but witnessing this much of a conversation had made it clear to him that his inquiries would have to wait. Calming Ginevra was now his first priority. "Once you've had a good night's sleep. I hate to agree with our mighty heroes here, but you need to rest."

"No. T-They're just– My arm isn't– and Harry was going to let them–"

No one in the world disliked Harry Potter more than Draco did, but even he knew that the accusations that were currently being thrown at the git were not true; there was no way he would allow the Healers to simply amputate Ginevra's arm unless he thought that there was no other way to ensure her survival. No doubt deep down Ginevra was aware of this as well. She was simply too shaken to realise it. "I know," Draco murmured, fully aware that trying to drill some logic into her would be a waste of time. "I am here now, and I won't let anyone make decisions that you do not agree with. I promise."

She sniffled, staring up at him with her big brown eyes. "You do?"

Salazar, she looked more like a five-year-old child than a fully grown woman, and he knew that he would have to treat her so to get his message across. "I do." He glanced at the Golden Trio. "Would you excuse us?"

Potter and Weaselbee seemed rather reluctant (and also mildly offended) at his request, but Granger stood up and very subtly dragged them out of the room.

Once they were alone, Draco moved with haste so he could place a kiss on Ginevra's lips. She could have died in the attack. He had nearly lost her. Merlin. The idea of living a life where she was no longer present was unfathomable, and he tried to escape that wretched thought by deepening the kiss and allowing the taste of her mouth to lull him into a sense of relief that he was all too eager to seek. She seemed to crave the touch as much as he did, for she clung onto him, her tongue fervently dancing against his and her fingers bunched into the front of his t-shirt.

It was only when he unconsciously pressed himself closer to her and she let out a small sound that he remembered that she was injured. Pulling away quickly, he eyed her with concern. "Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," Ginevra whispered as she tugged on his shirt to pull him closer, only instead of resuming their kiss, she buried her face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, careful not to keep his grip too tight. "I asked for you when I woke up."

"I came as soon as I found out."

"But what about the Veela strippers?"

He let out an incredulous laugh. "It is a loss that I shall endeavour to bear."

She let out a sniffle. "I'm sorry for ruining your trip."

"You have nothing to apologise for, Ginevra." He buried his fingers in her red hair, massaging her scalp lightly. It was something he had done on the rather rare occasion when she had been startled out of her sleep because of a nightmare. "I would gladly blow off a thousand trips to spend time with you."

"You shouldn't have to," Her voice was starting to sound groggy. Now that she had clearly calmed down, the potions she had taken were starting to take effect.

"It is my choice."

"Because you love me."

Draco gently nudged her forward so that she lay her head back on the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut. "You know I do," he murmured as he continued to run his fingers through her hair, well aware that his ministrations were helping her relax. "Just as I know that you love me."

The corners of her lips curved into a small, barely noticeable smile – a sight that eased his churning insides. He remained silent after that and watched as she slowly drifted off to sleep. Once he was certain that she would not wake, not for a while at least, he left her room and ventured downstairs in search of the answers he required.

"Ginny?" Bill asked when he spotted him.

"She's asleep," he replied.

"How did you manage to do that?" Granger looked reluctantly impressed. "We've been trying since we brought her back from St. Mungo's."

Draco gave a half shrug in response. It was a testament to the magnitude of his worry for his girlfriend that he was willingly letting go of a perfectly good opportunity to show off in front of the wretched Golden Trio. "Is it true, what Ginevra said about her arm?" he asked instead.

"The Healer said that she'll be able to regain use of it in time."

"Enough to play Quidditch professionally?" It was no secret that Ginevra was passionate about her career. He had seen her invest hours and hours into practice, deal with the press, chat away with her fans. She thrived off her work. And if her fears regarding her injury were true, then she would truly be lost. She was very strong and very brave, yes, but there was no way in hell that she would be able to bear the loss of function in a limb.

"That is the hope."

That was a vague answer and he did not like it one bit.

"If only she will listen," Fleur shook her head sadly. "She iz only going to hurt 'erself if she keeps on crying like zis."

"She's in shock, for Merlin's sake!" Weaselbee said, his voice torn between irritation and defensiveness. "She woke up when the Healers were still trying to fix her. I can't even imagine how she must have felt seeing– seeing herself in tatters." Mrs. Weasley let out a troubled sound at that, and he reached out to take her hand tenderly. When he continued, his voice was more optimistic. "The important thing is that she will be fine. She has to be."

