A/N: I know it's been ages since I updated. I just want to reassure everyone that I have a plan for this story, and will not be abandoning it, although my updates might be a bit slow.

Two days later, Ginny was standing in her bedroom, pulling out her wedding dress to examine it before the wedding—as though seeing the garment would somehow bring her to terms with the fact that she was marrying a stranger in less than two weeks.

It didn't.

What it did make her realize was that the dress was the exact same color as her intended's eyes. Subconsciously, she had gravitated toward it, just as she had gravitated toward the man himself.

Although their families had always been enemies in her time, there was something about this Draco that made her trust him inherently. But she shouldn't. Not according to Marie.

And Marie had brought it up twice more just in the last thirty-odd hours since she had been back from Draco's. It was as though Marie were trying to get Ginny to call off the wedding.

And really, why shouldn't she? Her parents were dead; no one could force her to marry him. Her stomach did a flip-flop at that thought, thinking of the inhuman man stylizing himself as some sort of monarch on a throne. But why would Voldemort care if she married Draco? Was it really a given?

She couldn't ask Pansy. They were good friends, apparently, but the weekend had made it clear where the witch's loyalties stood. Just as in her time, they were firmly with the blond wizard who had been haunting her thoughts.

And Marie—it seemed she would answer. She didn't want Ginny and Draco together any more than Ginny did. Ginny stumbled as she had this thought process—part of her balked at the idea of calling off the proposal, not out of obligation, but almost because she wanted to get married to him? Was she completely insane?

Ginny shook it off, attributing the alien feeling to the sense of comfort and routine the other her had established with the man. But it wasn't hers. She couldn't just step in and take over. That much was obvious.

The next week went by quickly. Ginny gave in to letting her roommate walk with her everywhere, largely because Goyle's stares had not diminished; in fact, they had intensified tenfold. He even went so far as to start passing her notes during class demanding a private audience. She ignored the first four. On the fifth, she simply responded that she was focused on her fiancée.

His looks were getting increasingly pathetic throughout the week, and she was glad for Friday to come. Ginny told herself that was the only reason she was glad for Friday to come.

Draco was draped on his bed—their bed—when she came in, whiskey in one hand and healing textbook in the other.

He glanced between her and the book for a few moments, obviously torn between greeting her and finishing what he was reading. After he presumably came to a good stopping point, he looked up fully with a slightly sheepish expression. "Hi Gin. I didn't expect you so soon."

His comment made her blush furiously as she realized that she had perhaps eaten her dinner a bit quickly before rushing over.

"It's just that I wanted to come talk with you. The wedding is coming up and I'm nervous I suppose."

The light expression was replaced by a wary one as Draco nodded. "I know it's hard."

"What?" Ginny questioned as she sat on the edge of the bed.

He scooted closer to her before tucking her hair behind her ear. She normally hated it there, but the gesture was strangely sweet. "Getting married. I know you don't—" His voice broke.

"I know neither of us feel the way we should," Ginny admitted, hoping he would explain how they had gotten into this mess in the first place.

He nodded, but was clearly hurt by her words. "Yes. But we'll figure it out. I promised you we would, and I meant it."

"I hope you're not marrying me just because of a promise."

Draco looked at her as though she had grown a second head before reaching out to stroke the underside of her jaw.

"I just wish that my mom could be there, you know?" Her voice broke slightly, and she chastised herself for being so vulnerable. But she closed up even more when she saw the flash of guilt cross Draco's face as he shifted uncomfortably on the way to grabbing her hands in his.

Did he have something to do with their death?

"I'm really sorry, Gin." Generic apology or it's-my-fault apology?

"I know," she said in a very quiet voice, not sure of what else to say.

"I didn't—I didn't know that it was them."

Ginny couldn't hold back her gasp, trying to reclaim the air that had been knocked out of her by Draco's unknowing admission.

Her reaction didn't seem to affect Draco, though, who had his head in his hands, tugging slightly at his now-unruly hair.

Ginny felt herself panicking, spiraling—she focused on trying to regulate her breathing. In, out, in, out, in out.

