Author's Chapter Notes:

Here is the final chapter and epilogue! This fic is now complete. I have so enjoyed writing this fic, but it feels good to have finally finished it. Enjoy!

Ginny must have sat there another hour, alone, before anyone came in to see her again. She sat curled up in her chair, resting her head on her knees. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Draco left her. He said he didn't care what happened to her, and she'd looked into his eyes as he said it. And she believed him.

She felt gutted.

When the door to the interrogation room opened again, it was the Auror, Carmichael, who came in.

"Hey, Ginny," he said. He sounded tired, but not unfriendly. "You're free to go." He raised his wand and severed the magical bond tying her to the table.

Half-amazed, half-uncaring, Ginny lifted her head. "I—what? Why? No one even questioned me."

Carmichael shrugged. "All I know is that Potter and Malfoy both talked to Murray. Oh, and I think he talked to someone else, too—some other source. I don't know who though."

"Another source?" Ginny echoed, confused. "Someone else who talked about me, you mean?"

"I think so." Carmichael raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. "You do want to go, don't you?"

When Ginny exited the interrogation room, she found Harry outside, talking to a couple of Aurors. When he saw her, he excused himself and came over, smiling.

"What happened?" Ginny demanded. "You told Murray what I told you?"

Harry nodded. "Everything. He was still going to question you himself, of course, but then he was called away to question someone else. When he came back, he said you could go."

Ginny shook her head. "But who did he talk to?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Probably a Death Eater—someone who was there at the Riddle House, who could tell them what they did to you. Maybe someone cut a deal for a lesser sentence by giving information or something." He shrugged again, clearly putting it all from his mind. "Anyway, who cares? You can go home now. You look awful, Gin. You must be exhausted."

"Yeah," Ginny said hoarsely. She knew she should have been happy to be set free, but all she felt was a sort of hopelessness. She didn't feel as though she had any home to go to. "I'm just…not sure where to go."

Harry looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Ginny waved an arm helplessly. "Well, I—I want to see Will. But—Draco. I don't think…" She shook her head. "I don't think he wants to see me," she said quietly.

Harry frowned. "What do you mean? What did he—"

"Harry?"

Both Ginny and Harry looked up to see a tall, familiar person striding towards them. It was Dean Thomas. "Oh, Ginny, you're still here," Dean said as he reached them. "Good. I have news you'll want to hear," he said grimly.

"News?" Ginny echoed. She stared at him; she didn't understand why he was there, at Auror Headquarters, at this time of night. "What news? Have you been doing something for the Order or something?"

Harry's eyes suddenly lit with comprehension. "That's right. You were with Remus—at Lillian Moon's place."

Ginny tensed. "You've been there? What's happened? Did you find out how—how the Death Eaters got Will?"

"Yeah," Dean said bitterly. "Seems like Lillian Moon pretty much just handed him over. I don't think she wanted to, exactly, but, well, she caved pretty easily. It sort of sounded like she'd been receiving threats from the Death Eaters for a while, but she never reported anything. She didn't even take any further steps to protect the house. Basically, she just ignored them."

A cold anger swept through Ginny. "I knew it," she said. "I knew he wouldn't be safe with her. I assume that she won't be taking Will back? Even if she wanted to, she can't have him back."

"No," Dean said, and an odd expression came over his face. "No, she won't be taking him back, Ginny. That's not possible now."

"Why?" Harry and Ginny asked simultaneously.

"Because," Dean said, "she's dead. She managed to excuse herself from the room where the Aurors were questioning her. When she didn't come back, they went to look for her, and found her in the next room. She'd taken poison."

Harry never, ever thought he'd be a staunch supporter of Ginny and Malfoy's relationship. As it was, he didn't really support it now, except that the situation had gotten beyond ridiculous.

Nearly two weeks had passed since the night the Death Eaters escaped Azkaban and went after Ginny and Will. Ginny had been reluctant to go home after being released from Auror Headquarters. She was convinced that Malfoy did not want to see her, and she, therefore, did not want to see Malfoy. She did want to see Will, of course, and Malfoy was not such a git that he wouldn't let her.

So for the past two weeks, Ginny had been staying at Grimmauld Place, where Harry, Ron, and Harry's daughter, Melanie, were living. Tracey Davis and Adrian Pucey were still living there as well, though they were looking for an apartment now for themselves.

Every morning, Malfoy stopped by to drop Will off, to stay with Ginny. Ginny, Harry had noticed, made a point of never being up by the time Malfoy came by, so that they never even saw each other. So Will and Ginny spent their days together, and then, every evening, Malfoy came by to pick Will up and take him home.

It was beyond ridiculous, so far as Harry was concerned. All this maneuvering. Not to mention, he was sure that Will wanted to live at home with both his parents, not in this wacky, move-about situation. But Malfoy was furious at Ginny, and Ginny, for some reason, would not confront him about it. It baffled Harry. He had never, ever seen her act like this about any boy or man she'd ever been involved with.

He could only conclude—much as he didn't want to—that Ginny was very, very much in love with Malfoy.

And if she wasn't going to do anything about it, then he, Harry, would have to.

It was a Saturday. Last weekend, Will had spent all day Saturday with Malfoy, at the townhouse, and then all day Sunday at Grimmauld Place with Ginny and the rest of them. Though he hadn't seen anyone speak of it, it seemed this arrangement was to continue for this weekend as well. So after taking Melanie to visit Tonks and Remus in the morning, Harry stopped by the townhouse to talk to Draco.

They waited several minutes after ringing the bell, before the door was answered by Tasher. The house-elf ushered them in, made a bow, and said that Malfoy was in the tearoom, and that he was to show them back there. Harry supposed that the long wait for the door to be answered was due to Malfoy trying to decide if he should let Harry in or not.