Draco pressed his lips together. It was a sad, sad moment if Ron Weaselbee was becoming the sound source of optimism.

Maybe he ought to stop thinking of Weaselbee as 'Weaselbee'; the man was Ginevra's brother and, as she had reminded him so recently, a victim of his (mercifully) failed attempt to kill Dumbledore. She had told him that he needed to acknowledge his past sins, and though he knew that he would never apologise to the redhead, he did not have to be exceptionally rude towards him. Marginally rude would do and that too in appropriate times, which the current moment was not.

"Who is her Healer?" Draco asked.

"Augustus Pye," Weaselbee – no, it was Weasley now – retorted gruffly, eyeing him as if he was a Blast-Ended Skrewt. "What's it to you?"

"I'd like Blaise Zabini to take a look at her. He is an expert Healer when it comes to injuries and ailments caused by Dark magic."

Granger eyed him suspiciously, her head tilted to the side in thought. "Didn't he treat you when you were sick?"

Salazar curse this thrice damned witch for being so bloody perceptive! The Weasley family had been told that his illness was in fact another reaction to one of his potion experiments gone wrong. He could not, under any circumstances, let them find out the truth. "Yes, but that's only because he is a friend," he lied smoothly. "If there is anyone who can help Ginevra recover, it is Zabini. And they are already on good terms, so she will feel more at ease during the treatment."

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I'll make an appointment."

The conversation was interrupted when the flames in the fireplace suddenly turned bright and Arthur Weasley stepped out. His official looking robes indicated that he had been at the Ministry and the expression on his face screamed exhaustion. His eyes swept across the room as he looked at his family, his gaze lingering with surprise on Draco for a moment longer, before he finally turned to his wife. "How is she?"

"Sleeping," Mrs. Weasley answered.

Mr. Weasley nodded as he lowered himself into the vacant armchair. "Two more people succumbed to their wounds at St. Mungo's," he told them gravely. "One of them was a seven-year-old boy."

There was a moment of silence as everyone tried in vain to digest the horrible news. Merlin, a seven-year-old child – or rather, yet another child. This one at least was collateral damage and not the victim of a targeted attack, though that hardly made the blow any better. Dead was dead. And Draco knew all too well that Dolohov was capable of far, far worse. He had seen the man strike down countless men, women, and children in creative ways during their missions.

He could remember all too well that little girl with big brown eyes whose only crime had been that she was the daughter of a muggle-born Auror who had helped the Order. Draco had tried to hide her away and save her from the horrid fate that the Dark Lord had declared for the entire family, but he had failed. Dolohov had found her. Her pitiful screams when she had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse echoed in his ears all of a sudden, and he could see the bright green flash of the Killing Curse and hear the thump of her small body hitting the carpet–

A glass shattered.

Draco flinched. Luckily, none of the Weasleys had noticed his reaction, for they were all staring wide-eyed at the Boy Who Lived Twice, who had violently flung his cup of tea across the room.

Potter stood in the middle of the living room, looking deranged, and then all traces of his outburst disappeared from his face. Taking a deep breath, he vanished the mess he had made with a wordless wave of his wand. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I didn't mean to. I–" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm done letting those stupid rules tie me down. Was Shacklebolt in office?"

It took Mr. Weasley a moment to realise that the question had been directed at him. "Yes."

"Where are you going?" Weasley asked when Potter summoned his coat.

"To talk to Shacklebolt. He is going to give me free reign to do things my way, and then we are going to get Rowle to talk." It was not difficult to decipher what the 'free reign' would entail. He raised an eyebrow at his best friend. "Coming?"

"You know I am."

The two men departed within the minute, and then Granger got to her feet with a sigh. "I better go after them. Someone needs to keep Harry from attacking the Minister and Ron won't do it." She smiled reassuringly at the others and then Flooed away in a burst of flame.

Fleur and Bill left soon afterwards as well because their daughter had fallen asleep on the rug. It was nearly ten at night, after all.

Once they were gone, Mrs. Weasley ventured into the kitchen and returned with a tray of chicken sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "Fleur prepared this for us. Bless her," she said as she set it on the coffee table and started serving her husband. "You will have some too, Mr. Malfoy."

