A/N: This chapter is a touch shorter than my normal ones, but if I decided to cut it off here. More very soon, as chapter 12 is already completely written! Lots of answers are coming soon. :)

As he lay beside her in the tiny bed with the uncomfortable mattress, hundreds of thoughts were racing through his mind like rapidfire. He had meant it when he had said he had done it all for her, but the tension that still hadn't quite left her body was telling him that she didn't really trust him. She shouldn't trust him, he decided. He barely understood where his own loyalties lie, where his priorities stood, who he was. He had not even had the strength or the decency to tell her that he now knew of his real life. It was an insane identity crisis that he did not know how to comprehend, but he did know that he could not confess it to her, not until he could explain to her why she still could not remember. And it wasn't time for that yet.

Six weeks of this he had braved on his own, her brothers his only companions. Sometimes he would look at his reflection and he would see himself, while other times he would see the stranger that had resided in his body for twelve years. Sometimes he would have thoughts that seemed so out of place for Draco Malfoy, until he realized that they weren't coming from Draco, but Drew instead.

"How did you two deal with your memories coming back?" he had asked the twins one day when his own brain had become so muddled with conflicting beliefs and thoughts and ideas that sitting around in silence had actually given him a migraine. "You must have gone through this as well."

They had both looked on at him in disbelief and then back at each other. One twin - he still couldn't be bothered to try and figure out which one was which - had cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Draco, mate… I don't think this happened to us like it is happening to you," he had said gently.

Draco looked indignant. "Why on Earth would I be different?"

The other twin smiled at the irony of Draco Malfoy not wanting to be acknowledged as unique to those whom he had once felt he was superior to. "Because we were pretty much the same, before and after. We didn't have much back home and we didn't have much here. All that changed were our memories and that we weren't together. But once we were, it was like a light being turned on."

"But you were a product of your environment," the first twin added, not unkindly. "You were wealthy and you had parents who liked to flaunt it. Once you lost your memory, you didn't have the chance to decide you were better than everyone else, so you just were who you needed to be to survive it all."

"We actually like you better this way," said the second.

And Draco had taken this to heart, because though the conversation had infuriated him initially, weeks of contemplation had allowed him to conclude that they were right. As a child, he was snotty and arrogant because he had been taught to be that way. Being with Ginny had made him into another man entirely, and the way his brain now had two entirely different thought processes going on at all times was terribly disconcerting. He was not sure in which way of thinking he truly believed, but what he did know was that he was willing to play along for her, at least for now. At least until his chronic migraine was too unbearable.

Almost as though she had realized he was thinking of her, Gwen shifted in his arms as she continued to sleep soundly.

She had changed, too, Draco had noted. In some ways, she had changed even more than he had. The Ginny he had known from school had never been afraid to stand up to him, to defend herself, and she would have never allowed herself to become dependent upon a man. But Gwen had always shied away from conflict with her husband. Until today, that was. The old fire was back within her, and he could see the light glowing in her eyes. Even though she was so angry with him and even though he had wanted to take it seriously and allow her the freedom to release all of her frustration onto him, he could not fight back his smile. Another odd thought had occurred to him then.

He knew that Drew Montrose had been in love with Gwen Montrose, but was Draco Malfoy also in love with Ginny Weasley?

Her warm body snuggled beside him was finally taking over his senses. The sleep that he had evaded had caught up to him, and as he closed his eyes and allowed his two separate minds to think freely, he realized that every thought - whether it had originated from Drew's or Draco's way of thinking - began and ended with the woman who was sleeping beside him.

He had to get her back.

Gwen knew that she was only fooling herself when she allowed Drew to return to her bed without so much as an explanation, but in truth, she did not care. Not right then. For those weeks that he had been gone, she had been left to take care of her children on her own, with no help and no money. And though she had put on a brave face and had gotten herself through the toughest time that she could recall, the thought of being taken care of was too appealing for her to pass up.

And so when she awoke in the same arms she had fallen asleep in, she couldn't find it within herself to remain even a little bit angry.

