restitution in absentia

by Aradia Ravenswood

When Voldemort captures Sybill Trelawney after the Death Eaters' disastrous raid on the Department of Mysteries, he alters the course of the war forever. Some say the power of prophecy is in the belief of those who hear it, but Draco Malfoy has always been a believer in fate. Slow burn Draco/Ginny.

41. Chapter 41

JULY 31st, 1997

Draco leaned against a tree, watching his companions struggle with the Imperius Curse. None of them had ever tried to cast it before, and they were learning firsthand that the strength of one's will mattered quite a bit as the caster, not only if you were trying to resist it, as they had learned in their fourth year. Luckily for him, Dolohov had let him test out of this exercise as long as he could successfully Imperius Greyback, which had been stunningly easy. Kathleen had been a harder target, although Draco thought that that might have been due to the sheer magnitude of what he had been commanding her to do. Making Greyback dance the ballet had been hilarious, but no matter how much he didn't want to be embarrassed in front of new recruits, it couldn't compare to the anguish Kathleen had felt at having to betray her best friend day after day for months.

He hoped she was doing alright- he had let the Imperius go as he had promised, and he didn't regret it, but doing so meant he had lost any way to keep tabs on her. She had survived the attack on Hogwarts, and shouldn't have been in any sort of danger after that, but Draco felt oddly responsible for her anyway. He had dragged her into this mess, as Blaise had put it, and he thought he had gotten her out of it, but if anything happened to her, Draco knew he would feel personally responsible.

Keeping his thoughts on Kathleen meant his thoughts weren't on Jane. That was good. No room to think about Jane. The Muggle woman. The blonde. Calling her by her name probably wasn't doing him any favors.

But he couldn't help it.

He refocused his attention on the scene in front of him. Nott was having the hardest time with the Imperius out of the group, which surprised Draco. He would say Nott was the most intelligent out of the group by a landslide, though Selwyn was no idiot; he had assumed that intelligence would be roughly correlated with strength of will when it came to these kinds of spells, but maybe he was mistaken. That seemed off too, though... all throughout school, Nott had had no problem marching to the beat of his own drum, ignoring the social pressures to conform. That took strength of will, didn't it?

"Malfoy, partner up with Nott," Dolohov said. "Show him what he's doing wrong."

Draco pushed off the tree and walked up to Nott, who was glowering at him. Draco waited for Dolohov to walk away to another pair before speaking.

"What's with you? I'm sure you can do this."

"Nothing," Nott said in a tight voice. "I just need more practice."

Draco stared at Nott, noting the stiffness of his jaw, the way his eyes seemed focused on nothing.

So I wasn't the only one who had a hard time during the night.

"Give it a try then," he said. "I'm open."

"Imperio."

Draco let the warm and fuzzy feeling of the spell wash over him, but he could tell right away that Nott was holding back.

Run back to the trees, Nott's voice said in his head, but his tone was stiff- not at all inviting. It would be very easy to resist.

But why bother? They needed to get the hell out of here. The sooner they finished here, the sooner they would be done; Dolohov had already said this would be their last exercise. Draco ran toward the trees. He felt Nott's surprise in his mind.

Climb the tree, he said, more certain now. Draco felt the compulsion more strongly. He didn't particularly want to climb the tree, but if he resisted the spell, Dolohov would notice. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed onto a branch and started to climb.

His left arm really didn't like that he was climbing. Reaching over his head like this hurt quite badly. He grimaced and paused his climb.

Keep going.

I don't want to, he said, mostly to see how Nott would react. My arm hurts.

Keep going.

That's what you're doing wrong, he thought in Nott's direction. You have to be convincing. It's not about giving orders.

Nott broke the connection, and Draco climbed back down. He rotated his left arm in its socket, wincing as the muscle tightened. He hoped the injury would heal- what if it was permanent somehow?

"How were you able to talk back to me?" Nott demanded, coming up to him. "No one else did that."

"Oh," Draco said, blinking. "I don't know. I could hear your voice, so I just pushed my thoughts in your direction."