It was not a question. Not that Draco would have refused even if it had been. He had not eaten anything since his interrupted breakfast at Boston, and his stomach had rumbled at the sight of the food. He made his way over to the couch, accepted a sandwich and a goblet of juice with a 'thank you'. They ate in relative silence, and he only spoke up when they were almost done with the meal. "Mr. Weasley? If it is alright with you, I would like to stay with Ginevra tonight."

Mr. Weasley seemed startled at his request, and his surprise was soon replaced with discomfort. He glanced at his wife and the two seemed to converse without words in a way that married couples often did. "Of course," he said finally.

"Thank you," Draco stood up. "I shall be with upstairs. Please let me know if you need me."

He returned to Ginevra's room soon afterwards and shut the door. The room was quiet. With a sigh, he placed his wallet, watch and wand on the desk, and decided to read one of the books from her collection. Only, he found himself surprised when his gaze swept over the shelf.

The last time he had properly looked around Ginevra's room was at the Weasley-Granger's wedding. There had been four photographs there: the first was of the entire Weasley family, the second was a group photo of the Holyhead Harpies, the third was a photo of Ginevra with Fred (the brother who had died) and the last was of her with the Golden Trio, Longbottom and Luna.

Only now, a fifth photograph had been added to her collection. It showed Draco and Ginevra swaying together on the dance floor of that very wedding. In it, he was trying to look indignant as he said something and she poked his nose with the tip of her finger as she laughed. Both of them not only seemed happy but ridiculously smitten with each other… as if they were already falling in love, which in hindsight, they most likely were.

A smile spread across Draco's lips as he observed the photo and he made a mental note to ask Ginevra for a copy. It would be nice to keep it on his office desk.

He took off his shoes and his dress pants until he was standing in his boxers and tee, then carefully climbed past Ginevra so he could slip under the covers next to her. It was a small bed and he found himself sandwiched between the wall and her, but luxurious comfort was something he could hardly expect to find in this hovel that the Weasleys called their home.

He eyed the flitterbloom sway lazily on her windowsill as he imagined the place filled with seven bratty children. Salazar, it must have been hell to grow up here! He would have pitched himself off the top of this wonky building if he had to endure a childhood like that. Though Ginevra seemed to cherish her memories – from all the stories she had told him, her life sounded not horrible at all. The Weasleys had been deprived of money, and hence a lot of wonders that life had to offer, but they had been a happy family. They still were for the most part, though he had noticed even in the few times he had met them that the loss of Fred Weasley still haunted each of them in a different way. Which was expected.

Draco tried to compare his own childhood to hers and realised that there was no comparison to make. They both came from such different places that there were hardly any similarities – except maybe the fact that they both grew up happy. For his childhood had been a very happy one. His parents had adored him, showered upon him anything that he asked for and had taken him travelling to a new country every summer. He had felt lonely sometimes, but the lack of a sibling with not that big of a loss in hindsight; His family had been ridiculously social and he had spent a lot of time with Pansy, Greg, Vincent, Theo and Daphne.

His life had been incredibly good until the Dark Lord had decided to brand him with the Mark. It had all gone downhill pretty quick after that.

Ginevra shifted next to him and he slowly turned to lay on his side so that he could watch her. A lock of her hair was tickling her cheek, for her brows had drawn in irritation, and he reached out to gently push it behind her ear.

The war had taken so much from him, left him shattered in ways that were unimaginable. He had tried his best to move on, to make do with the cards that had been dealt to him but it had been incredibly difficult. He had poured his blood, sweat and tears into the Malfoy Corporation, rebuilding it after the Malfoy name had been tossed into the gutter. He had lost friends along the way. He had lost Pansy, the woman he had planned on spending the rest of his life with.

The years after their breakup had been filled with a handful of one-nighters with random women that he had managed to pick up in pubs or during his travels, women who had been willing to look past the Dark Mark branded onto his arm for an hour or two of sexual pleasure. He had tried a relationship with Solenne De la Croix after Lukas introduced them, but even that had ended after a few months. No one had been able to fill the void that Pansy had left in his heart, to provide him with the intimacy that he had witnessed between his parents, between Blaise and Daphne. He had always yearned for it, but he had dared not to hope for it; he was Draco Malfoy, after all. The cursed Death Eater, the cowardly bully, the fallen wretch of a man who was not noble enough to side with the Order but was a reluctant soldier to the Dark Lord. No one would ever love him.

