Economy of the Heart

by Jaden Malfoy87

SEQUEL to The Enemy of Souls. Draco has a problem: his life is a mess. He's helping a Mudblood, and he's forced to play nice with a bunch of blood traitors. But his biggest problem? He's got a secret that could ruin his relationship with Ginny forever.

9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

---

Draco came into the townhouse, holding Will by the hand, and filled with anxiety. He wanted to get to the manor, to figure out what was really going on there, but the place was swarming with Aurors now; there was no way he could get there. The Aurors that questioned him had been no help; they had been more concerned with asking him questions, rather than getting his own answered.

By the sound of it, someone had attacked the place—likely Death Eaters. But why? Had they known Blaise was there? Had they known Granger was there? What had happened to the both of them? He thought he would've heard if the Ministry had found them there—so had they gotten out? Had they been killed, taken? Granger might not have even been there, Draco hoped she hadn't—

He was just about to cross into the sitting room when Ginny suddenly appeared in the doorway. She looked a little strange—sort of flushed, her hair askew.

"Draco—erm—there's someone here," she said. Draco shot her a puzzled look, really only just registering her words as he stepped around her, still towing Will along, and came into the sitting room.

That's when he saw who was there. Granger, sitting propped up on their sofa by many pillows, looking tired and wan and not entirely clean. Her hair was a tangled mess. Draco stopped short, staring at her. She looked back at him, looking a little resigned. She was here. Granger was here. Of course she would bloody come here, after the manor was attacked. Only she hadn't ever done anything but come to him for help ever since he'd tracked her down.

Ginny suddenly emerged from behind him, coming around to face him head-on. Draco swallowed and, still staring at Granger, said, "Damn. So that cat's out of the bag, is it?"

Granger sighed and put her face in one of her hands.

"What?" Ginny looked between them in confusion. "What does that mean?"

Will, having spotted the newcomer, suddenly broke free of Draco's hand and darted around to the sofa, making sounds of curiosity and delight. Granger lifted her head in surprise as Will clambered onto the sofa beside her, and when she saw him, she positively beamed.

"Hello!" she said. "What's your name?"

"Will," Will said shyly. It was pretense, of course; Will was not the least bit shy, but he had learned what others found cute and precocious in him quite quickly. That was the Malfoy in him.

Ginny suddenly rounded on Draco, looking furiously suspicious. "What do you mean, the cat's out of the bag?" she demanded. "Malfoy!"

Draco gave a guilty start as he looked at her. Granger shot them a quick glance, but then turned her attention back to Will, losing herself in conversation with him while Ginny confronted Draco. Of course, Draco thought, she's going to leave it all to me to explain.

"You aren't—you aren't saying you knew Hermione was back?" Ginny said incredulously. "You haven't—seen her?"

"Actually," Draco said, not quite meeting her eyes, "she's been staying at the manor. I helped her get in there and told her she could stay there."

"She's been staying—what?" All the color had drained from Ginny's face. She looked thoroughly dismayed and overwhelmed. She looked at Granger with a confused cast to her brown eyes, as if she did not quite understand what he was telling her. "So—" Ginny shut her eyes for a moment, a line creasing her forehead. "Hang on, I need to sit down."

She walked around the sofa and crossed the room, where she settled herself into a chair at a small game table. Draco followed her, silent, like a child who had been caught breaking the rules. Ginny heaved a great sigh and glared up at him, as he stood facing her. "Sit," she said curtly, indicating the chair opposite her.

"Actually, I'd rather—"

"Sit," Ginny snapped.

Coughing uneasily, Draco took the chair opposite her.

"So Hermione's been hiding out at the manor," Ginny said, rubbing a hand over her forehead, "for how long, exactly? And why?" Without giving Draco a chance to answer, she looked over at Hermione. "Why would you come to this prat for help?" she demanded.

"Oi!" Draco muttered quietly. Prat indeed.

"Oh—" Hermione looked up with that same, guilty expression. Will looked around to send his mother an indignant expression, as if to say, We were talking here!"I didn't—I mean—"

"She didn't come to me, I found her," Draco said loudly. "I tracked her using the post, from the letters she'd sent you. You see, I think your brother Ron is still alive, and I told Granger I'd help her find him." He winced, wondering if the direct approach was really the best way to go. Well, it was certainly the least painless, for him.

Ginny looked dumbstruck. Slowly, she sank forward, dropping her head into her hands. "It's been a long week," she whispered.

"Ginny—" Draco started.

Ginny held a hand out to forestall him, not lifting her head. Draco exchanged a quick glance with Granger, who looked a little concerned. Draco wouldn't have shown it, but he was a little concerned, too. He knew that Ginny would be surprised by this, of course, not to mention a little angry, but—

Suddenly, her head snapped up to look at him. "What do you know?" she demanded. "About Ron? Why now do you think he's alive? Only, you said before that they'd probably taken him, that he wouldn't last long—" She looked aside and caught side of Granger's stricken face. "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—but you did say that," she said accusingly, swiveling back around to look at Draco. "So why now—"

"Because of a bloody note I found in the Riddle House, all right?" he interrupted, Quickly, he explained to her what he had already told Granger, about the note, and the vial of memories from Snape. "…and it's not much to go on," he finally finished, "but I'm hoping to get in to talk to my aunt Bellatrix in Azkaban, to see if I can get some information out of her."

Ginny was quiet for a moment, apparently absorbing all of this. Draco couldn't tell a thing by her expression; it was impossible to know what was going on in her head. Then, after a few moments' silence, she looked up at Granger and said, "I'm…glad. That you believe he's alive now." She sounded tentative.

Granger sighed wearily. "I don't know what to believe," she admitted, "but it's the first time we've had any proof that he wasalive, in the place where the Death Eaters were keeping people. And if he was able to respond to that note, then he must have at least escaped for a little while." She was obviously trying to hide the hope in her voice, but Draco could hear it, and he was sure Ginny could, too.

Ginny looked suddenly at Draco then. Her expression was still unfathomable, her eyes unreadable. But she said, very simply, "Thank you. For doing this."

Draco blinked. "I—well—I owed Granger," he said lamely.

Ginny shot him a very dubious look that clearly said she saw straight through him. And, if Draco was willing to admit it to himself, this didn't have much to do with Granger, in the end. The note he'd found hadn't so much as made him believe that Ron Weasley was alive, as it had reminded him of Ginny's presumed-dead brother to begin with. And it had got him thinking…that this was something he could do for her…not for Granger, but for Ginny.

"So…" Ginny shook herself a little. "How long have you been in the manor then, Hermione?"

"Never mind that," Draco cut in. He got to his feet and looked at Granger expectantly. "What happened at the manor? Today?"

"Oh!" Granger's eyes widened. "Well…erm—" She shot Ginny a quick look, and Draco thought he knew why. Of course…it was likely Blaise had been in the manor as well, when it was attacked. And Granger had realized, he thought (he hoped) that Ginny didn't know that Blaise was there.

"Someone attacked the place?" Draco prompted, trying to nudge Granger in the right direction. "Looking for you?"

"But how could they have known she was there?" Ginny asked sharply.

"I really don't know," Granger said helplessly. "They came in through the tunnel, just as we had—I don't suppose there was any other way in. They were Death Eaters, I'm almost certain, though I didn't get that good a look at them. They shot some kind of curse into the kitchen, and all this smoke went up, and, well—I hid," she said in a small voice.

"You hid?" Ginny looked disbelieving.

Draco snorted. "Of course she did. Only smart thing to do."

"I—well, I did think it was prudent," Granger said, throwing Draco a disgruntled look that plainly said she did not like agreeing with him. "Because, I—well—" She hesitated, looking between Draco and Ginny again. She seemed a little exasperated. "Well, I don't think they were looking for me," she said pointedly. "I think they were after…something else."

"Something else," Ginny repeated flatly.

"Yes," Granger said firmly. She wouldn't look at Ginny. Instead, she very clearly met Draco's eyes. "Because they never really came after me. Instead, they—er—had a good poke around, and then, well, they left," she finished lamely.

Draco understood exactly what she meant, even if Ginny didn't. They weren't after her. They came looking for Blaise. And though she hadn't so, not explicitly, Draco took it that they had found him, and taken him. This was so bloody awkward, with Ginny there, he thought. Hopefully, he'd get a chance to talk to Granger on his own later, and hear the full story.

"Hmm," was all Ginny said. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, looking vaguely concerned.

Granger looked at her, and then at Draco. Then, dropping her gaze, she rolled her eyes and muttered, so quietly he almost didn't hear her, "The pair of you, honestly."