"I know you don't like to talk about it. I'm sorry. It's just—you brought it up—Merlin, nevermind. I'm sorry, Gin." He lifted his head slightly to speak but didn't face her.

She tried to keep her crying silent, unable to ask the questions burning in the forefront of her mind. Did he kill them? Did he give them to Voldemort? How could we have caused their death by following orders if he truly didn't know it was them?

Ginny didn't sleep well that night. She had too much to drink, which Draco didn't dare mention, and then passed out, hoping that she would not dream.

She woke up Monday morning hungover and alone, quickly closing the curtains to keep some of the daylight out. "Dobby?" She called gingerly. "Could I get some breakfast?"

"Dobby will get Miss breakfast," Dobby responded begrudgingly before disappearing.

Ginny ate slowly, pondering what to do for the remainder of the day. Perhaps it would be best to just head back to the castle, but she didn't want to upset Draco. Not when they were already on such thin ice and especially not when she wanted to ask him more questions. Last night, she had been frozen when she heard the information, but now, in the light of day, she felt confident she could effectively interrogate her future husband. Ultimately, she decided to read a book about Dark Magic on Draco's shelf while she waited (there was little else in the way of options, other than books about healing that were over her head).

Draco tumbled out of the fireplace minutes later, and when she glanced up at him she felt like she recognized her old classmate for the first time. He was wearing black wizarding robes instead of the uniform she often saw him in, and his eyes were wild. His smirk that he always wore was not playful today—it was dangerous, more of a sneer, really.

"Ginevra." And he never called her that. "Dark Magic and Its Uses. How fitting." Ginny raised her eyebrows at Draco seemingly criticizing her reading choice which she found on his shelf.

"Draco, what are you so upset about?"

He threw a piece of parchment at her that had been stained with tears. Ginny slowly unfolded it—it said "she's mine" in unfamiliar handwriting.

"What is this, Draco?"

"Don't tell me you don't recognize the handwriting. I suppose writing never was Goyle's strong suit."

"Draco, I—"

"Don't. We weren't together, not really. You're free to do as you wish, but I can't protect you anymore. Goyle is determined to tell anyone—and I mean anyone." Ginny involuntarily swallowed as it was clear who "anyone" was—Voldemort.

"And what is it?"

"Don't play dumb, Ginevra. It won't work on me anymore. It's a memory."

"Draco—"

"Get out."

"Draco, where were you this morning?"

"I won't repeat myself. I'll have Dobby drop off your things."

Ginny bit her lip, pushing back tears that were threatening to form. From the look of the parchment and Draco's slightly red eyes, he had already cried. "I'm not interested in Goyle."

"Gin, I won't listen to this."

"It's Ginny!" She shouted without thinking, just frustrated.

"Okay, so now you go by something else." Draco pushed his hair back. "I don't care."

"Draco—"

He turned around to face her, grabbing her strongly by the shoulders. "I felt so guilty last night. And I'm done. You told me to take the mission. You told me not to ask questions. I am tired of taking the blame when you pushed me to—to—" He didn't seem able to continue, just as Ginny couldn't hold back the tears. It was her fault?

He looked so haunted that she wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she pushed the feeling down with the memory that regardless of what she had done, Draco had done something too. He was part of the reason she was an orphan.

"Draco, I—"

"Stop, Gin. Just stop," His anger had dissipated slightly, replaced by his own guilt that he was clearly not as done with as he would like to be. "Goyle had his review last week." Draco's expression told her this carried some great weight.

Ginny returned his knowing look with a blank one.

"He's been given permission to marry."

And suddenly everything—or at least a lot of things—clicked in Ginny's head. This was why she hadn't been marrying Goyle in the first place. And this must be related to the promise Draco made—presumably not everyone could marry if permission were required. And this was why Goyle had been demanding to speak with her, why he had sent the note, and why he might tell Voldemort about their trysts. He wanted to marry her.

"Why send you the memory, then?" Ginny guessed that only a disturbing memory could inspire the level of anger she saw in her counterpart—her previous fiancée.

"I don't know." But Draco wouldn't meet her eye. "Please leave."

Unsure of what else to do, she wiped away her tears and flooed back to Hogwarts. Oddly, the Manor had begun to feel more like home than the castle.