The tearoom, as it turned out, was a conservatory located at the back of the house. Tasher led them out onto the terrace and across the garden to reach it. It was cold out, not terribly so, but it was the middle of December, so Harry was surprised to see that the conservatory doors were open, and that Malfoy and his son were inside, having tea. The moment he and Melanie stepped in, however, he realized there were warming charms in the room, keeping out the cold.

Malfoy did not get up from his seat when Harry came in. For a moment, they only stared at each other. Will was the first to break the silence by crying, "Uncle Harry!"

Malfoy looked scandalized to hear his son calling Harry "uncle." Harry stifled a laugh. When Will had first come over to Grimmauld Place a couple weeks ago, he had started calling Harry "Potter." When questioned by Ginny, Will told them that that was what his dad called Harry, and so that was what he would call Harry. Ginny told him that was rude and that he should call Harry "Mr. Potter" or "Uncle Harry," and so Will had adopted the latter use.

"Can I help you with something, Potter?" Malfoy drawled.

"Daddy," Will said, "that's rude." The blond little boy smiled at Melanie and offered her a biscuit from his plate, which Melanie took shyly.

Malfoy looked at his son with suppressed frustration. "Will," he said calmly, "why don't you put your coat on and go play outside?"

Will, apparently, was delighted by this notion. Tasher hurried forward to help Will into his coat, and then followed the little boy as he dashed outside. After a quick, silent glance at Harry for permission, Melanie followed them, the half-eaten biscuit clutched in her hand.

Left alone with Malfoy, Harry seated himself in Will's vacant seat, without waiting for an invitation. Malfoy scowled at him. "Your son is very friendly," Harry noted. "He must have gotten that from Ginny."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "And your daughter is very quiet and polite," he observed. "Too bad she didn't get that from you." He frowned. "Who is her mother, anyway?"

Harry suppressed the familiar rush of pain in his chest and said calmly, "Ginny didn't tell you? Your old pal. Daphne Greengrass."

Harry felt a childish sense of satisfaction to see Malfoy's shocked reaction, but it was fleeting, and did nothing to ease his pain. Daphne and Malfoy, Harry knew, had not been friends exactly, though they had run in the same circles at school, Daphne being Parkinson's best friend. He also suspected that there had been something between Daphne and Malfoy at some point in their school years, though Daphne had never said this outright.

"Daphne Greengrass?" Malfoy echoed. "She's been missing for—I thought she was dead."

"She is," Harry said. He felt cold, in spite of the warming charms.

Malfoy looked at him sharply, freezing still in the act of reaching for his teacup. He stared at Harry for several long moments, and Harry wished he wouldn't, because it was very, very difficult for him to keep his expression impassive, to hide his pain. He was determined that Malfoy not see it.

"When?" Malfoy finally said. "How?"

"She was sick," Harry said. He forced the words out quickly, before his voice could falter. "She got sick. Very sick. There was a potion she could've taken to cure it, but she was already pregnant by that time. And the potion would have hurt the baby. So she wouldn't take it."

Malfoy didn't say anything. Harry could tell the man was still staring at him, even though Harry wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead, he fiddled with Will's empty teacup, which, he noted, was plastic, yet made to look just like all the ornate, glass teacups on the table.

"And by the time Melanie was born," Harry went on, his voice toneless, "it was too late. She died a few weeks later."

Silence fell between them. When Malfoy finally spoke, he said, "You should tell Pansy. They were friends."

"I know," Harry said.

Malfoy looked as though he were struggling with something. Finally, he burst out, "But you and Daphne? How did that even happen?"

Harry rolled his eyes at him. "Probably in the same way you and Ginny happened," he shot back.

"But she was missing! How did—why—?"

"She was in hiding with me," Harry said impatiently. "We were in hiding, alone, together, for five years, Malfoy. Things happen."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Why was she in hiding with you? She didn't need to go into hiding!"

"Well, it wasn't her idea," Harry said dryly, "nor mine, not really, though I was the one who brought her along. She'd been spying on me, see. I didn't know why, or for whom, and I couldn't risk it. So I took her with me." He could see the next question already forming on Malfoy's face, so he went on, "She wasn't a Death Eater. No one in her family was. But she was being threatened. She'd been dating some bloke several years older than her, someone involved with the Death Eaters. She just got in too deep."

Malfoy shook his head. Harry didn't wait for him to ask any more questions. He didn't want to talk about Daphne anymore. Instead, he turned the conversation to the reason he'd come over in the first place. "Malfoy, I wanted to talk to you about Ginny."

Instantly, the shock and questions disappeared from Malfoy's face. His expression closed off. "What about her?" he said coldly.

"I want to know why you're being such an arse to her," Harry said bluntly.

Malfoy sneered. "You mean she hasn't told you? I would think she's confided everything in you, her precious Potter, by now."

Harry ignored the childish jibe and said, "She hasn't told me anything. And I don't need any specifics from you, either. I just want to know why you're treating her like this. I know you're angry—"

"You don't know anything about how I feel, Potter."

"—but I'm also pretty sure that you're in love with her," Harry went on. Concealing his own anger was becoming more and more difficult. Talking about Daphne hadn't really helped. "So why don't you put your damn pride aside, forgive her, and let her come home already?"

"She can come home if she wants to," Malfoy retorted. "That doesn't mean I have to forgive her, though."

Harry felt his ire rise. "Look, what is this really about, Malfoy?" he snapped. "You're angry because she didn't tell you about the Mark?"

"She didn't tell me about a lot of things," Malfoy said icily. "She doesn't tell me about a lot of things. And do you know what her reason was for keeping secrets from me? That she didn't want to worry me." Malfoy's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Well, isn't that bloody nice of her. Too bad I know what it really means. She doesn't trust me."

Harry stared at him. "Is that really what you think, you idiot?"