"Well." Ginny got to her feet, and ran a hand through her hair uncertainly. "I suppose we should get you into a room upstairs, Hermione. That way you can bathe and get changed, and get some rest—"

"Oh—but—" Granger hesitated. "If you think—I mean—"

"Where else are you going to go, you barmy twat," Draco drawled. "Only, I assume you still don't want anyone knowing you're around?"

"No, I don't—I just meant—I don't want to impose," she mumbled.

"You wouldn't be!" Ginny declared, looking surprised that Granger would even say this. "Hermione, of course you should stay here. You can stay on the top floor, in case anyone comes over, but really, we don't have much company ever—"

"Because no one likes us," Draco supplied.

"Because no one likes you," Ginny snapped. "Really, I promise it'll be fine," she said to Hermione. "Please stay."

But Granger had a peculiar look on her face, almost a smile, though she looked a little puzzled. She glanced between Draco and Ginny as though she knew something they didn't. "I still can't quite believe it," she admitted. "I mean, Malfoy told me about you two—that you were—"

"What didyou tell her about us?" Ginny demanded, rounding on him.

"Just that you're living together," Hermione said, "and, well—"

"Not just living together anymore, Granger," Draco interrupted. He held up his left hand, displaying the golden band on his finger. "We're married now."

"What?" Granger yelped. Her eyes were as wide as hen's eggs. "You can't be serious! You got married? How could you?" she demanded of Ginny, looking astonished.

"Very easily," Ginny said flatly. Draco scowled.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny, I didn't mean—it's just—Malfoy." She shook her head, looking incredulous. Then she looked up suddenly, looking at Draco with a slightly smug look in her eye. "So—er—things have quite changed since the last time we spoke then, haven't they?" She sounded as though she were trying not to laugh.

"Like I said before," Draco said, nonplussed, "it's none of your business."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny demanded. "Malfoy, what did you tell her about us?"

"Well, if you don't mind," Granger cut in, "I wouldn't mind that bath now."

"Fine," Ginny said crossly, "but you had better tell me everything, Hermione, I swear!"

---

But when Hermione had bathed, changed, and gotten comfortably settled in a bedroom on the third floor—"You're just down the hall from Will," Ginny had told her—she had something different to discuss with Ginny.

"I'm not going to tell you anything about Malfoy," Hermione said, "until you tell me about Blaise."

Ginny blinked, taken aback. She was sitting at the foot of the bed, opposite Hermione, who was propped up against the headboard. "What about him?" she asked, squirming uneasily. Suddenly, she remembered what Hermione had told them downstairs. "It's you that should be telling me about him! What happened really, Hermione? The Death Eaters were after him?"

"Yes." Hermione met her eyes head-on. "Ginny, they took him."

Ginny felt as though her heart had plummeted straight into her stomach. "Are—are you sure?" She was surprised to hear how small her voice came out.

Hermione nodded. "I'm sorry," she said, and she actually sounded it, very much so. "I didn't realize until it was too late. We both hid, you see—Zabini heard them coming and said we should hide. And I did, and I didn't see—either he wasn't fast enough, or they rooted him out. Like I said, I'm pretty sure they were looking for him. I don't think they could have known I was there, too, or they would have looked for me."

Ginny didn't say anything for a moment, thinking this through. She suddenly felt awful for the way she'd left things with Blaise, not least of all because this had to mean, didn't it, that he wasn't a Death Eater after all? Or why would they have come after him like that?

"Lucius Malfoy," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"How could they have known where that tunnel was?" Ginny pointed out. "Only Lucius would have known, probably. I bet he told them." She still didn't know how he'd known Blaise was there, but it made sense, otherwise—Lucius, after all, was the one who had told her—who had lied to her—who had said that Blaise was a Death Eater.

Still, he hadn't been lying about everything, had he? Only, Blaise had all but admitted that the other things were true, that it had been him who'd come to see her, who had been using her Mark. Hadn't he?

"How did you know?" Ginny said, looking up quickly. "That I'd been to see Blaise?"

"I was there, once," Hermione said, bemused. "It was the second time you came by, I think. Blaise told me, that you'd been there once before, at that point. You didn't say much—just brought him some papers and some food—"

"Is that why he didn't say anything?" Ginny demanded. "You were there? What, with a Disillusionment Charm?"

Hermione nodded. She didn't look the least bit apologetic. "And I know you went to see him after that, too, only I was never there. But Zabini told me, I made him tell me. And it's no good looking at me like that," she went on, for Ginny was feeling, and likely looking, quite reproachful. "Like it was none of my business."

"It wasn't," Ginny muttered.

"Ginny, why haven't you told Malfoy that you knew he was hiding Blaise? You do know that, don't you? You didn't think Blaise was there without his knowing? He'd been staying there before me, Malfoy had showed him in."

"I know," Ginny said miserably. "I didn't know at first—I just found out about a week ago. I'd gone to see Blaise, and he—he told me."

"And you didn't talk to Malfoy about it?"

"I was going to," Ginny said, subdued, "but when I came home, I—" She swallowed, looking up at Hermione, feeling wretched. "Carina Moon's mother—Lillian Moon—she's filing for full custody of Will. She wants to take him away from us."

"What?" Hermione looked scandalized. "But she's evil! Carina told me once—Ginny, you can't let that happen!"

"We won't," Ginny said sharply. "But, well, when I came home that night, Draco had just found out, and he told me, and he—he was upset." She shrugged, looking down into her lap. "And I was too, and I knew we had to be together on this, to keep Will, so…so I just didn't say anything. About Blaise."

Hermione looked a little exasperated. "Well, I understand, I suppose, but Ginny—this is just so ridiculous! I mean, me, downstairs, trying to keep my story straight, because Draco knows about Blaise and thinks that you don't, and because you know that he knows, but you don't want him to know that you know that he knows—"

"All right," Ginny cut in, put out. "I know, it's right twisted. But it's just going to have to wait," she said firmly. "Will is more important."

Hermione smiled then, settling back more comfortably into her pillows. "Oh, Ginny, tell me about him," she said, her eyes shining. "Tell me everything."

Ginny smiled tentatively. Will was a topic she could go on about for hours.

---

Draco shivered as he walked down the dank, dark corridor in Azkaban, accompanied by five guards—five human guards. There were no longer Dementors in Azkaban, and there hadn't been for a long time. When Draco had served his sentence in Azkaban, it had been without Dementors. But it was still a dark, cold, hopeless place, and Draco did not like being back here. He had lived here for three years. It was a miracle he didn't recognize any of the guards accompanying him. That would have been rather awkward.

There were other precautions taken now, of course—Draco was pretty sure they had security trolls somewhere now—but, for the most part, the guards were human. Four of the five guards accompanying him were to wait outside in the corridor while he spoke with his aunt. The other would accompany him in.

Draco didn't know if she was expecting him. He didn't told if she'd been told he was coming. He half-hoped that she didn't know. It might make it easier for him, if she was taken by surprise.

But when they reached her cell, and unlocked the door to let Draco in, he could tell that she wasn't surprised, or, if she was, then she didn't show it. She'd been chained to the wall for his visit, or perhaps she was always chained. Draco hadn't been, he'd had free roam of his cell, but then, most people would consider his aunt an infinitely more dangerous person than he was.

"Well, well," Bellatrix said, twisting around to see him. "If it isn't my dear nephew Draco." Her half-whispered voice lingered over his name in a way that made him shiver. Her dark eyes, sunken in her pale, wasted face, latched onto him in a way that made it perfectly clear that she would love nothing more than to kill him.

When Draco spoke, he forced his voice to remain steady. "Hello, Bellatrix."

The guard closed the door behind them, and then leaned against the wall. They would be afforded no privacy, but Draco didn't need it. He wasn't here about anything he didn't want the Ministry to know about.

"And how is your dear old dad?" Bellatrix asked, her cruel eyes glittering in the darkness. "He managed to slither out of capture once again, I noticed."

"Only because he's not stupid enough to get caught," Draco countered. He enjoyed the look of consternation on her face for a moment before he said, "But it's no good asking me how he is. I haven't seen him. He's not even in the country, so far as I know."

He saw her eyes flicker towards the guard, and he knew she didn't believe him. But it didn't matter if she believed him or not. That had nothing to do with why he was here.

He had thought it over, again and again, how he might get any answers out of her. It simply wasn't very likely that she would give him any information. He couldn't bargain with her, not with the guard there, and he wouldn't even if it were possible. In the end, he'd decided to simply be direct about it. Maybe catch her off-guard.

"So tell me," he said to her, without a moment's hesitation, "how angry were you when you realized Ron Weasley had escaped you lot after the attack on the Ministry?"