And then he had shagged Ginevra Weasley against a bookshelf at a party.

There was a spark there that had been difficult to ignore, and what started as sex and casual banter slowly evolved into something that he could not have foreseen in a million years. He found himself opening up to her, revealing his deepest darkest secrets that he had kept even from Pansy. It had been uneasy at first, but the sharing became easy, mainly because she accepted him. She did not judge him, not without reason.

The feisty Weasley girl had weaselled her way into his heart. She had filled all the voids that Pansy had left behind and more – so much more. He had found himself feeling for her in ways he did not think possible. Her presence encased him into a bubble and all the horrors of his past and the suspicions of the world were outside of that bubble, leaving him free to breathe, to feel, to smile. By no means did she erase his troubles, but facing them became easy because she was by his side.

She woke up screaming in the middle of the night, once again lamenting the lack of feeling in her arm and the loss of her Quidditch career. It took her a while to calm her down, and she cried herself to sleep in his arms.

He would have gladly given up his entire fortune to save her from the pain she was currently in. Unfortunately, there was not much he could do. Was this how his mother and Ginevra felt when they saw him suffer through his Curse? By Salazar, helplessness was truly a terrible feeling.

He listened to her ragged breaths for a long while before drifting off into an uneasy doze.

The sound of the door creaking open roused Draco. He blinked groggily for a few moments until his vision focused on Molly Weasley, who had ventured into the room. Salazar's tit, did these bloody Weasleys have no manners whatsoever? She should have bloody knocked and waited for permission to enter before– His irritation vanished instantly as he realised that he was dressed in a t-shirt and bloody boxers. He reached down as subtly as he could to make sure that he was covered and found, to his relief, that the blankets were pulled up to his waist. He also found that Ginevra's legs were very much tangled with his own and that she was half lying across his chest.

And now her mother was in the room.

He flushed, feeling ridiculously embarrassed at being found in this position, and shifted slightly so that he could sit up. There was bright light streaming in through a small gap in the window blinds, indicating that it was early morning, but he could not see how that realisation would save him from the current awkwardness.

"Oh, please don't get up on my account," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice low but firm enough that he found himself obeying.

Draco stilled. He was so utterly shellshocked, and it must have shown on his face for she smiled. It was a kind smile rather than a ridiculing one, so he decided not to get offended.

"I just came to check up on Ginny," she said as she reached out to caress her daughter's hair. "Did she sleep through the night?"

"No," he croaked, then cleared his throat and continued in a more confident but hushed voice. "She woke up delirious, but I managed to calm her."

They dissolved into silence and Draco watched with some level of wariness as Mrs. Weasley needlessly adjusted Ginevra's blankets, her eyes brimming with such fondness for her child that it almost felt intrusive to watch it. He did not know what made him say it, but the words formed on his tongue before he could stop them. "I love your daughter."

"I know." Mrs. Weasley met his gaze, and he realised that her eyes were bright brown just like Ginevra's. "She told us she loves you too. I will not lie, it was difficult to digest that."

"Understandable. My parents do not approve of this relationship either." He noticed her frown and felt the need to elaborate. "Their opinion will not keep me away. I will fight them for Ginevra if I must, though I would prefer not to. They are my parents, after all."

She nodded slowly as she sat down on the edge of the bed, and once again they lapsed into silence.

It occurred to him that this was the woman who had killed his aunt Bellatrix during the Battle of Hogwarts, and she had done so to protect Ginevra. Once again, it had been a mother's love that had changed the tide of that bloody war. He could still feel that same love oozing out of the woman, only it was merged with other emotions: protectiveness and fear.

"I am sorry," he murmured.

"For what?"

"I am sorry that you lost a son."

For a moment, she looked dumbfounded. Then, her eyes teared up and she forced a smile. "Ginny was always very close with the twins. They used to call her their 'little protégé prankster'! After F-Fred," her voice broke. "She helped George a lot." She had decided to reveal little facts about Ginevra rather than talk about her own grief. He realised that it was her way of being brave; Merlin forbid she let herself fall apart, for then who would take care of those she loved? "Does she talk to you about him?"

