Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

For those of you whom care to know, the song that she's listening to at the end is of course—"The Ice Is Getting Thinner," –Death Cab For Cutie.

.*.*.

"You were afraid what was going to happen?" I raised my brows, satisfied with the way my headache was fading to slow ebbs here and there.

"I don't know much," she hurriedly explained, keeping her voice low, "A few years ago, children began questioning the way that society carried itself out. Children grew rebellious to the dark lord—having never seen him in power since their infancy, and they went soft. Dating mudblood lovers, and turning into that themselves. We had to keep our children grounded, so parents began implementing methods to sway their decisions." She said this lightly, as if it were no big deal, "Some were successful, and some weren't. I can't give you a firsthand account of the situation, seeing as Draco was still a child when this happened.

"Your mother and father started this campaign with Emma the day that she came home and told them she wanted to marry the Weasley boy," She sighed, "I don't know why they'd do that with you."

I thought about it for a moment, "I'm not in love with a muggle, or a mudblood, or any kind of impure union. She has no reason to interfere with anything."

"I know," She answered, "I can't think of a reason why they'd do this. And maybe they aren't."

I saw the tea cup in my hand, and then it all clicked, "No." I put the tea cup on the counter. She'd been spiking my tea with love potion, or something, "I don't know why they're doing it but I know my mother. She has to be in control."

"You don't know that for sure. Maybe you should talk to Emma about all of this?"

I sighed, "I haven't even heard from Emma in…" I tried to mentally calculate it all. "Since I left for Grand Mummy's—she had just turned seventeen. So, it's been six years. I don't even know where she is."

"She and I aren't as close as we used to be, I'm sorry that I can't give you any more information." She apologetically responded, "We need to get upstairs, though. Time is slowing down."

I wanted to ask her what had happened to make them 'not as close as they used to be.' It just seemed as if that was happening to everyone. I had been away for six—nearly seven years, and everything was different. It was almost as if it were a completely different world.

I didn't pry any further, I could tell by her ending resolution that the conversation was over.

I needed to think about what all this information meant. I couldn't ask Bella, she wasn't around for that spurt of rebelliousness, either.

I walked upstairs, barely noticing that Draco was in the room and sat down at the chair before the mirror. What had I done to make Mum so suspicious of my ability to properly make decisions for myself?

I had never expressed interest in any boy—well, except for Draco.

Why would Draco be a threat to my future? That's the part that didn't make sense.

The part that I couldn't figure out.

I looked up, into the mirror to view my awkward appearance. Sections of my hair were wrapped in hair potion, and metallic material. And I saw Draco. He stared at me curiously, his hair cut a little different, and not slicked back from his face. He didn't look too drastically different, but then again he hadn't been deemed classic storybook evil.

When I met his eyes, I felt different than I had about him all day. I was still confused, but (thanks to the tea) my head didn't hurt when I pondered why I was so confused.

I wanted to say that it was because I was falling in love with him (Oh, the hilarity!) but that couldn't be it.

I was with another man, who made me happy enough to keep me from alternatives.

So, instead I just decided it was because I wasn't annoyed at him. It wasn't his fault that we were going to be stuck together for the next two weeks. And somehow, just somehow we'd make it work out.

.*.*.

When I got home, I was sporting caramel colored highlights and a more tanned complexion. I somehow found myself adjusting well to both. I had color in my face, my hair had some warmth to it. While I'd admit this made me look perilously closer to Granger, I still thought that this change would be bearable.

"Merlin's beard! What on earth did you do to yourself?" My mother asked, bombarding me as soon as I entered the foyer. She stood with a perfectly manicured hand on her hip, gazing at me incredulously.

"I needed to blend in better. The wizards in the area I'm going to be in, need to trust me. If I look evil, and they know that I'm british—they'll figure things out. It's the only way to guarantee that we'll get the job done correctly, mother."

'"I still don't like the idea of this. Especially since you're going alone—wait a minute. You just said, 'we'? Whom are you going with?"

"Draco." I responded easily.

"Draco?" She looked horrified, "Draco Malfoy?" She sat down on the sofa in our foyer, "You have been assigned a mission in which you're being accompanied by Draco Malfoy?"

"I really don't understand why you had to repeat that to yourself three times. But yes, mother, I am accompanying Draco Malfoy on this task for the dark lord." I replied flatly.

"That is going to make me worry for you." She looked sad.

"Mother, don't be ridiculous. Draco and I aren't going to do anything." The expression on her face slid from one of sorrow to one of shock, and offense. Apparently, she hadn't even thought about the fact that we were going to spend to lonely weeks by ourselves.

"That's not was I was concerned about. The dark lord is still upset with Lucius for falling to obtain a powerful weapon a year ago—he was defeated by Harry Potter. Draco recently just fulfilled a mission by the dark lord—to kill Albus Dumbledore." I froze, unsure of how I was feeling. I didn't know any of that—and Pureblood wizards gossip. I'd only been home for about three weeks, but I still would have believed I would have heard something like that.

On one hand, it didn't faze me whatsoever that Draco had killed someone. We were in the middle of a war. Casualties were something that was unavoidable. For someone I know to be at the hands of that, was just one person down we had to fight against.