Her dark eyes flashed at him. Draco experienced a surge of triumph; the instant anger he'd seen there, in her expression, was close to solid confirmation. If he got nothing else, he could leave here and tell Granger he was nearly completely certain that Weasley had escaped the Death Eaters.

"Ron Weasley?" she said after a moment's pause. She didn't even seem to have noticed she'd given herself away. But then, his aunt had never been the most stable person, and she often had little control over her raging emotions. "Which one is that? Potter's little friend?"

"You know very well he is," Draco said, in a slightly bored tone. He wanted her to think he had the upper hand; he wanted her to think he knew things she didn't. And it came to him, then, how he might press her, how he might get her to say too much. "You took him for that reason. Well, not you, specifically—" He thought Davis would have remembered if one of the Death Eaters she and Ron Weasley had fought was Bellatrix, and she hadn't said so, so he could be reasonably sure of this "—but that's why you wanted him. You thought he might be Potter's Secret-Keeper. You thought you'd get him to tell you where Potter is."

Bellatrix's face twisted in an ugly sneer. "I don't know what you're—"

"—talking about? We both know that's not true." Draco narrowed his eyes, his gaze intent upon his aunt. "And yes, I know. Because he's come back, you see. Ron Weasley. Alive and well." He hoped the guard at the door wouldn't react in some way, and give him away, because Ron Weasley, the best friend of Potter, was a name well-known enough that it would be big news if he actually had been found alive.

Bellatrix looked shocked and furious. "That's impossible!" she spat, but her face, he noticed, had gone ashen.

"Why? He escaped you lot well enough."

"And where is precious Potter, then?" Bellatrix countered. "Come back, too? Surely the Weasley boy wouldn't have returned without him."

Another surge of triumph went through Draco. There it was. She had confirmed it, confirmed he'd escaped the Death Eaters alive. "I haven't seen him," Draco said truthfully. "What makes you think Weasley was with Potter, anyway? Oh, right—you thought he was his Secret-Keeper."

Bellatrix stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Are you saying he isn't?" she demanded.

So they did take Ron for that reason. And they thought he'd gone after Potter, though they obviously didn't have any information besides that. Draco had what he needed. "Well, I wouldn't know," he said blithely. "I haven't spoken to Ron Weasley. He isn't back after all. In fact, most people think he's been dead all this time. Course, I know different now. Thanks to you." He tipped his head in a nod for her, and then, he couldn't help it—he smirked.

Bellatrix's dark, hooded eyes flashed, and her pale cheeks went red with anger. For a moment, Draco thought she was going to try to deny it, to backpedal and claim she hadn't told him anything, confirmed anything. But when she spoke, she didn't try to deny it. "You little swine," she said, her voice filled with rancor. "You filthy swine, Draco Malfoy. How far you have fallen, from the greatness you could have had with us, with the Dark Lord!"

"The Dark Lord is finished," Draco said dismissively.

"He will never be finished!" Bellatrix raved. "He may be gone, but he will return, just as before, more terrible and more powerful than ever! He will return, Draco, and you will pay for all your insolence and your treachery!"

"Actually, I'm fairly confident he isn't ever going to return," Draco drawled. He knew he shouldn't gloat, knew he shouldn't goad her, that it could be dangerous. But he wasn't thinking prudently at the moment. He was simmering with anger for this woman, for the Death Eaters, who had hunted him and hurt him, who wouldn't bloody well leave him alone. "You see, Potter knows how to finish him off, I think. And I've just recently brought him a step closer to doing it."

"What are you talking about?" Bellatrix demanded. Her red face was going white. "You have been in contact with Potter!"

"No." Draco shook his head. "But I've been in contact with Granger. You do remember Granger, don't you? I'm fairly certain she mentioned something about you torturing her several years back. About…what was it…something to do with your Gringotts' vault, wasn't it?"

Bellatrix's face was completely bloodless now. "That filthy Mudblood," she spat. "You've been talking with her? About—about—"

"You know, if you didn't want anyone looking into what was in your vault, Aunt," Draco drawled, "then you really shouldn't have made such a big fuss about it." He was enjoying himself now, all of his anger burning through him with every word. He hadn't realized how much built-up rage he'd had for this woman, stored up, just waiting to be unleashed.

"As it is," Draco went on, "between Granger's word and Blaise Zabini's, it was easy to work out that you were obviously keeping something very important in your vault. Something important to the Dark Lord, even. I have to admit, I'm not entirely sure of its significance myself, but Granger was very interested to get into your vault."

"How dare you!" Bellatrix raged. She lunged forward, as though to grab him around the neck, but she couldn't, not chained to the wall as she was. Draco thought he saw the guard behind him twitch; Draco had nearly forgotten he was there. But he didn't care. He couldn't stop. He didn't care who heard what; now that he had begun, he had to get it all out. He wanted to hurt Bellatrix, to hurt her like she'd hurt him, to prove to her just how far he'd gone against her.

"I'm almost surprised you didn't know," Draco said, his voice taunting, "but then, Azkaban prisoners don't have any rights to their Gringotts' vaults, do they? So there'd be no reason to tell you."

"To tell me what?"

"Why, that I was allowed into your vault, of course." Fueled by his own fury, Draco actually took a step forward. He wanted to look her in the eyes, to be as close to her as he could when she heard this. "My solicitor found me a way in just yesterday," Draco snarled. "And I took it. Your precious little treasure, the very thing the Dark Lord had entrusted you with. I'll be handing it off to Granger, and she's going to see that Potter gets it."

"Nooo!" Bellatrix screamed. She strained forward against her chains like a rabid dog, her fingers like claws, desperate to get at him. The guard behind Draco came forward now, so that he was almost level with Draco, but neither he nor Bellatrix took any notice of the guard. She was too crazed to see anything except Draco, and Draco was too caught up in his own triumph, his own anger, to back down from his aunt. He stood his ground, staring back at her with full contempt. He wasn't done yet.

"There's more, too," Draco spat at her. "I don't know if you get any news from your Death Eater pals out there in the world—you know, the ones who weren't so stupid as to get caught—"

Bellatrix snarled wordlessly at him.

"—but they went after our old friend Blaise recently—you did hear me mention him, didn't you?" Draco went on ruthlessly. "He'd run off from you lot, and, well, they caught up to him and took him. But it was bloody pointless of them, wasn't it? Because if he did know anything about what was in your vault—which he never did, you know—that's all lost now anyway, isn't it?"

"Then at last he'll be killed!" Bellatrix burst out. "At last we can be done with him!"

Draco ignored her. "The funny thing is, Blaise wasn't hiding out by himself, you know. Granger—you know, the one who's got what I took from you—was hiding with him, too. Only the Death Eaters didn't know that. How angry does that make you, Bellatrix? The very person who's going to help Potter take down the Dark Lord—within your grasp, right bloody there. And your pals were too fixated on Zabini, a nonentity, to notice."

"You impetuous little fool, Draco," Bellatrix hissed. She hadn't calmed down by any sight, though her useless attempts to break free had slowed, and she had clearly regained her use of human speech. "If the Dark Lord doesn't teach you what happens to filthy traitors like you, then I'll personally see to it myself!"

"You can't touch me," Draco taunted. "I'm not afraid of you."

"And what about your lovely blood traitor wife?" Bellatrix sneered. "That news I have heard of, Draco, oh, yes. What would you do if I hurt her?"

Draco shrugged. "I'd like to see you try. Ginny's more capable of taking care of herself than I am."

"And your son?" Bellatrix's dark eyes gleamed with cruelty. "How capable is he of protecting himself? Your precious, itty bitty baby son." She laughed suddenly, a twisted laugh, full of malice.

Draco felt as though she'd stabbed a knife in his gut. Black dread pooled in the wound, spreading like wildfire throughout his body. All that anger he'd been riding out, coursing through him like a rapturous drug, seeped out of him, evaporated in the few seconds it took her to say those words. He suddenly felt the world's biggest fool, the very fool she had been calling him.

He reacted in the first way he thought of, and the first thing he thought of was his father's words. If you let him go…if you made it clear, in public, that it meant nothing to you—if you could do that—then you could save him, Draco. You could protect him. Because the Death Eaters, and anyone else, would have no reason to come after him, if they thought he meant nothing to you.

"If you want to waste your time going after a baby, be my guest," Draco growled. "As it is, he may not be my problem much longer. It'll certainly make my life easier."

He was surprised at how easy it was to say—because it waseasy, to say anything, to say whatever he had to, to protect Will. He didn't mean it—not a word—he was not considering, even for a second, handing Will over to Lillian Moon. But Bellatrix needn't know that.