"Not really," he replied, not wanting to say anything that would bring her further distress. It was rare, but Ginevra did have nightmares sometimes. He had never asked what memories haunted her and she never told him, though if he had to wager a guess, he would say that it had something to do with Fred or Tom Riddle's diary. "But I am certain that she has processed her grief." She had told him that she and Potter had spent many a night consoling each other over the losses they had faced in the war.

This time when Mrs. Weasley glanced at her daughter, it was with a strange sort of determination, as if she had made up her mind that she would not allow the world to snatch another one of her children away from her – that she would do anything and everything in her power to save Ginevra from any further pain. "We will make sure she is alright," she said. "You and I, Mr. Malfoy."

"We will," he pledged. And just like that, Draco knew that he had won over the Weasley matron. Funnily enough, as he watched the woman leave the room after promising to bring him some morning tea, he mused that she had somehow just won him over too.

Draco returned to the Manor for a quick shower and a change of clothes and then made a quick trip to his office. He returned to the Burrow an hour or so after lunch. Mrs. Weasley told him that Ginevra had caused little trouble while eating her meal and had drifted off to sleep only a few minutes ago.

And so, he found himself sitting at the desk in her room, writing instructions on a piece of parchment for his employees who would now be tackling the work he had abandoned in Boston. He was soon disturbed by the arrival of a visitor.

"Ginny?"

Potter stood in the doorway, wearing his great coat and a scarf that had slowly melting specks of snow on it; it was not snowing outside, meaning he had come from one of the colder regions of Britain. One he realised that Ginevra was fast asleep, he leaned against the doorjamb, simply watching her. If ever it was going to be obvious that he was still in love with her…

Draco felt a green serpent uncoil inside of him, slithering through his veins in the form of jealousy. Oh, what he would not give to challenge the Git Who Lived Twice to a duel and to settle their feud once and for all, but as tempting as the idea was, he would not act upon it. There were more important things to do. He stood up and walked over to the prick. After a quick glance out to make sure that there was no one on the staircase below or above them, he leaned against the opposite end of the doorjamb.

Potter turned warily so the two rivals were facing each other. His hand slowly slipped into his pocket as he reached for his wand.

Draco could not blame him for preparing for a fight. The last time they had been in such close vicinity of each other, it had been at the Malfoy Manor during the war when he had been summoned to identify him. He could remember that wretched day all too well, staring deep into those green eyes for a long, long moment and then declaring that he was not sure, even though deep down in his heart he had been certain that the Snatchers had managed to capture the one person whom the Dark Lord wanted most.

"Aelred Travers from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and Fuchsia Mabel from the Obliviator Headquarters. They used to provide information from within the Ministry to the Dark Lord. You should monitor them."

"Monitor them?" Potter echoed, his brows drawn into a frown.

"I am not saying that they are involved with this new Death Eater Cause, but they were once seduced by the promise of riches. It can be done again. There are others too, but I'll have to look up their names in my father's old ledgers."

"I don't understand."

"I'm offering you my help," Draco said impatiently. "What part of that is so difficult for your pea brain to grasp?"

"The Death Eaters nearly killed your father and you refused to help. Why the sudden change of heart?"

It took all of his strength to not let his gaze drift over to Ginevra. "Do you want my help or not?"

Potter understood the underlying reasons anyway. When did this damned spectacled bastard become so observant? "For Ginny? You'd fight for her but not for your own father." He raised an eyebrow. "Is it because you think he deserved whatever happened to him?"

"No."

"Alright." The tone was so dubious that it was anything but alright.

Draco counted to ten in his head. Scarface was really testing his patience, and he had half a mind to just grab the git and shove him down the stairs just for fun. "My father and I were caught in the crossfire that day. The Death Eaters had come to break into Azkaban and we just happened to be there." Why in the name of Salazar's holy blood was he explaining this? He owed this man nothing and yet there was a bizarre part of him that wanted him to understand. "Had I known– Had they did to my father what they did to Ginevra, I would have provided you these names that very day."

"Wait, so let me get this straight," Potter held up a hand, looking utterly incredulous. "You were giving the Death Eaters the benefit of the doubt?"