Draco glared at him. "You don't know anything about me and Ginny, Potter. So don't come in here and—"

"You're right." Harry stood abruptly, his anger boiling over. "And I won't pretend to be some expert when it comes to women either, because I'm not. But even I can see what's going on here, Malfoy. It's not that Ginny doesn't trust you. It's that Ginny's afraid of you."

Malfoy stood too. He faced Harry down, and his eyes were dark with anger. "You don't know anything, Potter," he hissed. "I'm sure you've dreamt up this whole explanation for Ginny and I, something that fits into your nice little reality, where I'm an evil Death Eater and Ginny's a bloody saint, just like you. Where I've somehow forced her into marrying me, and kept her with me against her will—"

"That's not what I meant!" Harry interrupted, raising his voice to cut into Malfoy's tirade. "I meant she's afraid to lose you, you stupid git!"

Malfoy fell silent. He stared at Harry, breathing heavily. "Excuse me?"

"Look, I've never seen Ginny behave like she's been the past two weeks," Harry said. "She's been a brooding, miserable mess, and anyone—anyone who knows anything about her at all—knows that's not like her. The Ginny I know would have come over here by now and hexed you into next year until you stopped acting like such a prat. Or do you know a different Ginny?"

Malfoy looked at him sullenly, but said nothing. Harry gathered by his silence that Malfoy agreed with him, but did not want to say so.

"The fact that she's afraid—afraid!—to come over here and confront you makes it obvious, don't you think?" Harry went on. He didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "She's afraid of what you'll say. She didn't tell you about the Mark because she was afraid of what you'd say. Did it ever occur to you, Malfoy, that Ginny isn't perfect?"

Malfoy sneered at him. "I know very well she's not perfect, Potter. Or did you forget that I pretty much loathed her for most of my childhood?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about her being a blood traitor, or being poor, or not living up to whatever ridiculous standards you set for people, Malfoy. I'm talking about the fact that she makes mistakes. That she sometimes makes bad choices, just like anyone else. Because I think you've built her up on some sort of pedestal in your head."

"You can bloody well stay out of my head, Potter," Malfoy growled. He had gone quite still though, and his cheeks were pink. Harry thought maybe it was because he was on the right track here.

"It comes down to this," Harry said. He couldn't stop now; he'd wanted to say all of this to Malfoy from the moment he'd learned that he and Ginny were married. "In the end, anything, anything Ginny has done is not as least as bad as the things you've done, Malfoy. Or should I relive sixth year for you?"

Malfoy looked pale. For once, he had no snappy comeback. He looked furiously at Harry, but he seemed unable to speak. He swallowed visibly.

"And as for keeping secrets from you—" Harry snorted. "Are you telling me you've never kept anything from her? Because you didn't trust her, because you were afraid of what she'd say? Or maybe, even, because you didn't want to hurt her with whatever it was?"

Malfoy flinched. He folded his arms over his chest and remained silent.

"And yet, she's forgiven you," Harry pointed out. "I would assume so, anyway, since you're still together, or you were. Now, I'm not surprised to find out that you're a big enough prat that you won't do the same for her—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy repeated. But his words were quiet, his voice strained. "It's not that simple."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not saying it is. It never is, Malfoy. But you're never going to figure it out if you don't talk to her."

Silence fell between them. Malfoy stood his ground, but he wouldn't look at Harry. Then he said, "Fine. You've said your piece, and I've listened. Now get out of my house, Potter."

Harry sighed. There was no way to tell, really, if he'd made any difference here at all. But he'd done what he could, and that was that. He turned to leave the conservatory and collect Melanie from the garden.

"Potter. Wait."

Harry turned around, raising an eyebrow. Malfoy looked as though he were suppressing a grimace, but he met Harry's gaze directly. "I'm…sorry. About Daphne."

Harry stifled his shock at hearing this from Malfoy, and merely nodded. "Thank you."

After Potter left, Draco stood outside in the garden with his son. Draco shivered. It was cold out, and he didn't have a coat or a cloak on.

Will was pouting. "They left," he grumbled.

Draco glanced down at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, well, you see them every day now, don't you?"

"I like Mel," Will said definitively. "She's nice."

Draco looked away and scowled.

"But," Will went on, "she doesn't talk much."

The scowl left Draco's face. He thought of what Potter had told him about Daphne Greengrass—Melanie's mother. He shook his head. He still couldn't wrap his head around it—that she'd been with Potter this whole time, that she was dead. That she and Potter had been…involved.

"No," Draco said. "I suppose not."

They had just gone back in to the conservatory when Nuly came scurrying in to inform Draco that an Auror was in the fireplace upstairs, in the parlor. Wondering what on earth they could want with him now, Draco left Will in Nuly's care and went upstairs.

In the parlor, he found the Auror Carmichael's head floating in the fireplace. "There you are," he said, when Draco appeared. "Malfoy, you might want to come down to Auror Headquarters, if you're free. We have someone here you'll probably want to talk to, and they'll be moving him soon."

"Someone I want to talk to?" Draco echoed. "Who?"

"Your father," Carmichael said. "We have him in custody."

Within half an hour, Draco had Pansy over at the townhouse to watch Will, while he went directly to Auror Headquarters. Carmichael met him there, and led him down the hall to an interrogation room.

"What happened?" Draco demanded. "How did you find him?"

Carmichael shrugged. "Honestly, it was easy, after that tip your father sent us last week. We managed to track the owl and—"

"Tip?" Draco said sharply. "What tip? What're you talking about?"

Carmichael sent him a strange look. "Potter didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"That's how we knew where the Death Eaters were," Carmichael explained. He stopped in front of a closed door. "Your father sent us an owl. He told us."

"But how did he know?" Draco demanded. "He wasn't with them!"

Carmichael shrugged. "Dunno. You'll have to ask him." He unlocked the door and opened it for Draco.

Draco stepped inside. He had not seen his father since they had spoken about Lillian Moon, a year and a half ago. Draco was struck by how…tired his father looked. How haggard, and old. Nevertheless, something almost like a smile touched his face when he saw Draco.