She looked genuinely taken aback. "What do you mean, he won't be your problem much longer?"

Draco shrugged. "Someone else is interested in taking the kid. Personally, I'm happy enough about it. Did you actually think I was interested in running after a child for the rest of my life? If his mother were still alive, well, that would be one thing, but she went off and died, didn't she. Leaving me to handle him on my own."

"You have the Weasley girl raising him," Bellatrix said, sounding skeptical.

"Yeah, well, he's not her son either, and being that the novelty of a cute little baby has worn off…" Draco gave another shrug, trying to look as though he were bored by this entire conversation. It was ridiculous to him, to think that anyone would believe this, but if anyone might, it was his aunt. She had never had children, and if she had, her only interest in them would have to been to hand them over to the Dark Lord, to use however he pleased.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him. "You are lying," she said finally, after a dubious pause. "You're trying to keep me from going after him."

"Believe what you want," Draco said indifferently. He took a step back. Whereas ten minutes ago he had been elated to stay, eager to see his aunt's reaction to his news, he now wanted nothing more than to get out of this place, before he made himself sick with this act. He wanted nothing more than to get out, go home, and see his son. "As it is, I'm telling you—I have nothing to lose."

He left then, the guard coming out behind him. Outside in the dark, narrow corridor, the guards immediately started down the hallway, but Draco only made it a few steps before he stopped and reached for the wall. He leaned against it heavily, swallowing, trying to contain his shaking. He didn't know what scared him more—his aunt's threats to his son's life, or his own pretense that he cared nothing for him.

Draco had taken that morning off work, to go visit Bellatrix at the appointed time he'd been given, but after stopping off at home for lunch, he went in to the office and stayed quite late. Not only was he behind because of his morning off, but all his work had taken him much longer today than it should have, mostly because he was distracted. When his aunt's threats weren't running through his mind, his father's words were, the words he'd spoken to Draco when they'd met a few weeks ago.

At the time, Draco had refused to consider anything his father had said. It was absurd. As though anyone would ever believe that he didn't care about Will, after all he had gone through for him before. Even if Draco was willing to give up his son—and he wasn't, point-blank, he wasn't—it was a stupid plan. It would never work.

And yet, in a desperate moment that morning, he had seized upon it. And he couldn't stop thinking that, selfish as Bellatrix herself was, she had seemed torn when he left. She had, in fact, been considering the possibility that he didn't care about Will.

Draco dropped his quill and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.

I wish that I had realized, when the Dark Lord returned, that I should have done everything in my power to keep you safe from him. That I should have sent you away—

If the Dark Lord doesn't teach you what happens to filthy traitors like you, then I'll personally see to it myself!

—that I should have, even, have shown absolutely no regard for you. Because if the Dark Lord had thought that I didn't care for you, he wouldn't have used you against me as punishment.

And your son? How capable is he of protecting himself? Your precious, itty bitty baby son.

I wish that you could see that…. Not only the benefits of letting the boy go, not only how much safer he could be, elsewhere…. If you let Lillian Moon take the boy—if you let him go, without a fight, if you made it clear, in public, that it meant nothing to you—

Draco's mouth twisted bitterly. That was what it came down to, wasn't it? Lillian Moon. And he had no reason to trust her. None at all. His father had seemed to know more about her than he did…. But was he to take his father's word for it? That wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

There was a knock on his office door.

"Come in," Draco said wearily.

The door opened. And none other than Lillian Moon herself stood in his doorway.

Draco felt his hackles rise at the very sight of her. She seemed like a bad omen, coming in this moment, when he had just been thinking of her, of this mess that she had brought into his life. He stood abruptly behind his desk. "What do you want?" he demanded without greeting.

"May I come in?" she asked. She didn't wait for an answer; in fact, the words had not yet finished leaving her lips before she swept inside, shutting the door behind her. She eyed him over his desk. "Please, sit down," she said politely.

"I'm fine here," Draco said flatly.

"My, so hostile," Lillian said. Without invitation, she seated herself in the chair opposite him. "Had a bad day, have you?"

"What," Draco repeated, "do you want?"

"I should like to speak with you concerning Will," she said crisply. "You see, I think it would be better, for everyone involved, if we could settle this without a fight. Without getting the Ministry involved any more than it already is."

"That's too bad," Draco said bluntly, "because the only way that's going to happen is if you decide to drop this whole thing."

Lillian looked at him intently. Draco struggled not to squirm under that unrelenting gaze. He dropped his eyes and, in an effort to cover his own discomfort, took his seat across from her.

"I think we should at least discuss it, don't you?" she prompted. "After all, if you are really so adamant that you will not back down, then you shouldn't be afraid to at least hear me out. What harm could it do?"

She had touched a nerve, because, in fact, she had come so shockingly close to the real reason he didn't want to listen to her. Refusing to show this, refusing, even, to really admit it to himself, he nodded curtly, indicating she could say her piece.

"I understand," she began, speaking slowly, as if really thinking this through, "that my desire to raise my grandson must seem odd to you, given that I was clear, before, that I wanted nothing to do with him. However, you must understand, and I'd like to think that you could, now that you are a parent yourself—when my daughter died, I was consumed with grief for her. Her death made little sense to me. She had scarcely spoken of you, and the news of her pregnancy was a great shock to me. She had never expressed any interest in wanting any children. And then, suddenly, she was dead. Because of this child, because of your child. At least, that is how I saw it, at the time."

Draco stared at her. Not only because of this uncharacteristic frankness, but also because, for the first time, Lillian Moon did not sound as though she were saying something she had rehearsed a million times. She was not overly emotional—she spoke with a calm, quiet dignity—but she sounded sincere.

"However," she went on, "my thoughts and feelings concerning the child changed, over time. I began to regret that I had not showed more interest in him, when Carina was pregnant with him. I began to regret that I had resolved to have nothing to do with him."

Her words echoed in Draco's head, so closely reminiscent of his father's words about Lillian, about the ways that Lucius said she had probably changed. It were as though they had decided on the sentiment together.

"And so," Lillian Moon said, taking a deep breath, "I have changed my mind. I loved my daughter, Draco, and I miss her terribly, every day. I should like to do as I think she would have wanted, and raise her son as my own."

Draco was skeptical that Carina would have wanted her mother to raise her son, though he had to admit, uneasily, that he couldn't say for sure that she would have wanted he, Draco, to raise him either. They had agreed, after all, that Draco would have nothing to do with the baby, but then, that was before Carina had died.

"Even if that's all true," he said, careful to keep his voice expressionless, "why go for full custody? What if I said you could see him whenever you want?" It was like acid on his tongue, even allowing this much, but it seemed a prudent concession, at this point.

The look Lillian sent him was derisive. "I think it is clear, judging by your past history, that the boy is not safe with you, Draco. He has been kidnapped once because of you. And I am sure that is not the only time he has been targeted, again, because of you. You have made very powerful and dangerous enemies."

Draco didn't even bother with his usual protests—that he could protect Will, that he and Ginny would see to it. He had learned that there was no point. He studied her for a moment, before he said, "I wish I could believe that all that you said was true—about Carina, about Will. But I don't, you see. And I don't think I ever will."

"Well, I can't make you believe me," Lillian said dismissively. She unclasped her handbag, reaching inside of it. For an absurd moment, Draco thought she was going to take her wand out and curse him. "And if that is how you feel, then I will just have to resort to other methods." She pulled out of her handbag an old, rolled up newspaper. Draco watched her with narrowed eyes, as she flipped through it, and then folded it over, before handing it to Draco.

Draco looked down at the headline. It was a piece reporting the death of Nott Sr., the Death Eater, Theodore Nott's father. Draco remembered reading it, years ago now. It had happened shortly after the ordeal at the Riddle House. He remembered it because it had been so odd: Nott's dead body had been delivered to the Auror Office. The report had indicated that perhaps Nott had been killed fleeing the Riddle House, but Draco knew this couldn't be true, because Nott Sr. had not been staying at the Riddle House.

Draco looked up at Lillian, a bit irritated. "Why are you showing me this?"

Lillian only said, coolly, "I believe you went to school with Nott's son, Theodore. Are you aware of how his mother died?"

"Yes," Draco said impatiently. "His father killed her. He was a right old maniac, from what I hear, before his health went bad on him. What's your point?"

"I, too, am familiar with the death of Theodore's mother," Lillian said calmly, ignoring his demands for an explanation. "You see, she was a friend of mine, at Hogwarts. An extraordinarily bright woman. I always wondered why she had ever gotten involved with a man like Nott."

"I'd have thought you'd approve," Draco said snidely, "him being a Death Eater and all."