So what if he was? Surely, not everyone who had the misfortune of having the Dark Mark branded onto their arm was truly evil or beyond redemption. He wanted to believe that there was hope for those who had made the wrong choices. He had to believe that– in fact, he had believed that for the past six years, for it was the only way the world made sense to him. And yet, he knew that this was nothing but childish hopefulness. The Death Eaters were too far gone, himself included. His sins were beyond redemption. Dolohov's were downright unspeakable. "Yes, well," he tried to shrug his response off lightly, but his tone contained more emotion than he would have liked. "You did once say that I was wilfully naïve."

"Yes," Potter murmured slowly, thoughtfully. "Yes, I did."

A moment of silence passed, and then a soft, curious voice caused them to whirl around.

"Are you two going to snog?" Ginevra was staring at them groggily. She rubbed at her eye and then her nose with a single, lazy stroke of her uninjured hand. "I'm not taking those potions anymore. They're making me see weird things." Letting out a very unladylike snort, she rolled over and went back to sleep within a minute.

Potter let out an incredulous laugh and then left the room with a shake of his head, clearly satisfied that she was not in as horrible a state as before.

Draco, on the other hand, was horrified. He wanted nothing more than to shake his girlfriend awake and shout at her for insinuating at a romantic connection between him and bloody Scarhead of all people. It would be rude to do so, though, for she was injured. So, he settled for letting out a dismissive grunt and returning to the letter was composing before he had been disturbed.

Number 12, Grimmauld Place slowly appeared into view by shoving its neighbouring houses to the side, though the muggles living there hardly seemed to notice the change; they went about their usual night-time routines, watching telly, feeding the pets, changing into sleepwear. It was nearly midnight, and no one in this rather respectable part of Islington expected anything out of the ordinary to take place; the idea of a townhouse magically appearing into view would have been laughable.

Draco climbed the worn front steps of this magical house and reached for the polished golden knocker in the shape of a lion's head. A loud, clanging bell boomed inside and the door swung open half a minute later to reveal Harry Potter.

"Come on in," he said, glancing down the street inquisitively as he stepped aside. "Were you followed?"

"No," Draco told him shortly as he entered an impressive hallway with wooden flooring, Victorian wallpaper and a large overhead chandelier. The walls was mostly bare, except for dark velvet curtains that hung on one side, which was odd considering there was no way there could have been a window behind those.

The place had been the ancestral home of the Black Family. Though his mother had grown up in one of the other ancient properties belonging to the Blacks, she had often visited this place for family gatherings. Of course, the place was Potter's now; the git had shared a flat with Ginevra before and had only moved in here after their breakup. The great hero had added his own personal touch to the place if the lion-shaped door knocker was anything to go by.

Draco took off his cloak and hung it on a wooden coat stand and then followed his host down the fall end of the hallway, down a set of narrow stone stairs into the kitchen, a cavernous room with a large fireplace at the far end. It was a cosy, well-kempt place with iron pots and pans hanging from the ceiling above and shelves stocked with a mix of magic and muggle food items. There was a long wooden table in the centre, large enough to seat a couple of dozen people, though currently it was only occupied by Ron Weasley, who had shoved a bunch of jaffa cakes into his mouth and was hastily folding away what appeared to be a few maps and official looking documents.

"Hello, Weasel," Draco greeted him coolly and felt particularly pleased about the glare he received.

The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in Potter's home with two-thirds of the Golden Trio, but there were matters to attend to and this was a far better meeting point than the Auror Headquarters at the Ministry. There were far too many untrustworthy eyes and ears lurking in that building, each of them working to further their own agendas. Lucius Malfoy had been an expert at manoeuvring through such people and instilling his own personal ideas wherever needed, but a lack of interest in political affairs left Draco somewhat untrained in such games.

"Now then," Potter said once they were all seated. "I believe you have names that you'd like to give me."

With a nod, Draco pulled out a list from his pocket and slid it across the table. It contained the names of eight Ministry officials who had served as spies for the Dark Lord during the war. Potter's brows rose as he studied it, which was not surprising; two of the names belonged to people who held positions of impressive power in the current regime.

A wave of hesitation swirled inside Draco and he found himself questioning the wisdom of what he was about to do. His past experiences with the Aurors, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in general, had been rather terrible; they were a judgmental, condescending bunch who had treated him horribly because of his family name. He had deserved the treatment initially, yes, but he had also sat through his trial and paid his dues like an obedient wizard. And yet, these people continued to look down upon him and they will always find ways to punish him for his past choices. Based off of that, he should just wrap up this conversation and head home.