Carmichael shut the door behind Draco, leaving him and Lucius alone. Swallowing, Draco stepped forward, and took the seat opposite his father.

"Hello, Draco," Lucius said.

Draco stared at him. "So," he said. "You slipped up."

Lucius snorted inelegantly. "Yes, I suppose I did."

"You'll be going back to Azkaban, won't you?"

Lucius grimaced. "Yes."

Draco ignored the tightening in his stomach and said casually, "It's not so bad without the Dementors. I had a right nice little cell while I was there."

Lucius fixed him with a derisive look for this sarcasm. Draco clenched a fist beneath the table, where his father couldn't see. He wanted to hug his father. He wanted to tell him he was sorry, that he never wanted him to get caught. But that was not their way. Lucius would not thank him for any of that.

Instead, he said, "Why did you do it, Dad? You'd probably still be free if you hadn't sent that owl to the Aurors. Why?"

"I should think that answer obvious," Lucius said with a raised eyebrow. "Your aunt and the other Death Eaters were going to kill your son. I didn't think I, a single person, would be able to stop them. I considered sending you the owl, but I didn't think you alone would stand much of a chance, either." He grimaced again. "I suppose I should have known you would be cooperating with the Aurors. As that is your propensity these days."

Draco ignored this little jibe. "I don't suppose you cared that Bellatrix would have killed Ginny, too."

"No, I did not care," Lucius said indifferently, and Draco believed him. But after a pause, Lucius added, "If that would have caused you any pain, however, then yes, I would have…regretted it."

A muscle tightened in Draco's jaw. Changing the subject—he did not want to talk about Ginny—he said, "But how did you know where they were?"

"Blaise Zabini told me."

"What—Blaise told you?" Draco blinked. "You spoke with him?"

Lucius nodded, an ironic gleam in his grey eyes. "Quid pro quo. He wanted information, and so did I."

Draco frowned. He had not been sure what to think about Blaise the past couple of weeks. By all accounts, the Death Eaters had not killed him when they took him from the manor because he had willingly joined them and worked with them. Yet Draco had seen him protecting Ginny and Will with his own eyes—he had even killed Bellatrix. Of course, he had likely done that for his own vengenace. "What information did he want?"

His father didn't answer right away. Lucius eyed him appraisingly. Then, with a small sigh, he said, "When we captured Blaise Zabini for the second time—back when we were staying at the Riddle House—he was tortured for information. When that proved ineffective, he was administered a poison."

"A poison?" Draco echoed.

Lucius nodded. "A very rare poison, which works very slowly. There is no cure for it. However, if the victim of the poison takes an antidote every forty-eight hours, then he can prolong his life. Blaise did not believe there was no cure. He had been looking for one ever since he escaped me. He wanted me to tell him what the cure was."

Draco shook his head. "But you said there wasn't one?"

"Yes," Lucius said heavily. "And I told him that. I also told him the full truth about the poison—that the antidote he was taking would not work forever. That it would, eventually, prove ineffective, and that he would succumb to the poison."

Draco stared at him. "You mean he's going to die?"

Lucius nodded.

"How long?"

"He has a year at most," his father said. "I told him so. He didn't want to believe it, of course, but he gave me the Death Eaters' location anyway."

Draco didn't respond. He didn't know what to say. But for the first time—for the first time, really, since Blaise had come to him for help, and told him his story—Draco felt sorry for him. "No wonder he hated me so much," he said numbly.

"Indeed," Lucius said.

"He escaped," Draco said. He scowled. "Took my wand with him. I had to get a new one." He paused, his thoughts moving onto other matters. A part of him didn't want to breach this subject—didn't want to ask at all. But he couldn't leave here without hearing the truth. "And what about Ginny?" he asked. He could heard the hard note in his voice. "The Dark Mark? She has it—she says you put it on her. But that's not possible, and—"

"It isn't a real Dark Mark," Lucius cut in.

"It's—what?" Draco stared. "What do you mean, it's not real?"

"It's a similar marking," Lucius said coolly, "but it's not the true Mark. Only the Dark Lord could administer a true Dark Mark. That mark that she has was created to inflict pain. It also isn't connected to other Death Eaters' Marks."

"But it was connected to Blaise's mark," Draco said. He fought to keep his voice calm and controlled, but he was angry. "Wasn't it?"

Lucius nodded. "That mark was put on her with the hope of using her to control Blaise. So the two marks were connected."

Draco shook his head. "Ginny said you only put the mark on her to stall for time." His voice was shaking with the effort to remain calm. "At the Riddle House."

If his father felt sorry at all for what he had done to Ginny, he didn't show it. He merely looked at Draco and said, "I had an ulterior motive. You shouldn't be surprised by that."

Draco sat back in his chair and remained silent, not trusting himself to respond right away. He bit his tongue and reminded himself that his father was going to prison, likely for the rest of his life. He didn't want to fight with him now. He took a deep, shuddering breath. After a moment, he said, "Ginny was arrested for having that mark. She could have gone to prison—"

"It would never have gone that far, I'm sure," Lucius said dryly. "As it was, Matthias Murray told me what happened. Your old friend Gregory Goyle exonerated your wife."

"What?" Draco's head snapped up in shock. "Goyle…what? What are you talking about?"

"Goyle was there with me, that night at the Riddle House," Lucius said. "He was there when we marked the Weasley girl. He knew what had happened. Goyle has always worked for me, you see. Unfortunately, he was arrested that night, at the Riddle House. He broke out of Azkaban two weeks ago with the others, and was once again arrested when the Aurors turned up. Apparently, when he heard that your wife was being held, he offered information on how she'd received the mark. In return, his sentence has been shortened. He'll be out in two years." Lucius fixed him with a stern look. "Perhaps, when he is, you should thank him."

