A/N: Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially Eruanna Saerwen and veronica21.

This chapter contains mature content and themes. Y'all have been warned.

"No," says Draco. "No, I didn't. But, Weasley, why did you?"

"You did, and you know perfectly well why, Malfoy!" insisted Ginny. "You laid a trap, and you've been waiting for me."

"I didn't know you were here until an hour and a half ago," said Draco. "You disturbed the spells around the Manor then."

She blinked. "But the way I came in—I didn't think it would affect any spells. I was right, then. The Death Eaters really have figured out a way to use magic, or you've figured it out for them, rather. Haven't you?"

"No," says Draco in a very clipped voice. "You caused a disturbance in the primal magic here because of… because…" He cuts himself off and does not look at her, but she can look into his eyes in the mirror, and she knows exactly what he is talking about. She can feel something within her starting to tremble unbearably, something that will fall apart within minutes, seconds.

"There's no point in playing games now, is there?" she asks. "Why don't you just tell me the truth? You knew I came here to find Harry and—and-" At the last second, she avoids saying Ron's name. She's not sure why, but she's learned over the past two years to trust her instinct, and some inner voice is beginning to wonder if it would be wise to let Draco Malfoy know that the Order thinks, that she is so sure, that her brother is at the Manor.

Draco's eyes darken. He takes Ginny's arm in an iron grip and leads her away from the mirror, seating her stiffly in a chair. "Are you saying that the Order actually thinks Potter is here?"

"Yes," said Ginny. "It doesn't make any difference now for you to know that. So you won't have to torture it out of me, Malfoy. "

He gave a short laugh. "You can't be bloody serious. He's never been here."

"He's never been—what do you mean?"

"Just what I said." Draco studies her. "Did you seriously think we kidnapped him? We didn't."

"But then what happened to him?"

"I assure you, I don't have the slightest idea." He quirks an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you were counting on Potter coming back to save the day?"

"I…" She really can't think of anything to say.

"Because if you were, then you can't win this game, silly girl. With your all-important king missing, you don't even have any reason to keep up the fight, do you?"

His tone is so superior, so mocking. He's lying to her. Of course he is. He must know where Harry is. And if he knows that, then he knows where her brother is, too. Tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. "But you do know about Harry, Malfoy," she says, and she just can't keep her voice steady. "Oh, sweet Merlin, can't you just tell me? It can't make any difference now." Because I'll never get out of Malfoy Manor now, she thought. I'll be held prisoner here… if I'm lucky.

He is studying her closely. "Of course, I'm sure that not knowing Potter's whereabouts must have distressed you deeply over the past two years," he says.

"How could it not?" she asks bitterly. If they'd had Harry, the war would have been won! He'd just thrown that in her face. What more was there to say?

"Yes, how could it not, all right…" He looks away from her for a moment. "So you've really thought I knew all along what happened to him? Once and for all, Weasley, I don't. I don't have the slightest idea, any more than I know what really happened to the Dark Lord—yes, yes, I know what Potter said, but nobody else was there, were they?"

He has hit on her own suspicions, the one that nobody else seems to share, but this is painful too. It only reminds her of how it used to seem that their minds worked in sync, as well as their bodies. "Yes. We've always thought you knew. That's why the Order planned for me to come here to look for him. We had to do something. It's been two years, it's seemed hopeless, but we couldn't just give up on him!"

Draco's face has been darkening like a thundercloud throughout her entire speech, and it finally explodes. "We? Potter's bloody useless and always has been. You've always been the brains behind the resistance, and we both know it; all of the Death Eaters know it, so let's drop the stupid fucking game, shall we? You're the one who really can't 'just give up'. You, the unofficial Potter widow-"

Her chair scrapes on the inlaid wooden floor, and they face each other down, like the enemies they are. "Malfoy, are you absolutely mad?" she demands. "That was almost two years ago. That was a load of publicity shite spewed out for the Daily Prophet by Rita Skeeter—she's even the one who made up that phrase—"

He laughs without humor. "So you weren't his adoring girlfriend then, stuck to the side of the savior of the wizarding world like a limpet?"