On the other hand, I wanted to cry. Draco had taken someone's life. Someone who deserved every chance they got at that life. To experience things—even though Albus Dumbledore had been through his fair share of experience. It wasn't Draco's place to take that away from him.

And for the first time in my life, the second hand felt heavier than my first.

"Any mission that the Dark Lord sends Draco on—is going to be difficult." My Mother darkly responded, "And it will most certainly be life threatening."

"We're just recruiting, Mother. You are being entirely too histrionic." I responded. Running a hand absentmindedly through my hair, "The worst thing that could possibly happen is Draco deciding to subject me to the torture of his hair products."

"Don't make this light hearted. I have every reason to worry." She hissed.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her, "You don't have a single reason to worry," I was growing tired of this conversation, "But, it's late—and I have a big day ahead of myself tomorrow."

"I'm glad to see that you're starting to take your relationship with Marcus seriously, dear." She responded, gazing at me fondly.

"What? What about Marcus? I was referring to the packing, and preparation to leave early Wednesday morning." I replied honestly.

"You're having brunch with him tomorrow the ivy!" She looked at me with a perplexed expression, "And here I thought you were excited for once. But, go to bed—I'll send up a house elf with some tea to help relax you."

"Fine," I huffed, like so often today, I was aggravated. And I didn't care. I wanted to go upstairs, crawl into my bed, and do something soothing—in this case, it was drinking tea.

Upon entering my room, I tossed my bags into my closet and quickly changed into pajamas. I felt sweet relief as my feet came out of my shoes, kissing the soft carpet beneath me. I was tired, emotionally and physically that I wanted to just lay down there and not get up again. No matter how tempting that was, I knew that my bed was that much more comfortable. I dissolved into the mattress, wondering about things I had pushed from the depths of my mind all day.

How were Draco and I going to survive alone in America? Not because Americans are necessarily vicious, but because we literally couldn't handle being in the same room together. I sighed, putting on some music with the flick of my wand. I relaxed into the low, opening strums of one of my favorite melancholy songs.

It made me want to cry for Draco. How does one go on after killing an innocent person? I still wasn't sure whether to feel sorry for him, or whether I was terrified of what he'd done.

I didn't have to think about it for that much longer, soon a house elf entered, interrupting my thoughts as he (or she?) held a cup of tea out in front of himself (or herself?)

I took the cup without thinking, drinking it absentmindedly until I remembered my suspicions. With shock, and horror I then realized that I had finished the cup.

And that's when I really started to cry.

. * . *.

I woke the next morning not when I wanted to—but when I received a wake up call from one of those blundering idiot house elves. I snapped at it for several minutes before getting out of bed and beginning to get ready for, "Mister Flint!"

I left my hair down—somehow finding the change pleasing to see. I used my wand to make the curls perfect, and voluptuous. I kept my makeup natural—light and dewy in ways that I never usually allowed. I highlighted my cheeks with bronzer and a bit of blush, and swept a gold colored shadow over my lids. I finished the look with a light pink lip gloss.

When I was shuffling through my closet, I picked something that was hanging in the back of my closet—the tags still attached. It was a white, knee length dress with a sweet heart neckline and a crossing empire waist. I had always turned it away because it was white—it looked too innocent to accurately match my image. I had always intended to alter its color, but never had found the desire to do so.

Today, it felt perfect. I didn't feel like dressing in dark colors—knowing that it would look to harsh compared to my changed appearance.

I searched through my jewelry box, looking for something that wasn't storybook evil.

I found a pair of canary diamond earrings that I had received as a gift, and used to wear in France quite fondly—there was a simple bracelet that matched them. I eagerly put them on—finding a pair of shoes that I found acceptable for the outfit, and headed to meet the "Mister Flint," the house elves had alerted me was waiting in my foyer fifteen minutes ago.

I walked down the stairs slowly, resisting the urge to giggle—I felt like I was wearing a costume.

"You look different," He greeted me with, "But not in a bad way."

He offered me his hand, and I greedily took it. I nearly melted at his touch. I wish he hadn't noticed, but he did.

He probably took that, and the way that I sunk into his side in the car as encouragement to say what he did to me over brunch.

"We need to talk, darling." He began.

"Whatever about?" I asked sweetly.

"Draco," He answered honestly, "I trust you, but I don't trust him. And you're going to be alone with him for two weeks." He finished as if that said it all.

"Yes?"

"Well, I'm almost positive that he's going to…well, You know."

"I know?" I played dumb so well, "I know what, Marcus?"

"That he'll try something most unbecoming." He admitted, his cheeks reddening.

"Oh, so you automatically assume that my virtue is in danger because I'm spending two weeks overseas with Draco Malfoy?" I questioned flatly.

"Yes, that's precisely it." He nodded, finally looking up at me, "I care a lot for you. And when you return, I plan on continuing to lead our relationship down towards the path of engagement. I'm ready to take this seriously. And I think you are too."

I sighed—he took that as a good sign. But it wasn't.

It was a sigh of distress for the life I had to look forward to after living a lie for two weeks in America.

And that's when I realized I wasn't fawning over Flint. I was doing exactly the opposite, actually. Even if occasionally I was stimulated or affected by his touch or his smile (I still couldn't get over the change there—no more buck teeth for egg headed Flint)!

"Do you agree to that?"

I swallowed hard, "If I didn't, well, I'd hardly be sitting here."