Draco shook his head. He felt stunned. "But Goyle—he came to the manor once, with Higgs, threatening me—"

"I made sure he was the one to accompany Higgs that day," Lucius said. "So that you or your son wouldn't be harmed."

Draco swallowed. Apparently, he had more friends among the Death Eaters than he'd realized.

"I did want to apologize," Lucius said then.

"Apologize?"

"I was mistaken in Lillian Moon," Lucius said. "And I do apologize, Draco, because I really did believe that your son would be safer with her."

"Yeah, well, so did I," Draco muttered. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. The apology from his father—a rare, unexpected thing—jolted him, as though reminding him how little time he had here, and how rarely he would get to see his father after this, after he was sent to Azkaban. The thought created a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Ginny told me you went to visit Mum at the hospital once," Draco said suddenly. "Have you been since?"

Lucius closed his eyes briefly. "I paid her a visit just before the Death Eaters broke out," he said quietly. He opened his eyes, and sent Draco a swift look. "Have you ever visited her?"

Draco swallowed and shook his head.

An odd look flashed through his father's eyes. "And yet your wife has. And your son."

"What?" Draco said sharply. "What're you talking about?"

"That's where I ran into her, that night at the hospital," Lucius said dryly. "In your mother's ward. She didn't say that she was there to see your mother, but I found it odd that she'd turned up there. I questioned the Healer in residence there before I wiped her memory. Apparently, your wife had visited your mother twice before. Both times with your son." Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps next time, you should go with them."

Draco's jaw tightened. The horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified. "I would," he said, his voice strained, "except that Ginny and I don't actually speak anymore."

Lucius looked at him dispassionately. "Am I supposed to be upset about this?"

Draco scowled. He knew very well that his father didn't care at all about Ginny and his relationship with her. But now that he was here, sitting with him, he couldn't keep his feelings to himself. Potter's words from earlier that day haunted him, and there was an awful feeling inside of him, clawing to get out. "She was angry after I let Lillian Moon take Will," he muttered, "and now—" He broke off, falling silent.

Now, so much had happened between them. So much that was his fault. That's what Potter hadn't understood earlier. That's what Draco couldn't say.

Lucius eyed him silently for a few moments. When he spoke, he sounded as though he were choosing his words carefully. "I won't pretend that I would not be…relieved…to hear that your relationship with the Weasley girl is coming to an end. But—" His father paused, and there was a dark look in his grey eyes, a weary, troubled look. "But I can say—after losing your mother—that it is an awful thing to spend your life alone, Draco." He sighed. "Sometimes I think that is why I grew so careless. Because being free, without your mother—well, it is no freedom at all."

Draco stared at him. He knew, of course, that his father loved his mother—very much so—but he never spoke about his feelings like this. He would have seen that as a weakness.

That horrible monster clawing through Draco reared its head again, and Draco recognized it for what it was—his guilt. Ever-present, all-consuming. Familiar, but terrible.

"But what if I deserve to be alone?" Draco whispered.

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Don't be melodramatic, Draco."

"I mean it!" Draco insisted. "I—Dad, I—" He swallowed, unsure how to go on. "I…I've done horrible things, Dad. I don't mean Will, or Ginny…I…" He shut his eyes. "I let those Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and they killed people, hurt people. I tried to kill Dumbledore—I nearly killed two other people doing it, people who were just kids, like me—"

"If you hadn't done any of that, the Dark Lord would have killed you," Lucius said sharply.

"It doesn't matter!" Draco burst out. "Don't you get it? Like that makes it okay? It doesn't, it never could! Ron Weasley and Katie Bell were just kids! What if someone got Will killed by their own stupidity, their own carelessness! What if someone let killers and torturers into his school?"

For a moment, Lucius stared at Draco as though he had grown a second head. As though he were speaking a language that Lucius didn't understand. For Draco's own part, he could scarcely believe that these words were coming from his mouth. He was breathing heavily, as though he'd just run a very long way. And it didn't make him feel any better to say it all. He had thought that it might, but the guilt remained, unaffected, unbroken.

Lucius sighed. "Draco," he said calmly, "do you believe that I deserve to be alone? That I deserve this? To have your mother taken away from me, so cruelly, as she was?"

"What—no," Draco said, shocked by this. "Don't be stupid. Of course not."

"Well, I have done far worse things than you," Lucius said bluntly. "For worse reasons. And without any of this…remorse you have."

Draco snorted incredulously. "You have no remorse? At all?" Somehow, he didn't believe that. "And I suppose you think I'm—stupid, or weak, to feel guilty—"

"No," Lucius interrupted. "If you feel guilty or remorseful for things you've done, well, that is your business. But that doesn't mean you have to spend your life punishing yourself for it. That is stupid. That is weak." Lucius fixed him with a very direct look, and Draco found he could not look away. "I destroyed my life in a quest for power, Draco. Do not destroy yours in a quest for self-destruction."

It was Saturday night. Ginny sat in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, having a late dinner with Harry, Ron, Tracey, and Adrian. Melanie had already been put to bed.

"So, Ginny," Tracey said. She spoke in a would-be casual tone, though Ginny recognized the tension in her voice. "Is Will coming over tomorrow again?"

Before Ginny could answer, Harry said, "No. He's not."

All eyes at the table turned to him in surprise. Ginny stared at him. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

Harry did not look at Ginny. He was buttering what Ginny thought must have been his fourth slice of bread. "He's not coming over," Harry said calmly, "because you can't stay here any longer. I'm kicking you out."

"You what?" Ron spluttered, nearly falling off his chair.

Ginny gaped at him. "You can't do that! This is Order headquarters!"

"Actually, it's my house," Harry corrected her. "So, yes, I can kick you out. Oh, and I've already spoken to Bill, Fred and George, and your parents, and they said you can't stay with them either."

"Harry," Ron said, sounding half-amazed, half-outraged, "what are you on about?"

But Ginny thought she knew. She glared at Harry. "You didn't really speak with them."