Turning to face him, she breathed in the scent of him. He had changed, she noted. Before he had smelt of nature, of mowed grass and fresh summer air and citrus, but now those scents were all gone. Now his body emitted an aroma of spice - of cinnamon and cloves - and the barest hint of cigarette smoke. She crinkled her nose at that one, wondering to herself when exactly that disgusting habit had been picked up.

He still had the same face, the same eyes and the same hair, but he was different. There was nothing tangible that she could see to tell her what it was that had changed about him, but he most definitely had. She just wished she could pinpoint exactly what was different.

She pressed her nose into his chest, cuddling close to him, making sure that he was still real, and the smell of him flowed through her body, sending waves to the pit of her stomach. Waves of…

Nausea.

Bolting from the bed, Gwen lifted her hair off her neck just in the nick of time as she bent her head low over the toilet and vomited spectacularly, her small body heaving violently.

The stress of Drew's return had gotten to her, she rationalized. What she had gone through could make anyone's stomach turn, she reasoned. And though her heart was screaming to her that this was not the truth, she pushed these thoughts aside for the more favorable ones.

This was not the time, nor was it the place, to think about what the problem truly could be.

It had taken weeks before she had finally reached him.

The large mansion was aglow in the light of the full moon. Its large stature was intimidating and frightening, and the iron gates that were closed and foreboding made her think briefly about turning away. But she knew in her heart that what she was doing was incredibly dangerous. Except she knew she didn't have a choice. There was nowhere else to go and no one else to tell her what to do. It wasn't just her life in danger anymore.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she slowly opened the gate and began to walk up the stone path towards the house. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought the place was empty because there was not a single light on in the house, but she had done a spell to locate him. He was on the property somewhere. She could only hope that he was alone.

A firm grip on her arm pulled her off the path, dragging her away from the main entrance into the house. There was a hand over her mouth to quiet her, and though her first instinct was to scream, she could smell him - cloves and cinnamon and cigarettes - and she knew he was the man she had come to see.

He pushed her against the trunk of a tree. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he hissed. "How stupid do you have to be to come here?"

"Is… is he here?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly from fear and from cold.

His hard, grey eyes softened slightly. "No. No one is here. The place was abandoned after…"

"Yeah." She looked away. "I don't need the reminder."

He reached out a hand, pulling on a loose lock of hair that had tumbled free of her ponytail. "Ginny, what are you doing here? You need to get out of the country."

Her eyes narrowed sharply. "You know I can't do that."

A strange expression washed over his face as he ran his fingertips from her shoulder down her arm before lacing his fingers with hers. "I can't imagine what you're going through, but you don't really have a choice. If You-Know-Who finds out who the father is, he will kill you without hesitation."

"But I can't leave him!" she said, her voice growing slightly hysterical.

"Harry is dead, Ginny! Harry is dead, and he can't come back." He gripped her shoulders with both hands, his thumbs running over her cheeks affectionately. "You've been so brave for him. You've gotten through the toughest time in your life, and you're still here. Still standing, still fighting. But the fight will be over if you don't get the hell away."

She swallowed hard, resting her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him as close to herself as she possibly could. "Draco, how am I ever going to survive this?" she asked, her voice catching.

He kissed the top of her head before placing a finger beneath her chin, tilting her head back so that she would be forced to meet his eyes. With a deep, ragged breath, he leaned in and pressed his lips gently to hers, allowing them to graze so softly the touch almost felt surreal.

"Run away, Ginny," he whispered. "As long as You-Know-Who is in power, you're not safe here, and neither is your baby."

Her body shuddered as she jolted awake.

Every nerve ending in her body was trembling violently.

She didn't know why she had begun dreaming her memories, but she had. While Drew was gone, the dreams she'd had had been relatively insignificant. Or at least they seemed that way. How could she possibly know whether or not they were important without any sort of context?

But this one was different.

Without stopping to contemplate the reasons why, she did what she needed to do. She punched her sleeping husband hard in the shoulder. Somehow, she knew. She just knew.

"Draco," she hissed. "Wake up!"

And as he sat up in their bed, he could do nothing but stare at her with large, gaping eyes.