"I have never cared for Death Eaters," Lillian said with distaste. "Fanatics, the lot of them. And You-Know-Who, the biggest fanatic of them all. I think he had the right idea, mind you, but he took it too far."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Even with the Dark Lord gone, it was not a prudent thing to openly criticize him.

"At any rate, I am sure you can imagine—perhaps you even know, if you were friends with him—how much Theodore has despised his father. I would go so far, even, as to say that he very much wanted him dead," Lillian said.

Draco knew this to be true. "Are you saying he killed his father? He can't have done, he was in Azkaban."

Again, Lillian ignored him. She met his gaze directly now. "Are you aware," she asked, "that your wife had a conversation with Theodore Nott the day that he was arrested? While you yourself were still being held captive in the Riddle House?"

Draco blinked. "Yes." Tonks had told him, that Ginny was the one who had convinced Theo to give them information on getting into the Riddle House. It hadn't surprised him. Ginny had been a good Auror, except for the fact that she wasted all her time looking for Zabini.

"I suspect, however, that you do not know the details of the conversation," Lillian Moon said. Her tone was not one of someone gloating, or holding information over his head; she was all business. "I, however, do, having heard them from Theodore Nott himself. You see, he requested a favor of your wife. He requested that his father be killed. Only with that promise from her, would he give her the information she wanted about the Riddle House."

Draco stared at her. He was seized with a mad desire to laugh. Ginny, promise to kill someone, in exchange for information? "That's ridiculous," Draco heard himself say. "Have someone killed? She wouldn't."

"And yet, he turned up dead days later," Lillian pointed out. "His body delivered to the Aurors, no less. As though the killer wanted to be sure that someone would hear of it. Whoever did it didn't want to hide the murder, obviously, yet no one claimed credit for it. He was a Death Eater, after all. If someone had killed him in self-defense, there'd be no reason to hide it."

Draco found himself growing inexplicably angry. He couldn't believe that she was actually trying to convince him of this, that she was actually trying to blackmail him with this. It was absurd. "Ginny didn't kill him."

"It's possible she didn't do it herself," Lillian mused, for all the world as though they were discussing Quidditch tactics. "She certainly had it done, though."

"She wouldn't do that!" Draco burst out. "Oh, sure, she might have told Theo she would, but only to get the thick clod to give her the information she wanted. She wasn't an Auror anymore, see. She didn't have any obligation to live up to promises she made him."

"Oh, you don't think so, do you?" Lillian Moon's eyes flashed, bearing down on him. "Not even for her beloved family, for you? What would you do for your family, Draco? How far would you go? It's very odd, you know, a Malfoy and a Weasley coming together. I would have said it impossible, except that there is one thing the two families have in common—family means everything to the Weasleys, just as it does to you and your family. It's why you and the Weasley girl came together, is it not? For the sake of your son? Oh, I have spoken with your wife, Draco, and I don't think there's much she wouldn't do for her family. You might think on that, before you insist that she would never kill a man, or have him killed, either."

Draco shook his head. Of course, family was important to Ginny, just as it was to him. And he would go very far for his family. But even he, in the end, could not kill for his family. He had proven that in sixth year, when he'd failed to kill Dumbledore. Of course, Nott Sr. had been an evil man and a pitiable excuse for a human being, unlike Dumbledore…but still…to have him killed, in cold blood…

No. He wasn't considering it. He didn't believe it.

Lillian Moon must have seen that on his face, for she shrugged gracefully and said, "If you don't believe me, you can always ask Theodore for yourself. But frankly, I don't care whether you believe it or not. The fact is, if it were brought to light—that she had promised the death of Theo's father to him, and even you admit that she likely did—well, the Aurors would have to investigate that, wouldn't they?"

"They couldn't prove anything," Draco snapped.

"With some well-placed evidence," Lillian Moon said, her tone deliberate, "I assure you, they could.

Well-placed evidence…. For the first time, a thrill of fear ran through Draco. She was insinuating, of course, that it would be only too easy to frame Ginny, and Draco feared, that with her money and influence, it would be. He was well aware of how easy things were when one has money and influence.

"So, Draco," Lillian said, with a haughty toss of her head, "let's get to the point, shall we? I suppose that what I am saying is, well—you have a choice. Your son, or your wife?"

"You bitch," Draco snarled.

"My, my," Lillian Moon said coolly. She seemed wholly unthreatened by his anger. "In fact, that was cruel of me, wasn't it? Not to mention overdramatic. You do have a choice, but it's much more clear-cut than that. Your wife's freedom—her life, as it were—may be at stake here, true. But when it comes to William, the only thing at stake is your own selfish desire to keep him to yourself. Because he will be perfectly safe with me, Draco. Safer, I daresay, than he is with you."

"Do you really believe that?" Draco demanded. "Do you really understand what that means? Keeping him safe isn't just about protective spells and enchantments, it isn't about bodyguards. Ginny and I would both die for Will, if Death Eaters came knocking. Would you?"

For the first time, Lillian Moon looked angry, a gleam of it showing in her eyes. "Yes," she said coldly, firmly and without hesitation. "Do you really think I wouldn't? I lost my daughter, Draco, I am not about to lose my grandson. And what's more, do you really think I have not thought all of this through, that I have not prepared myself for the worst? I know the danger you've brought to your son. I am prepared to face that myself, if it becomes an issue, though I do not think it will be, with him in my care."

Again—even as furious as he was with her, even as much as he hated her, then, for threatening Ginny—he was struck by the sincerity, the surety, in her tone. He didn't like it. He didn't like it, because it threatened his own resolve. And her words echoed in his head—your own selfish desire to keep him to yourself.

Against his own judgment, the insidious thought slipped through his mind. Is that what this is? Is that what I'm doing? Being selfish?

The thought terrified him.

"There is only one other thing, Draco," Lillian Moon said, and she was suddenly calm again, weary, even, "that I can tell you, to explain to you and convince you of my resolve to love and protect the boy. It may turn you against me even further. Or it may, as I hope, explain to you why I feel that I must care for him."

Draco looked at her wordlessly. He was so beyond his capacity to hear anything else from her, but he was also beyond his capacity to stop her.

"The day of the attack on Diagon Alley," she said, "the day that your mother was injured and put in St. Mungo's permanently. That morning, before the attack, your mother and I met for an early lunch."

Draco stared at her. "Wh-what? Why?" The mention of his mother was so unexpected, so gut-wrenching for him, that he momentarily forgot everything else they had just discussed.

"To discuss the baby, of course," Lillian said smoothly. "We women are civilized about such things. Neither of us were happy with the unexpected pregnancy, but we decided to meet and discuss how to deal with it."

That, Draco thought, sounded only too like his mother.

"We had arranged the meeting two days earlier," Lillian went on, "and, at the time, I had indicated to your mother that Carina would likely be joining us. Halfway into the first course, your mother asked when Carina would be arriving. I told her that—" Here, Lillian paused, ever so slightly, tilting her head as if in some discomfort "—most unfortunately, Carina would not be joining us after all. She had decided to do some Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley instead, you see."

Draco felt cold. He could not move, he could not breathe, he could not think. His father had always wondered, Draco knew, why his mother had been there, when she had known of the imminent attack, when she had known what was going to happen…it had driven his father mad that she had been there, when it made absolutely no sense…

"When I told your mother this—" Lillian shut her eyes briefly, looking as though she had a bad head cold "—she left immediately. Quite rudely, I thought, at the time. She made some ridiculous excuse, and Apparated as soon as she was out the front door."

Draco felt numb. He couldn't do anything but keep listening. A part of him was grateful to hear this, to finally make sense of it. Another part of him was horrified, wishing he could take it back, that he had never heard it at all.

"Of course, when I heard—" Lillian broke off. There was a distraught catch in her voice. "Well. Your mother and I had never been friends, we barely knew each other. But when I realized, you see…what she had done, for Carina…" She shook her head. "The most awful part of it is, Carina wasn't there after all. She'd been called in to work last-minute, you see. She was at St. Mungo's the whole time."

For a moment, they were both utterly silent, contemplating this horrid, awful truth. Draco thought he might cry. He thought he might be sick. He didn't know what he would do.

"And the thing is, you see," Lillian said, and her voice was hardly more than a whisper, "that is has always caused me pain. I don't mean to undercut your own grief, which, of course, must be worse than mine. But, if I had said nothing—if I had never mentioned it—"

Draco closed his eyes. He felt as though he might fly apart.

"I tell you this," Lillian said, and her voice was steady now, "because, of course, you deserve to know. I have kept it to myself for too long. But also because, you see, I am indebted to your mother."