"Sure I did."

A sliver of panic sparked through Ginny. "You didn't really, did you?" she asked desperately.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, not really." He looked at Ginny now, and his gaze was serious. "But, Gin, this is getting ridiculous. You should go home."

"Are you actually advocating that she go back to Malfoy?" Ron demanded furiously.

"Ron," Tracey said crossly "shut up."

"Don't tell me to shut up, Trace, you shut up!"

"Weasley," Adrian said calmly, "don't talk to my girlfriend like that, or I'm going to have to hex you."

"I'd like to see you try, you two-faced turncoat!"

Ginny ignored them all, her eyes fixed on Harry. He was also ignoring the others, as he looked at Ginny expectantly.

"Harry," she said quietly, "I can't go home."

"Look, forget Malfoy," Harry said. "Talk to him or don't, that's your choice. But don't you think, after what Will has been through, that all this back-and-forth is awfully unfair to him?"

Ginny scowled. "Now you're playing dirty."

"No, I'm being honest." Harry stood from the table. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go check on Mel."

Ginny watched him go, still scowling. As Adrian and Ron continued to trade insults, she stood from the table, gathering dirty dishes to take to the sink. Tracey followed suit, leaving the men behind.

"You know he's right," Tracey said, "don't you?"

"Oh, shut up," Ginny muttered.

But the fact was, Ginny did know that he was right. The first week that she had been here, at Grimmauld Place, she had been so miserable that she absolutely could not consider going back to the townhouse to face Draco. The things he'd said to her echoed in her mind, and every time she recalled them, she wanted to run off to her room and hide.

"Ginny, you're supposed to worry me about these things, about anything! That's what I'm here for! I'm your husband."

"I thought we were past all this. But you haven't trusted me with anything, have you? You don't tell me anything, all because you don't think it matters, because you don't think you need to tell me. Because I'm not worth the trouble of confiding in."

But, as the days went on, Ginny found herself growing tired of her own behavior. She was not a hider, she didn't hide from anything, least of all Draco Malfoy. She hadn't let him avoid her before, had she? She'd broken through his stony silences before, and coaxed him into coming back to her, into letting her in. It was different this time—because this time, Draco was angry at her. And he had reason to be—she understood that.

But she also understood that this couldn't go on. Not like this. They had to try to work things out again. For Will, if nothing else.

She flinched, hearing his last words echo in her mind.

"I don't care. Come home or don't. It doesn't matter to me."

And as much as it hurt to hear that—as much as it still hurt—Ginny squared her shoulders. "Well," she muttered, "he said he didn't care if I came back."

She didn't tell anyone she was leaving.

Draco sighed, shoving aside another empty box, kicking it towards the open door. There was a good pile of boxes stacking up in the corridor outside, as he unpacked Will's stuff—things he'd had packed away, when Will first left with Lillian Moon a year and a half ago. Of course, Will had been back for two weeks now, and most of his things from Lillian Moon's were already unpacked—the house-elves had seen to that. But when they'd asked Draco about unpacking the rest of Will's things—the things he'd kept, the things they'd boxed up and stored over a year ago—Draco told them to leave it. He told them he would do it himself.

Two weeks later, and he was only just getting to it. He sat in a dimly-lit room just down the hallway from Will's bedroom, slowly going through each box. The room had grown cold in the late night hours; his nose was numb with the chill. But he wanted to finish this.

He didn't really know why he wanted to do it himself, anyway. The house-elves had boxed it all up in the first place, on his orders. It was house-elves' work, for Merlin's sake.

But for some reason, he wanted to do it himself. Go through it himself.

He remembered how horrified Ginny had been, when she'd come into Will's room and seen all his stuff gone. How angry she had been. Do you want this? she'd asked him then, with tears in her voice. Like he was never here, like he doesn't even exist—

Draco hadn't wanted it at all, of course. But it would be too painful, he thought, to come into Will's room everyday, the room that had been Will's, and see all his stuff laid out. Ginny had been right, in a way. It sounded harsh, to say that he wanted to pretend Will didn't exist, and that wasn't quite right—but it was something close to that. Will hadn't been their's anymore, back then. Draco didn't see any point in pretending otherwise.

Maybe that was why he wanted to do this now, for himself. Maybe that was why he wanted to be the one to unpack Will's things. Before, packing up everything had been a way for Draco to force himself to adjust to life without Will. He needed to unpack everything now, to really see it all—to know that Will was back.

And maybe to convince himself that it was all okay.

His jaw tightened a little as he reached for another box. It wasn't all okay—it wasn't all the same. Will was back, but it wasn't like their lives had just gone back to the way it had been before Will left. Because Will was back—but Ginny was gone.

He forced that thought away as he opened the box, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. He'd sort of lost track of time, sitting here in the near-dark, but he knew it must be late. He'd put Will to bed some time ago, and not even Tasher had been up to check on him in the past hour. Still, he wanted to get this done. There weren't too many boxes left.

This latest box was mostly full of things that Will had outgrown, or wouldn't need anymore—clothes that were too small, a few toys he probably wouldn't have much interest in, now that he was older. Draco pulled out a couple of books near the bottom—the Muggle books one of the Weasleys had given him for his first birthday. They were baby books, and Muggle books, which was likely why they had not gone with Will to Lillian's. Draco set them aside with the old toys and reached down for the last thing in the box.

It was a small, blue blanket. Draco recognized it immediately. It was one of the first blankets Will had had as a baby; Pansy had bought it for him, he thought. It had been Will's favorite as a toddler, and even as he got older and the blanket lost its softness, he had been unwilling to part with it. Draco wondered why it hadn't been packed to go to Lillian's, too. He wondered if Will had missed it.