Only he couldn't.

Ginevra had been hurt in the blast, and he could not tell if the Death Eaters had planned this attack from the get-go or if they had targeted that particular match after he had refused Dolohov. His blooming relationship with Ginevra was no secret, after all, and she was perhaps the easiest person to get to if one needed to topple his life upside down, what with his father being heavily guarded in Azkaban and his mother living in a warded villa in the Italian countryside. Either way, he needed to make sure that the woman he loved was safe, and the quickest way to do that was to end this damned Death Eater Cause.

Well then. In for a knut, in for a Galleon.

"There's more you need to know."

And Draco told them about the three visits that Dolohov had paid him, about the offer he had received to join the Cause and how he had refused it. The two Aurors listened to his tale with great patience and attentiveness, and then–

"You slimy git!" Potter slammed his fist on the table, eyes glinting maliciously. "I knew you were hiding something."

"You should have come straight to us," Weasley added.

"Yes, because we're such good mates," Draco retorted sarcastically. "I wanted no part in that blasted Cause, nor in your righteous war."

His words only seemed to anger the redhead. "And you want to play the hero now that they've hurt Ginny. What about all the other innocents that your old colleagues have been killing?"

"That're not my problem."

"Some hero you are, Malfoy," Potter tutted.

"Who says I want to be one? That's your job, so fucking do it!" He took a moment to compose himself. Losing control of his emotions was becoming a regular occurrence and it was not something he should be proud of. No, he needed to learn to reign it all in. "I have given you the list of people and I have told you all that I know. I don't see what else I can do for you."

Potter eyed him for a long moment, then said, "Rowle is not talking."

"Of course, he's not," he snorted, though he was trying to understand what had brought on this sudden change in topic.

"He has resisted Veritaserium."

"Any decent Occlumens can do that," Draco allowed a haughty smirk to curve across his lips as he continued, "I certainly can. Meaning that all those interrogations you've put me through over the years where you tried to inconspicuously serve me a cup of tea laced with the truth serum have been rather pointless." The sight of their shocked expressions filled him with a savage glee, and he basked in the feeling of pulling one over the Git Who Lived Twice. He had willingly given away one of his secret talents, but as his father had taught him, there were times when it was productive to let the enemy glimpse at a bit from your arsenal. That way, they will think twice before underestimating you. "Has the Minister given you the free reign you needed?"

"He has," Potter shared an uneasy glance with Weasley. It was not difficult to figure out why his wand was in a knot even after being granted the power he had desired. "But–"

"Rowle is as resilient as they come and you honourably pious fools lack the creativity required to get him to divulge his secrets."

"And you have it?" Weasley demanded.

"I do," Draco replied instantly. "Because unlike you, my ambition will never allow something as menial as a conscience hinder me from obtaining the answers that I need."

The uncomfortable silence that followed his words made it quite clear that he had pinpointed the problem perfectly. Saint Potter had had no problem demanding the rights to torture captured Death Eaters for valuable information so that he could save lives, but now that he had been granted said permission by the Minister, his moral code would not allow him to sanction such violent means. Which was odd, considering that Draco knew for a fact that Potter had used Unforgiveables during the war.

Why was he hesitant now? Judging from what he knew of Potter, it was because the war was over. There exists no reasonable excuse to use such terrible curses. Besides, it would drastically blur the lines between right and wrong if the Aurors, the people responsible for ensuring the safety of the wizarding kind, started torturing suspects. That was the problem with heroes: they had too many rules, and most of those rules were so predictably moronic.

He became all too aware of an intense gaze and found Potter staring at him. Unfortunately, he did not know the man well enough to be able to decipher the meaning behind that thoughtful expression. Weasley, however, was quick to do it.

"Harry, tell me you're not seriously thinking of letting Malfoy have a go at Rowle?"

"It's a thought," Potter said slowly, then shook his head. "But no. There are other ways that you can prove useful, Draco. You have something that I lack."

"Oh, I am certain I have plenty that you lack," Draco sneered. "But which specific thing are you talking about?"

"Access."

Realisation dawned instantly, and Draco shook his head. "No. No way. I will not spy for you."

Even Weasley's eyes had widened. "Blimey, mate. You can't be serious?"

"Hear me out–" Potter began.