"Uh—" She squirms. How could she sort out the half-truths in Draco's statement and explain them, even if she wanted to, even if he'd listen to her?

"I see. I see. You weren't planning your white wedding with him? I remember that article, all right." Draco leaned so close to her that she could see the darker gray flecks in his silvery eyes. "Of course, Rita Skeeter didn't know it was already too late for that by the time Potter got round to you, did she?"

Ginny jerks back so that he can't see the tears starting in her eyes at his deliberate cruelty; he doesn't deserve to know that he's hurt her; he's going to hurt her enough after this, he's hurt her enough already, but he follows her.

"So what were you to Potter, exactly?" he demands in a low, deadly voice. "What was he to you? And tell me, if you don't mind terribly, because I've always wondered about it—just how long did you wait after me to jump into bed with him? Two weeks? One week? Was it even one fucking day, Weasley? Did he get my sloppy seconds? Did he ever know, did he ever guess, did you ever call out my name, did you ever hold him in your arms and wish that I were in his place, did you ever wish you'd taken the bargain I offered you, wish you'd done what I'd begged you to do; no Malfoy ever begs for anything but you made me beg, Weasley, so did you tell Potter about that, and did both of you laugh about what you'd done to me while you fucked him, did you laugh and laugh and laugh over the fool you'd made of Draco Malfoy-"

Ginny hauls back and slaps Draco across the face, hard. They stare at each other. He has a perfect red print of her hand across his pale skin.

"I came here to find Harry because Hermione said he was here, and because I had no choice," she says passionately. "I came here to find my brother because I had to, because I felt like I'd die if I didn't. And Ron's here, Malfoy, I know he's here! If you don't want to tell me if Harry's here, if you don't even know if he's here or not, well, I'm not so sure I care anymore. Just tell me where Ron is. Just rescue Ron. Just give my brother back to me. I'll do anything, Malfoy, anything."

His face doesn't change, but he keeps looking at her. He knows. He knows exactly where my brother is. Ginny is as sure as if she's been given the answer by primal magic, and perhaps, she thinks, she has. No matter what it takes, I'm going to get him to tell me.

Draco opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn't say anything, and Ginny can't wait. She catapults herself into his arms, kissing him frantically, his mouth, his neck, yanking the buttons of his shirt open, reaching round to cup his arse, reaching down to try to get between his legs, and all the time begging, begging, begging him to tell her where Ron is.

'Please, please, please. I know you're angry, I know you can't forgive me, and you don't have to, don't forgive me, if you want me, Malfoy, you can have me," she babbles as she struggles to touch him and he tries to hold her still. "I'll do anything you want. Anything—"

"No, Weasley, no—"

"I'll let you shag me again, isn't that what you want? I know it is. I can tell. You don't have to say, you don't have to admit it, you don't have to say anything, I'll get into this bed and you can have me right now, just tell me what you want me to do, because I'll do anything, anything at all—"

"Stop it! Stop!"

He traps her hands at her sides, restraining her, and finally she breaks into wild crying, collapsing against his chest and sobbing into his shirt.

"Shh," he says over and over again, stroking her back. "Shh."

"I'll do anything," she repeats, hopelessly.

"You don't have to," says Draco at last. "I've already let your brother escape."

Her head jerks up. "Wh-what?"

"I arranged for him to escape the dungeons this morning," says Draco. "That's why I came back early. I never had any hand in capturing him in the first place; that was entirely Mulciber's doing. As soon as I found out, I knew that I'd have to make sure of his safety. He was slated for torture today; I had that order cancelled, arguing that we'd never information out of him that way, and I had a trusted house-elf open the lock on his cell. Ron Weasley got out at eight o'clock, and I was, of course, shocked and infuriated when the news reached me in Munich, which was my official location at the time. "

Ginny stares at him numbly. "I… uh… I thought the cells in the dungeon were protected by very old, very powerful Locking spells. By earth magic. I wouldn't have thought that just opening them would have been enough to let anyone escape." That seems to be all she can think of to say at the moment.

"Oh, it wouldn't have been," says Draco. "But there are older magics than that. How did you open this door?"