Draco sat back slowly, clenching his fingers around the blanket. He closed his eyes. He knew it was over now; he knew that Will was back and it was all right. But he hated the thought of Will being all alone with that women, and without his blue blanket. Had he missed it, had he cried for it? He was a stoic little child; even if he had missed it, he probably hadn't made a fuss. For some reason, that thought only made Draco feel worse.

Draco had believed he was doing the right thing, at the time. Letting Will go, letting him go with his grandmother. It seemed so stupid now. How could he have believed that Will would be safer with that woman, that he would be better off? He hadn't been, in the end. Will had been kidnapped, again, and he'd lost a year with his real parents, too. A fresh surge of guilt rose through Draco, and he felt sick with it.

He tried to push it away, but he didn't know how. He remembered what his father had said, not to let the guilt destroy his life. But how could he manage that? He never used to feel so guilty about everything. He used to know how to block things away. But that seemed so long ago now, and he'd forgotten how to do it. Or maybe he didn't want to anymore, not really.

He thought of all the things he'd done—swearing service to the Dark Lord, trying to kill Dumbledore, letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Putting Will in so much danger, making wrong choice after wrong choice for his son. He thought of Ginny, all the lies, all the secrets he'd kept from her. Taking Will from her. Everything he'd done to her. It felt wretched to admit it, but Potter was right. In the end, anything she'd done was nothing compared to the things he'd done.

How did he manage that? How did he live with that?

He rose to his feet suddenly. It was all too much. The pain in his chest was unbearable, and he didn't know how to get rid of it. He left the dark room behind and trailed down the corridor, the blue baby blanket still clutched in his hand. He didn't know what he was doing, or where he was going, until he was in Will's room.

His son lay asleep in his small bed, a blanket patterned with Snitches and Bludgers and Quaffles pulled up over him, to his chin. His face was turned towards Draco, peaceful and innocent in sleep. He looked perfectly content. Draco swallowed and stepped inside, but he stopped short of Will's bedside. Will was here now, safe and secure and happy. There was no point wallowing in things long done, he knew that.

So why couldn't he get rid of this pain inside him?

"Draco?"

Draco spun around in shock. There should have been no one else in the house except for the house-elves. Only there was someone else, here, now, standing in the doorway.

It was Ginny.

She stood uncertainly there, the dim light of the corridor outlining her silhouette. She wore a pair of brown boots over her faded jeans, and a simple blouse with tiny flowers stitched into it. Her bright red hair looked dark in the shadows, and Draco couldn't entirely read her expression.

"What are you doing here?" he asked hoarsely. He didn't know why his voice sounded so strange.

Ginny stepped forward. Her eyes darted in Will's direction before coming back to him. "You said I could come home—that is, you said it didn't matter if I did." Her voice was pitched low, but there was a defiant look in her eyes. But then she took another step forward, and the defiance melted into concern and confusion. "Draco, are you all right? What are you doing?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing?" Draco snapped. His voice still sounded weird. "Can't I even look in on my own son if I—"

"Draco." Ginny took another step forward, bringing herself within inches of him. She tilted her head as she reached up. Before Draco could stop her, she lay her fingers against his cheek. They were cold, just like his nose. "Draco, you're crying."

Draco flinched, stepping back out of her reach. He was not crying. That was ridiculous. But when he reached his own hand up and felt his face, his cheek was wet. He blinked slowly, feeling the wetness on his lashes, too.

He was crying. He hadn't even realized it.

"What's it to you?" he mumbled, quickly wiping the tears from his face.

"I—" Ginny paused, going quiet for a moment. Draco refused to look at her, so he had no idea what she was thinking. "That's Will's blanket," she said finally.

Draco looked down, realizing he still had the blue blanket in his hand. "I was bringing it to him," he said, which was not entirely true. He turned his back on Ginny and crossed the room. Carefully, he tucked the blanket into the bed, beside his sleeping son. Will didn't even stir. Draco straightened and stood still, watching his son, watching the steady rise and fall of his little chest. He stood there for several long moments.

Tears returned to his eyes before he could stop them. He didn't even know where they were coming from. Hastily, he wiped them away. Damn it, what was wrong with him?

"Draco," Ginny said softly. Draco started; she'd come right up behind him, and he hadn't even heard her. "Draco, he's fine."

"I know he is," Draco shot back in a whisper. He wiped at his eyes again.

"Come on," Ginny said, taking his arm and giving it a gentle tug. "Let him sleep."

Grudgingly, Draco allowed her to lead him out of Will's room. As soon as she had, he wrenched away from her and stalked down the corridor, back towards the room with all of the boxes.

"Draco," Ginny said, following after him.

"I said you could come home," Draco said crossly, working his way past the pile of empty boxes and back into the dark storage room. "I didn't say I had to talk to you."

"That's too bad," Ginny said, coming into the room behind him, "because you're going to, anyway. Or at least, you're going to listen to me talk to you."

Wearily, Draco turned to face her. A part of him was so tired of this. So tired of pushing her away, so tired of being angry with her. Another part of him was still unwilling to let his defenses down, but he was becoming increasingly afraid that they wouldn't hold much longer anyway. He felt raw, jittery, unstable.

"Fine," Draco said shakily. He sank back onto a pile of boxes, too exhausted to stand any longer. "Talk."

But Ginny didn't talk, not right away. If she was uncertain or afraid at all, she didn't look it. She only looked thoughtful, as though trying to decide what to say. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the Mark."

Draco shrugged bitterly. "You said that before."

Ginny pursed her lips. "I know," she said, a touch of annoyance in her voice. "But I didn't tell you why I kept it from you. You asked, if you'll remember," she added. "Several times. But I didn't give you an answer." She took a deep breath. "I didn't really know why. But…I do now."

Draco crossed his arms. "And?"

"I was afraid," Ginny said simply.

Draco flinched. That was exactly what Potter had said, as Draco recalled. It's not that Ginny doesn't trust you. It's that she's afraid of you. She's afraid to lose you. Pushing his annoyance aside that Potter may have been right, Draco said, "Afraid of what?"