"You are not Dumbledore, and I am not Snape," Draco state firmly. "I won't do it."

Potter glared at him for a moment, then turned to Weasley. "I want you to lead the investigation into the suspected Death Eater activity we discussed in our meeting yesterday." He held out the list of names that Draco had provided them. "Ron, see if you can find a reason to look into these Ministry officials during the raids."

"And if I can't find a reason?" Weasley asked as he pocketed the list.

"Then make one."

A look passed between the two friends, and then Weasley nodded to indicate that he understood what he had to do. He picked up the folded papers, shoved two more jaffa cakes into his mouth and then left via the Floo.

"Saint Potter using dubious means to get his work done?" Draco could not help but mock. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"I'm only using dubious means to get them investigated," Potter said calmly. "These people will have nothing to fear if they have don't nothing wrong."

"If that helps you sleep at night."

"Fine! I am willing to do whatever to bring down this damned Cause." He raised an eyebrow challengingly. "Are you?"

"Do you have any idea what you're asking me to do?" The Wizarding community in Britain was already terribly unkind to the Malfoys. They would go berserk if word got out that Draco had joined the ranks of the Death Eaters once again. "My mother would be in danger, and the Malfoy name will be ruined."

"You don't have to worry about your mother."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have one."

Potter's eyes flashed dangerously. "I promise that no harm will come to her. As for the Malfoy name – once we succeed, I will make sure that the people know of your role in this mission." He made it sound so bloody easy. Dumbledore had schooled him well, teaching him to concoct such plans and using casual manipulation to goad others to dance at his tune.

"If I were to agree to this hare-brained scheme of yours, and I am not saying that I am, it still would not work," Draco pointed out. "There is no way that Dolohov would trust me when I have already refused his offer."

"We'll have to change that, then."

"How?"

"You leave that to me."

"Gee, I have nothing to worry about now," Draco muttered sarcastically.

Potter chuckled. "Look, we just have to convince Dolohov that you've changed your mind. I'm sure we will be able to manage that – if you agree to this, that is."

The wheels in Draco's mind whirred wildly as he tried to calculate as many outcomes of both agreeing and disagreeing to this scheme. In the end, he reached his decision much quicker than he had anticipated. The reason behind that was obviously a certain fiery redhead who was now the one of the most important people in his life– as important as his parents and himself. He knew that he would do anything, anything at all, for the sake of her, and that prospect did not scare him in the slightest. It felt good to be in love, and it felt incredibly refreshing to be strengthened by it.

"For the record, I would like to state that I have not heard this horrible an idea since I met that bloke who believed that chocolate cauldrons will be the next big thing in potioneering. But," He paused to take a deep breath, and then met Potter's gaze. "I will do what needs to be done. Count me in."

Beware the heart, Draco Malfoy.

He thought he knew what he wanted and where he stood when it came to important matters. He had decided long ago that he would never become a part of something like that war again. He was done being a soldier. He had walked off the chessboard and decided to enjoy his life as a businessman, friend and boyfriend. And here he was, enlisting in a bizarre scheme to install himself back into Death Eater ranks as a bloody spy – all for Ginevra, a woman who now owned his heart.

But he would not doubt his decision because he knew it was the right one.

He loathed agreeing with Saint Potter, but the man was right: he had been wilfully naïve to think that this was a fight that he could simply watch as a spectator. No, there was no such thing as a spectator when it came to the dangerous conflict between the Death Eaters and the Aurors. The only way for him not to become a pawn was if he became a player. And he would play now, on his own terms.

This was a tricky chapter to write and I cannot wait to hear what you have to say about it. So please do leave a review!

I hope no one gets offended by Draco's comments about America. I love the States (been there a couple of times and can't wait to visit again) and Draco does too - its just that he is a disgruntled little bastard and I love writing his bratty, whiny side!

I never wanted Harry to be featured so heavily in this story (I love his character but I find him a bit difficult to write, mainly because we all know him so well from the books) but he just refuses to stay away! I'm sure you can tell that we will be seeing a bit of him in the coming chapters. I will try my best to not include his point-of-view, because I enjoy seeing him through Draco or Ginny's eyes, but I make no promises. Anyways, that is a worry for future me!

For now, this chapter was a glimpse into Draco's mind. You'll be seeing Ginny's next.

Until then, stay safe! x