She looks away from him slightly. "Uh… with the Abend spell." She knows that he knows what sort of older, more powerful magic allowed her to do it just as well as she does.

"Your brother could tap that power through the blood bond, although he wasn't aware of it," says Draco. "Don't think he was. He simply thought he escaped on his own."

"Thank all the gods Ron didn't know," Ginny says fervently.

He smiles crookedly. "I've got to agree with that. Otherwise, I really think that your brother might have found that killing me was a more attractive option than escape from the Manor, even at this late date."

Ginny keeps looking down at the coverlet. It is the same one she remembers from two years before.

"You saved him," she says.

"Someone else got him off the grounds safely," said Draco. "Never mind who. You've got a mole in the Resistance, let's just say."

"But it was you who saved him," said Ginny.

"It wasn't the first time I've done it," says Draco.

"You saved me a few months ago too, didn't you? And then again last week."

"Yes." Draco's lips tighten. "I've saved you more times than you could guess."

"I think I've always suspected it," Ginny says thoughtfully. "I've tried to do the same for you. There are times when the Order possibly could have even won the entire war, or civil war, or whatever this really is, except that I couldn't plan the battles well enough, because I had to save you. You've been my weakness, Draco Malfoy."

"And you've been mine, Ginny Weasley," he says.

"Do you regret it?" she asks, as if her question contains no more than simple curiousity.

"No," he says. "I'm very selfish, you see. And if you had died…" He doesn't finish the sentence. "So no, I can't regret doing anything I had to do to keep you alive."

"Me neither," said Ginny. "I mean, I'm glad that you kept me alive, obviously. But I can't regret doing what I had to do to keep you alive… Draco." It is the first time she has called him by his first name since that day two years before, and she knows that he remembers too.

"I saved you when I could," he says. "Every time I could. Ginny, you need to leave, now."

"No," she says.

They are both silent for a moment, then. Ginny looks down at Draco's large, strong hand. Hers would fit neatly into it. She wants to move her hand and test the fit as much as she wants to take the next breath of air. She feels a tremor go through her entire body, and when she glances up, she thinks she sees him shuddering minutely, too.

"Now what?" she asks.

Then she knows the answer to that question. So she answers it herself, by leaning forward and kissing him.

He shudders so hard that she's afraid he will fall, but they're already on a bed, after all, so it wouldn't make much difference. She kisses him again. His breathing quickens. She runs her hand down the side of his cheek in a gesture that she remembers he always loved. He places his hand over hers.

"Don't do this," he says hoarsely.

"I have to," says Ginny.

"You don't understand. Why did you have to come here now, now of all times, Ginny?" he groans. "You can't do it—will you just listen to me—"

"You can't think I'm doing this as some sort of thanks for saving Ron, can you?" she demands. "I want this, Draco Malfoy. I've dreamed about it every single day and every single night for two years."

He lets all his breath out in a rush. "Oh fuck, so have I," he says, as if giving up, giving in, and then he does fall, but towards her, and because she falls towards him too, they are two failings who become firm, and they come to rest in each other. Except that they don't come to rest at all, of course.

It's been so long, she thinks feverishly, so very long, for her anyway, and she wonders if it's been very long for Draco too, but she won't ask him. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful and right as his hands pulling off her blouse and her trousers and her bra and her knickers; she yanks off his clothing as fast as she can, they can't get to each other fast enough, and when they are finally naked in each other's arms and she feels his body against hers again, she starts crying with relief. He looks horrified until she manages to choke out, "Oh, gods, I've wanted you for so long, Draco, I've wanted this so much," and he whispers, "I never thought I'd have you like this again."

The words are so awful that she has to ward them off by running her hands all over him, frantically, and she writhes and moans as he touches her and she feels his big hands everywhere on her again, but she can't wait long. "Please," she begs. "Please." He groans and moves on top of her, and she spreads her legs for him, and she feels a rush of moisture at the long-forgotten sensation of his fingers between her thighs, stroking her, readying her body for him. The first little twinges ripple through her, but she shakes her head. Not yet, not yet. He adjusts himself, and she catches her breath. How can this feel so familiar, when she's only felt him this way once in her life before?