Ginny stepped forward, until she stood a few feet from him. "I was afraid that if I told you, you'd—" She broke off, shaking her head. "I was afraid of what you'd…think. I was afraid you'd be angry," she said softly. "Like you are now. I was afraid of pushing you away."

"Did it ever occur to you," Draco said, frustration edging his voice, "that I wouldn't have been angry, if you'd just told me in the first place? When it first happened, after we got out of the Riddle House?"

"No," Ginny said, "it didn't."

"Why the bloody hell not?" Draco demanded. "It's not like it was your fault, Ginny. Why should I have been angry about it? You agreed to it because you had to. You did what you had to. Don't you see that?"

Ginny raised her hands in a vague, helpless gesture. "You make it sound so simple now."

"It is. It should have been."

"Draco," Ginny said wryly. She looked up, meeting his eyes. "This may come as a shock to you, but I'm not the most trusting person in the world."

"No, really?" Draco said dryly. "I know you don't trust me, Ginny. That's not news."

"No, you've got it wrong." Ginny took another step forward. Her dark eyes were bright and fierce, as though she were determined to make him understand. "You've got it all wrong. It's not just you, Draco. If I've been afraid to trust you, it's not because of anything you've done. I don't trust anyone easily. I never have." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Not since I was a child, anyway."

"We all trust more easily when we're children," Draco pointed out.

"No, this is different." She crossed her arms over her chest, hunching in on herself, and she evaded his gaze. "I used to be more trusting. I used to be too trusting. Until your dad slipped me that diary when I was eleven, and I spent the year spilling my whole heart out to Voldemort."

Draco flinched, not just for the name, but for the mention of his father. He knew about the diary incident, of course, but Ginny had never, ever mentioned it to him. She'd never spoken of it, not once.

"And don't go feeling guilty about it," she said quickly, and it was like she'd read his mind, "because it wasn't your doing, and that's not why I'm bringing it up. I'm just trying to explain…. Draco, I poured my heart and soul out to that diary, and I nearly died because of it. Other people nearly died, and Voldemort could have come back a full two years earlier than he did because of it. I made the hugest mistake, trusting where I did. Can't you see why it's so hard for me to trust anyone now?"

Draco swallowed. "Especially anyone ever affiliated with the Dark Lord."

"Stop it!" Ginny snapped. She stepped forward, quickly closing the distance between them, and took him by the shoulders. The folds of his silk shirt crinkled between her fingers. "Stop making this about you! It's not, that's what I'm trying to tell you! Draco, I'm sorry I lied to you, I'm sorry I kept things from you, but—I'm not perfect. That's what I'm trying to say. If I've mistrusted you, Draco, it's only because I was afraid of losing you—not because of anything you've done. Can't you see that?"

Draco made a small noise of disbelief. "You've never mistrusted me for anything I've done?" he scoffed.

"Not since before I knew you," Ginny insisted. "Since I really knew you. Draco, look at me." She shook him a little, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry. I've tried to explain, and there's nothing else I can say." She swallowed visibly. "Can you forgive me?"

The vulnerability in her eyes was too much. Draco tried to summon his anger, to push back at her, but he was all burnt out. The walls he'd built up against her crumbled like dried-up clay. He opened his mouth to say something hurtful, to tell her no, he could not forgive her. But what he said instead was, "How can you possibly be asking me to forgive you when I'm the one who needs forgiving?"

Ginny looked surprised, but she couldn't have been more surprised than Draco himself was. No, not surprised. Shocked. Shocked that those words had come out of his mouth, shocked to realize that that was where all his anger had gone.

"Forgiving for what?" Ginny asked softly.

Draco's gaze slid away from her. The single light in the room cast a dim glow over her face, and he could not bear the sympathy in her eyes. "For everything," he said hoarsely. To his horror, he felt a familiar stinging in his eyes, tears welling up again. "For lying to you. For taking Will from you. For what I did back in school, nearly killing your brother and letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts—"

"Draco," Ginny said, her voice shocked and concerned. Her hands tightened around his shoulders, her grip almost bruising.

"Ginny, I don't know how you trust me at all," Draco said miserably. "I don't know—I don't know how to do this," he finished helplessly. "I don't know how to live like this."

Ginny didn't say anything right away. One of her hands slipped up his neck to his face. "Draco, please look at me." In spite of her please, her words sounded more like a command, and as though he'd been put under the Imperius Curse, Draco looked at her reluctantly.

"I do trust you. I love you," she said firmly. It almost hurt to hear her say it, but she held his gaze, and Draco could see the truth of her words in her brown eyes. "And I forgive you—for anything that you've done. I know it all, don't I? No more secrets?"

"No," Draco whispered. "No more secrets."

"And none for me, either," Ginny said. "Draco, I know everything you've done, and I forgive you. The only thing left to do is for you to forgive yourself."

Draco shuddered. "I don't know how."

"It may not be easy," Ginny said simply. "I can tell you all sorts of reasonable things, that it wasn't all your fault, that you were young, that we all make mistakes, that you thought you were doing the right thing. I don't know if any of that will help." She slid her hand down from his face, curling her fingers around the back of his neck. "But I do know that pushing away the people that love you—pushing me away—isn't going to help at all. I did that to my own family, when I was hurting, and it only made things worse." Her fingers tickled the hair at the nape of his neck. "So please, please don't push me away. Punishing yourself—it's not worth it."

Draco closed his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath. His father had said nearly the same thing, but it was different, hearing it from Ginny. It meant something different from her. He couldn't just let go of his guilt, not all at once. But in that moment, in the circle of Ginny's arms, he let go of something. All the grief he'd put himself through, everything he'd built up to keep her out—he let it all go. He'd carried it around for so long that it felt like a piece of him falling away, but the shocking void it left was immediately filled with something else.

With Ginny. With her love, and her trust, for him.