Draco opened his eyes. "You don't owe her anything." He meant the words harshly, but they came out quite blank. "Carina wasn't there, you said so herself. She didn't save her."

"But she meant to," Lillian said simply, "at whatever cost to her own life. So, I am indebted to her, you see. I am indebted to your family. I imagine you, Draco, understand what that means. I would never—so long as I live—allow something to happen to your son within my care. Your mother risked her life for him, for my daughter—because of something I told her, and she essentially lost her life for it. I could hardly do less to protect Will."

---

It was late, near midnight. The Malfoy townhouse was dark and quiet. But Hermione was wide awake, in the shadowed parlor, curled up on a divan, a thin blanket covering her lap. She held, in her hands, the note that Snape had written to Draco, the same note that contained Ron's brief reply to Malfoy on the opposite side. She stared at it, tracing Ron's signature with her eyes, lost in her own thoughts.

The door opened and shut downstairs, pulling her back to the present. She tensed, reaching for her wand, but a moment later, Malfoy's blond head appeared at the top of the stairs, shining in the gloom. He looked startled to see her sitting there.

"What are you doing?" he snapped, though his words lacked their usual hostility. "Sitting in the dark? Do you know what time it is?"

"Do you?" Hermione said dryly. "Wherever have you been? Ginny was waiting up for you, but she finally went to bed, she'd had a long day."

Malfoy shut his eyes, leaning against the wall. "So've I," he muttered.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond pertly, but she stopped herself, looking at him. He looked more than tired, he looked…defeated. His shoulders were slumped, and when he opened his eyes, there was a dead, dull cast to them. It was rather disconcerting. He looked rather like he had near the end of sixth year.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked abruptly.

He scowled at her, but again, it lacked its usual fervor. "What's it to you?"

"I'm just asking," she huffed. "You look like you've been round the bend."

"Yeah, well, I don't need your criticism," he shot back. "Merlin, sometimes you remind me of Pansy."

Hermione spluttered. "What? That cow? I take that as an insult!"

"You do that."

"Well, sometimes, you remind me of Ron!" she said crossly. "But only at his most pigheaded and idiotic moments," she added, flushing in the darkness. Because, now she thought of it, it was a terribly awkward thing to say, given that she was in love with Ron, and they both knew it.

Malfoy, however, did not seem to notice. He was frowning at some distant point across the room, as he rubbed a hand at his forehead. "Oh," he said suddenly, "I almost forgot."

He reached then, into his robes, and from them, he withdrew a small, handled cup.

Hermione sat up so fast that she dropped her wand and the note both. Malfoy set the cup on the table at the end of the divan, and Hermione snatched it up, looking it over, verifying it according to the description Harry had given her. "This is it," she breathed. "I think—I think this is actually it!" It was so late, and it was so dark, and Malfoy had sprung this on her so suddenly, that she was barely processing it. A part of her thought it must all be a dream.

"You'll be leaving then," Malfoy said casually, "won't you?"

Hermione looked up at him, arching an eyebrow. "Yes. That glad to be rid of me, are you."

"Well." Malfoy coughed, suddenly looking rather uncomfortable. "The thing is, I've—done something stupid."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"I—" Malfoy hesitated. "I went to see my aunt today, at Azkaban. Bellatrix. And, well, I got her to confirm that Weasley, Ron, I mean, escaped the Riddle House alive—"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed in a whisper. Her heart leapt with excitement; this most definitely, absolutely, had to be a dream. "She did? Malfoy, that's not stupid, that's brilliant!"

"—and then," he went on, as though he had not heard her, "I couldn't help throwing it in her face. And I didn't stop there. I kept going. I told her all about how I had gotten the cup, and that I was going to give it to you, and that you would be taking it off to Potter."

All of Hermione's elation seemed to dissipate. She stared at Malfoy in dismay. "You prat," she said numbly, taking this in. "You are stupid."

"Yeah, well." Malfoy did not even try to argue with this, which was a miracle in itself.

"Well." Hermione sighed. She would just have to be very, very careful, that was all. The Death Eaters would be looking for her with more enthusiasm than usual. But she had a good store of Polyjuice Potion, she knew plenty of protective spells. "I guess I had better leave in the morning, then. After I've had my goodbye with Ginny and Will. I don't want to put them in any danger, after all."

"Can't put them in any more danger than they're already in, here with me," Malfoy said bitterly.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. This sort of self-loathing, this morose attitude about himself, was not like Malfoy. Suddenly, though, she thought she understood. "Is this about Lillian Moon? Trying to take Will from you?"

Malfoy looked at her sharply. "What?"

"Ginny told me," Hermione explained, "about that. And, well, I just wondered—"

"Never you mind," he groused.

"Fine," Hermione grumbled. "But, Malfoy," she said suddenly, struck by a new thought, "I do want to tell you, before I leave. I think you need to tell Ginny about—about Blaise. That he's alive, and that you helped him. She, well—" She hesitated. "She should hear it from you," she said carefully, trying to keep a lie out of her words.

"Why?" Malfoy snapped. "He's gone, now. Death Eaters will probably kill him and have done with him, and then he'll be dead anyway. What's the point?"

Hermione looked at him, exasperated. She didn't want to tell Malfoy herself that Ginny knew—she had promised Ginny she wouldn't. But this was a ridiculous mess that the two of them had put themselves in, and, much as she didn't care for Malfoy, she did not like to think of Ginny hurt again. She had been through too much, as it was.

"It's just," Hermione said abruptly, "that, before, when we spoke about her. She wasn't trusting you, you told me, because of something that had happened before, because of something you'd done to make her lose your trust in you. And, somehow, you've got past that, obviously."

Draco growled, "It's none of your—"

"—none of my business, I know," Hermione said dryly. "But, I can't help remarking, as a casual observer, that you are setting yourself up to lose all of that, again. Because, again, you're keeping something from her. Something she would want to know, and something she deserves to know." She looked up at him firmly. "So, mind you don't mess it up again. That's all I'm saying."

Malfoy looked down at her. There was a bitter, ironic gleam in his dead eyes. "Yeah, right," he said wryly. "Because I wouldn't want that."

---

Draco sat in one of the interrogation rooms in Auror Headquarters. He drummed his fingers nervously against the tabletop. He wasn't sure why they had asked him to come in—on the one hand, he had said quite a lot about many things while he'd been in Azkaban visiting his aunt, in plain hearing of the guards. None of it was anything illegal, that he'd done, but he could see the Ministry being interested in it.

On the other hand, to be called in, so recently after his father had returned to town—well, Draco couldn't help but wonder if, maybe, this had something to do with him.

Then the door to the interrogation room opened, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, walked in.

Draco stared at him, suppressing a wave of dismay. As Kingsley seated himself opposite him, Draco said, "So. Is this really the Ministry questioning me, or is this the Order?"

"If this were the Order," Kingsley said, in his deep, reassuring voice, "then we would be having this conversation elsewhere." He paused. "No, I am here in my…official capacity."

"Really," Draco said flatly. "Bit of a tall order, isn't it? The Minister of Magic questioning me about…what exactly?"

"You went to visit your aunt in Azkaban," Kingsley said, folding his hands atop the table. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

So. It was about her. Draco experienced a momentary surge of relief, but he was still tense, on his guard. "Yes," he said impatiently. "And? The Ministry knew I was going, I had to get bloody approval to go in the first place."

"During your…conversation with her," Kingsley said delicately, and Draco wondered what, exactly, the guards had told him about how their 'conversation' went, "you mentioned Hermione Granger. That you have been in contact with her."

"Yes," Draco said stiffly.

"You, apparently, legally obtained something from your aunt's vault for her," Kingsley went on. "Something important to the downfall of Lord Voldemort. Something that Miss Granger intends to take to Harry Potter."

"Well, if she can find him. She doesn't know where he is yet."

"I see." Kingsley met Draco's eyes levelly. "And I don't suppose you'd like to tell me where Miss Granger is right now? Has she been staying with you?"

"She was," Draco said dismissively. "She's gone now. She left several days ago. And no, I don't know where she was going. All I know is she was going to look for Potter, but if she had any clue where to start, she didn't tell me. And before you ask," he went on, forestalling Kingsley, "I don't know what she wanted to use it for…the thing I took from my aunt's vault. I don't know anything about it, so there's no good asking me."

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "But you know what it was, obviously? You retrieved it yourself, after all."

Draco eyed him back. He wasn't sure why, but when he opened his mouth, what he said was, "I know what it was. But I can't tell you. I don't think Granger would want me spreading it around, see."

Kingsley studied him for a moment. "I see." He sighed. "So there is nothing, really, that you can tell me about any of this."