He begins to push his hips forward, and she winces. "Am I hurting you?" he whispers.

"No, no," she says. "It's just been such a long time, and you're so big there— oh, don't give me that look!" She smacks the back of his head.

'Slowly," he says. "I'll go as slowly as I can—oh, Ginny, oh, fuck-" He begins to slide into her and he does go exquisitely slowly, his face tightening as if in agony. Inch by velvet inch, he moves into her, stretching her, widening her, until he gives an intense groan and she knows that she has taken him in all the way.

She is filled with him from top to bottom, and the sensation is so exquisite that she wants to cry again, but she knows that they've only started and she is determined not to miss a moment of this. "Now", she says, and she pumps her hips up at him, and he pushes back down at her and they move together like two halves of a whole, reunited at last. He reaches down and strokes her expertly as he fills her steadily with himself, over and over again, and she gasps in astonishment. The most intense climax she has ever known slams into her in savage waves.

He swears hopelessly and comes instantly, and she feels the hot endless rush of his climax. But he murmurs "give me a moment, just a moment," and he grows hard inside her, and he is ready for her again. And for this stolen time in Draco Malfoy's bedroom in the headquarters of the Death Eaters, so endless and so brief, they are both inexhaustible.

Afterwards, she lies on his chest, and their breathing slows. "Are you all right?" Draco asks her.

"All right?" she echoes. "That was… it was…" She hits him over the head again, just for his disgustingly self-satisfied look.

"It's been so long," he murmurs. "Too long, Ginny."

"How long has it been?" Ginny wants to bite her tongue as off as soon as the question even started to escape her lips. She really doesn't want to know the answer.

Draco looks at her narrowly, as if thinking over exactly what sort of answer to give. "Quite some time," he says, his voice neutral.

A funny little flutter begins in Ginny's stomach. She tries to ignore it. "Oh," she says. Well, that would certainly explain why that first time was so fast. And it might help to explain why there was a second time right after that, a much slower, longer one, though. And a third…

He turns to her, very suddenly. "How many?" he asks.

"What?" she stammers. He has caught her off guard. She expected Draco to ask how long it had been for her, and then maybe she could change the subject after that, somehow.

"How many men, after me? Since me?"

"Just one," she says, unable to lie.

Draco is silent. He certainly has to know who this is, the only other man she has ever slept with, the only other boy she has ever thought she loved. She knows he knows, without being told. He surely would have been happier if her record matched his own, or at least what she thinks his had to be, if she'd had a dozen other men, twenty, thirty, a hundred even, if it just means that she hasn't had that one. Just not Harry Potter. Ginny knows that as well.

"Why did you start coming on the raids about six months ago?" she asks suddenly. "You never did that before."

"Because my father died," he says, as if it is an answer. "I wanted—I thought—" He breaks off ,sounding uncertain. "I wanted you to see me, Ginny. I had to see you."

Something flutters in her chest, like a very small butterfly. She does not, she will not, try to give it a name.

He strokes her side, shoulder to waist to hip, and she feels him take a deep breath.

"Do you miss him very much?" he asks, his voice deliberate, like a man running a knife over his own flesh to watch the line of blood flow. "Potter?"

"I don't miss him at all," says Ginny, her voice just as deliberate.

He strokes her in the same way for several more minutes, like a cat.

"The last time you were here," he says, "I never should have let you get out of this bed."

"You didn't let me go," says Ginny. "I left."

"Well, I shouldn't have let you leave, then. What do you think about that?"

Ginny feels exactly as if she is perched on a cliff, peering over the edge of an abyss. The slightest move could cause her to plummet to her doom.

"I don't know," she says, and she is not so sure that her careful words will keep her from falling after all.

He rolls over onto his back, taking her with him. "I'm so tired, Ginny," he murmurs. "I haven't been sleeping lately."

"Neither have I," she admitted.

"I think I could sleep now, with you here," he says. "Stay with me."

She nods, not quite trusting herself to speak. He moves behind her and curls into her, spoon-fashion, and in only a few minutes, his breathing has become soft and regular, ruffling the back of her hair.

Stay with me.

His words follow her into the dream.