"No," Draco said. He paused. "Best leave it all to bloody Saint Potter."

Kingsley did not react to this rather childish insult to Potter. "And you also mentioned Blaise Zabini…?"

"Yes," Draco said. "He's alive, or at least, he was a few weeks ago. But Death Eaters caught up to him and took him. He could be dead now."

"I see." Kingsley took all this in stride. "And…Ron Weasley. It is clear that your aunt confirmed that he was held prisoner at the Riddle House, and that he escaped alive."

Draco held Kingsley's gaze. "Yes. She told me that."

"We will be informing the Weasley family," Kingsley said. When Draco opened his mouth to protest, Kingsley held up a hand and said, "We will not be telling them that you were involved in any way. We will merely let them know that, in questioning, Bellatrix revealed this information. They deserve to know," he said simply.

Draco jerked a nod. He suppose they did, at that.

"One last thing then," Kingsley said. He leaned forward across the table. "I understand that Bellatrix made some threats against you and your family. Specifically, against Ginny and your son."

"Ginny can handle herself," Draco said immediately.

"And your son?" Kingsley prompted quietly.

Draco felt as though someone had grabbed a hold of his insides and made a fist, twisting them around. "If you really know everything that went on in there," Draco said tightly, "then you'll know that I said that Will won't be my problem much longer."

"Yes." Kingsley's tone was flatly disapproving. "You apparently expressed some…disinterest in raising your son."

"Yeah, well." Draco shrugged. "His grandmother's interested in taking custody of him."

For a moment, Kingsley didn't say anything. Then, staring intently at Draco he said, "Draco, there are few things I couldn't believe of you. But that you don't care about your son…" He shook his head. "Never mind that. You apparently indicated that Ginny, too, was tired of taking care of him. And that I cannot believe."

"I'm not sure," Draco said angrily, "how this is any of your business."

"Draco," Kingsley said, "if you are worried about the safety of your son, we—the Ministry or the Order—can provide protection—"

"Yeah, sure!" Draco laughed, but there was no mirth in it. "Your protection? I don't want any more of your bloody protection! That's what got me into all this mess in the first place, isn't it! Playing nice with the Order, letting Ginny come in to my family, associating myself with any of you—the Death Eaters might've left me alone, if it weren't for any of that! So, thanks, but no thanks," he growled. "I've had enough of your protection." He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Anyway," Draco went on, with forced calm in his voice, "I've told you, haven't I? You've heard it yourself. I'm rather indifferent when it comes to anything regarding my son." He paused, and then, unable to play this act too thoroughly, he met Kingsley's eyes and said, "Don't be afraid to spread that around, either."

Kingsley met his gaze evenly, and Draco could tell that he understood. "Draco," he said, "it doesn't have to be like this."

"Are we done here?" Draco asked abruptly. "Only, I've got a lot to be about today. Can I go?"

Kingsley dipped his head in a nod. Without waiting for anything else, Draco swept out of the room.

---

"Ginny. Ginny, wake up."

Ginny stirred and blinked sleepily, her eyes squinting shut as she peered at the pale daylight seeping into the room through a slit in the window curtains. She looked around at Draco, who was standing beside the bed, leaning over her. He was fully dressed, though dressed casually—in jeans and a plain grey shirt. He almost never wore anything except a button-down.

"What is it?" Ginny mumbled. "Is something wrong?"

Draco shook his head. "No. But get up. I want to—we should go for a walk."

"A walk?" Ginny echoed, through a big yawn. "Why? What time is it, Malfoy?"

A flicker of annoyance passed over Draco's features. "It's seven o'clock, and will you please just get up and come with me?"

Faintly irritated, Ginny rolled out of bed. It was a Saturday. Draco waited by the door, leaning against the wall, as she got dressed, pulling on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. She waited for him to comment on her sloppy clothes, but he didn't. She looked up as she slipped on a pair of shoes. "What about Will? Is he ready?"

"He's not coming," Draco said shortly. "Pansy's with him," he clarified, when Ginny shot him a strange look. "They're having breakfast downstairs."

Too tired to question this, Ginny nodded through a yawn and followed Draco out the door.

Outside, they crossed the empty street. Across the road was a large expanse of green grass, c

vering a square, open area, like a small park. Draco took Ginny's hand and led her across the green, until they reached a shady oak tree. The sun didn't shine too brightly yet—it was still early—but it was the middle of summer, so it was already quite warm.

It wasn't until now, as they reached the tree, that Ginny began to truly wake, to emerge from the haze of sleep that lingered over her. And as she did, she realized how strange this was. Why on earth had Malfoy woken her, so early, to go for a walk in the park? He never did things like that. But as she watched, he settled down on the grass, under the shade of the tree. He sprawled back on his hands, looking quite comfortable. Except that he would not meet her eyes.

"Draco," Ginny said. She did not sit, but stood looking down at him. "What are we doing here?"

Draco fiddled with a blade of grass. "Ginny," he said, still not looking at her, "why did you marry me?"

"What?" An odd flutter rose in Ginny's chest, almost like panic, but it wasn't that, because it wasn't an altogether bad feeling. "I—what do you mean? We got married so we could get the house—"

"I know," Draco interrupted, "but—wasn't there any…any other reason?" She heard a touch of desperation, faint but present, in his question.

Ginny stared down at him—at the top of his head—for what seemed a long time. Then, with a sigh, she sat, settling down on the grass before her, her legs folding comfortably beneath her.

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" she asked wryly. Draco looked up at her quickly, but she was smiling a little. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Is it really so difficult?" he drawled, sounding more like himself.

"You have no idea," Ginny muttered, remembering when she'd laid in bed with Draco, trying to get the words out. "It's—I—Draco, I couldn't have married you if I didn't—I—" She swallowed, the words sticking in her throat.

Draco snorted.

Ginny's temper flared, her cheeks growing hot. "You say it then, if it's so easy!" she shot at him. He looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, and Ginny said, "Don't look at me like that." For it was not really a question, was it, of him loving her? She knew very well that he loved her, even if he had never said it. He had demonstrated it on more than one occasion.

"Fine," Draco said. He looked faintly amused, but when his grey eyes caught hers, his gaze was steady and serious. "Ginny. I love you."

For a moment, Ginny couldn't look away from those deep, stormy eyes. Then she tore her gaze away and muttered, "Prat."

Draco only smiled. Smirked, was more like it.

"Draco, I—" She blew out a long, even breath, and looked at him. "I love you."

She thought he would smirk again, but the smile dropped from his face when she said it. He evaded her gaze, looking down at the grass he'd been plucking. "Do you really, or are you just saying that?"

"No, I'm not just saying it, Draco!" Ginny said in exasperation. He went through all that trouble of making her say it, and then he didn't believe her. He looked up at her, his eyes dark and troubled. This time, she caught his gaze and said firmly, "I mean it. I love you. I—" She bit her lip. "I've loved you for a long time," she said quietly. "Only…I didn't know it. I wouldn't let myself know it." She laughed a little and shrugged. "It seems so ridiculous now, because everything feels…easier. To just admit it."

Draco was nodding, as though he knew exactly what she was talking about. "Yeah," he murmured. "It does." He glanced up at the sky through the tree branches overhead, squinting slightly.

For a moment, silence fell between them. Ginny wondered if he was going to kiss her. He didn't make any move to do so, and she was just thinking that she would kiss him if he didn't do it. But then Draco looked at her, so suddenly and so squarely that it took Ginny by surprise. "Ginny, I…have to tell you something."

Something pierced Ginny, a sting of disappointment and understanding. Of course. He had brought her out here, gone through this, because he was going to tell her, probably, about Blaise. And she didn't want him to do it, because she knew things would go downhill from there, and they were having such a nice moment, and she didn't want to ruin it—

"Ginny, it's—I—" He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I've talked with…Lillian Moon."

"What?" This was so far from what Ginny was expecting, she blinked, disoriented. Then a thrill of anxiety prickled through her, at the mention of that woman. "Talked to her? About…not about Will?"

Draco nodded. He glanced down, but then looked up suddenly, as though he were forcing himself to look her in the eye. He looked absolutely wretched. "Ginny," he said quietly, "she's going to take Will."

"What?" She did not understand. She couldn't be hearing him right. "What do you mean, she's going to take him? No, she's not! We haven't even had a hearing yet, no one's spoken to us, how can you say that she's—"

"Because I've talked with her," Draco said, and now his voice sounded like how he looked, desolate and broken. "And…I've agreed. That she should take Will. Have full custody."

Ginny stared at him in horror. He could not be saying this. It didn't make any sense, it was madness, he'd gone mad. "You can't be serious," she said incredulously. When he didn't say anything, she jumped to her feet. "You can't be serious! Why would you do that? Why would you give him up? To her?" A horrible feeling rose in Ginny, filling her, fear and sadness and anxiety all rolled into one. "Draco, think what she'll do to him!"

"She can't do any worse than I have," he said, sounding as though he were speaking through gritted teeth.

"What? Don't say that! How can you—"

"It's true." Draco stood too, looking her in the eye. She had never see him look like this, so broken apart, so unsure and haunted, and yet, firm, standing his ground. "Ginny, he's—he'll be better off, with her. Don't you see? If we—if we let him go—"

He nearly choked on the words, and Ginny didn't blame him; she couldn't see how he could even think that, let alone say it.

"If we let him go—" Draco swallowed. "Willingly. The Death Eaters, everyone, they'll think I don't care. They'll leave him be, and if they want to come after me, after us, they can do it some other way, they can leave Will alone—"

"Do you actually believe that?" Ginny demanded. The shock of all this, the disbelief, was slowly melting away into anger, and fear, fear so bright and clear. "Draco, I think it's a little late to pretend we don't care about him, and—and we can keep him safe! We know we can keep him safe, but her, that woman—"

"Keep him safe?" Now Draco sounded incredulous, looking at Ginny with almost pitying eyes. "Keep him safe? When have we ever kept him safe, Ginny? He was kidnapped, taken so he could be used against me. And that was far from the first time they'd threatened him. Remember when Higgs and Goyle came to the manor, and as soon as you walked in with Will, they went after him! Merlin, when he'd barely been born, they went after him! Because he was my son!"

"Draco." He was scaring her now, really scaring her. "Draco, that's not—"

"It was never supposed to be like this," he said miserably. "I wasn't supposed to raise him, Ginny, don't you see? Remember? Carina and I had agreed, no one would ever know I was his father, and I wouldn't have any part in his life—"

"But she's g-gone, Draco!" Ginny took a step towards him. She could feel something hot and unwelcome stinging her eyes, tears, threatening to spill over. "She's gone, and I—I found him, I took him, I brought him to you—"

"You shouldn't have." His voice was harsh, like a slap in the face. Ginny recoiled, stepping away from him, dropping the hand she had reached out to him. "You never should have. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

And he was so convinced of it, so believing, that Ginny felt, with despair, that this was hopeless. She could not persuade him not to do this, she could not tell him to change his mind. She shook her head, feeling sick. "And this—this is how you tell me?" One of those tears spilled over her cheek. A new feeling stole over her: betrayal, rejection. Did he have so little regard for her? To bring her out here like this, tell her he loved her, and then spring this on her? "You don't even ask me? I don't even get a say?"

Draco didn't say anything. He swallowed visibly, barely caught her eye, and then looked away.

"Because—" Ginny's whole body was trembling. "Of course. Because I'm not his mother."

"Don't say that," Draco said, and now he tried to reach out to her, but she stepped back, out of his reach.

"Well, I'm not, am I?" Ginny cried. "If I were, I would have some sort of say in this, wouldn't I? But instead I'm just informed, after the fact, after it's all done, how could you just—how—" She broke off suddenly, a horrible thought forming in her head. "Why did you bring me out here? Now? Draco, when is—when is Will—" She couldn't even say it.

Draco swallowed, meeting her eyes. "Today," he said quietly. "Ginny, he's leaving today."

"He isn't—he's not—" Panic rose in her, and she half-turned, towards the street, towards the house.

"He's there, he's still here now," Draco said, and his reassuring tone was anything but. It made her hate him, it made her want to hurt him, get away from him. Half-turned towards the house, she wasn't able to stop him when he placed a hand on her arm, his fingers curling around to grasp her, to try to turn her to face him. "Ginny—"

"Get off me! Get off, let me go!" Her face was all over wet with tears now, and she struggled beneath his grasp, trying to push him away, but he just grabbed on to her other arm. When that didn't work, she yanked an arm away to shove him, hard, in the chest. She formed a fist, beating it against him. "Let me go! I hate you! I hate you!"

He let go of her, out of shock, maybe. She hit him one last time and then shoved herself away from him, tearing across the green park. She didn't look back for him as she ran across the road, sprinting up the steps, into the house. "Will? Will!"

She found him in the tearoom with Pansy, just as Draco had said. Pansy stood when Ginny came flying in, and Ginny could see, by the look on her face, that she knew, knew everything. "Ginny—"

"Get out." And either by the cold tone of her voice, or the look on her face, Pansy fled the room without another word. Suddenly wishing she was not crying—wishing she could be brave for him—Ginny knelt in front of Will. He'd been sitting on the floor, but now he stood, eye level with Ginny. He looked solemn, no trace of his usual laughter.

"Will." Trembling, Ginny threw her arms around him, pulling him in close. Maybe, just maybe, if she held him tight enough, they couldn't take him from her. "Will."

---

It was dusk. Draco wandered around the darkening townhouse, feeling empty and cold. Hatred filled him, and he didn't know what he hated himself for more—letting them take Will, or putting Will in such danger in the first place. All he knew was that it oozed from him, filling every ounce of him, until he thought he would burst, until he wished he would, wished it would all stop—

They had taken him, earlier in the day. Lillian had come in the afternoon, as they'd agreed. Draco hadn't seen Ginny since.

He drifted upstairs. She wasn't in the parlor, on the first floor, so he drifted up to the next floor. She wasn't in the master suite, she wasn't in their bedroom. His heart heavy, like a lump of lead, Draco took the next flight of stairs up, to the top floor. There was nothing up there but Will's old room, and a few guest rooms; Granger had stayed up there.

Listlessly, he made his way down the dark, narrow corridor, until he reached the end of the hallway. Will had had a large set of rooms in the corner, not unlike the master suite downstairs. He hadhad them, because he wasn't there anymore. There was nothing there anymore.

The door was halfway open. Draco slowly pushed it open all the way, peering in. Ginny stood in the middle of the room, looking around. The look on her face was one of such disbelief; the anguish in her eyes so pronounced.

For it was all gone. Everything, all of it. Anything Will had not taken with him—his bed, his furniture—Draco had already had packed away, overnight and early this morning. The room was just a room now, bare, empty, as though it had never been lived in at all.

"It's gone," Ginny whispered. "It's all gone. Why—when—"

"Early this morning." Draco's voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat and said, "The house-elves did it. I—"

"How could you." Ginny's voice came out in a whisper, but Draco flinched as though she'd shouted. "Why would you—I—it's—" Her voice broke, choked by tears. "It's all gone, like—do you want this?" she demanded, turning on him. "Like he was never here, like he doesn't even exist—"

"No, Ginny, I—" He started to come into the room, stepping towards her. "I just thought—it would be easier—"

"Get out." The cold anger in her voice was so terrible, the dark hatred in her eyes so consuming. When he didn't move, she said it again, her voice rising, "Get out, get out, get out!"

Draco felt something inside him break. Strange, he didn't think there was anything left in him to break, anything that hadn't already broken. But he felt it, shattering to pieces, like an icicle falling to the pavement. And he couldn't take it, he couldn't live with it. It was pain like he'd never known, and hatred, for himself, so dark, so powerful—

So he drew himself up, and he shut it away. He looked at Ginny one last time before he left, and it was a blank look. "Fine," he said, hearing the hard note in his voice. And he left the room, shutting the door behind him, putting a wall between them.

But then—out alone in the corridor—he slid down the wall, crumpling down to the floor. And he rested his head against the door, listening to Ginny cry, her every sob echoing in his soul like a knife.

END OF PART ONE

---

Chapter End Notes:
Heh, bet you didn't know there was a Part One :P As in many places, Part Two will be much shorter than Part One. Believe it or not, there's not too much of the fic left! After this chapter, there will a short interlude chapter, and then two or three chapters after that (I think just two, but they'll be very long chapters).

I have to tell you - that last scene of this chapter, or the last couple scenes, I suppose, were incredibly hard for me to write. In fact, after the scene with Kingsley, I had a bit of a panic, because the idea was so horrible to me that I wasn't sure how to write the next scene. I finally decided that I just had to basically skip over the actual scene where Lillian came to take Will away, because I couldn't imagine writing it.

Oh, so about the next chapter, which is an interlude. What is an interlude? Well, for this fic, it means that the next chapter will be -
1. Much shorter than my usual chapters
2. From the POV of someone besides Draco or Ginny - although Ginny will appear in it
3. A sort of in-between chapter to mark the passing of time - the interlude will take place about a year after this chapter