"Is that what Legilimency feels like?"

Draco considered. "Kind of. I never thought of that. I learned them both around the same time- they feel similar to me."

"Well, how did he do?" Dolohov asked, coming up behind Draco and clapping him on the shoulder- his injured shoulder. Draco winced and made himself hold back his temper.

"Much better, sir," he said, willing Nott to go along with it. "I gave him some feedback and he improved."

Nott nodded, looking down.

"Good man," Dolohov said, clapping Draco on the shoulder again.

Is he doing this on purpose? Draco gritted his teeth.

"That's this lot sorted then," Greyback said, striding toward them. "What do you think, Antonin? Time to send them home?"

Dolohov surveyed the group- they all looked exhausted. "I'd say so- the Dark Lord should be pleased with their progress. Should be ready for a real fight, I would think."

Draco's stomach twisted at that thought, and he silently prayed that the Dark Lord still considered him too important to waste on a random battlefield.

"Alright, lads, be prepared for the Dark Lord's summons," Greyback said. "The Ministry should fall any day now, and we'll be ready when it does."

"Yes sir," they chorused.

"Get out of here then," said Dolohov. "Go home." Draco didn't need telling twice. He spun on his heel quickly, focused on Malfoy Manor. He didn't dare return to the Dark Lord's home without an express invitation, and he could only hope that he would be summoned quickly. He needed to see Ginny desperately, but showing up unannounced would likely have the opposite effect of what he was hoping for.

Seeing the manor again was a surprising punch to his gut. He had been so afraid he wouldn't see it again. Mother was inside... waiting for him.

A sob bubbling up in his throat, he stumbled through the gate and hurried up the gravel path. The weight of the last three days had hit him all at once, and he felt like he was drowning in it. Jane's memories looped over and over in his mind, just like that stupid toy train she had shown him...

How was he ever going to move past this? She had barely been older than him, and had done absolutely nothing wrong other than exist where Death Eaters could find her. And now she was dead.

She was a Muggle, he tried to tell himself as he ascended the stairs to the front door. You don't care about Muggles.

He didn't care about Muggles. Not really. He would be happy if he never saw another Muggle as long as he lived. But killing one...

"Draco, darling! I wasn't sure when to expect you home-"

He ran across the entrance hall and embraced his mother so tightly that he could hear her gasp for breath. She recovered quickly and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head to her chest just as she had done in childhood. He deeply inhaled her warm vanilla scent, forcing a dead girl's memories of lavender potpourri out of his nose.

"I killed someone, Mother," he said, his voice muffled against her skin, and promptly broke into great, shaking sobs. Mother stroked his hair, murmuring quiet shushing noises as she held him.

"I love you, my darling," she whispered, her voice achingly soft. "I love you, Draco, I love you, I love you..."

She didn't tell him it would be alright. She didn't tell him he didn't do anything wrong. She didn't try to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

She told him exactly what he needed to hear.

"I love you, Draco, I love you."

When he could breathe again without sobbing, he lifted his head. Mother reached out and gently wiped his cheeks.

"Let's go to the music room," she said softly. "Tilly will bring us pastries, and I'll sing to you."

"Will you... will you stay with me tonight?" he asked, a little embarrassed. "Or I can-"

"Of course," she said. "Whatever you need, always."

"Father will-"

"Father doesn't need to know," she said. "Leave that to me."

Draco nodded. "Okay."

Mother tipped his chin up. "You're always going to be my son, no matter how big you get. You know that, right? I will be here for you always, no matter what."

"I love you, Mother."

She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze before gently pulling him toward the stairs, toward the room where he had spent so much of his childhood. He focused on the memory of his mother's melodies, and tried to put the horn of a toy train out of his mind.

---

JULY 31st, 1997

Harry's seventeenth birthday was a quiet affair. Mrs. Weasley had baked an enormous cake for him in the shape of a giant Snitch, which would have been lovely if not for Scrimgeour's visit yesterday. Lupin and Tonks came by to wish him well and to announce their marriage, which had shocked and delighted Harry in equal measure. They had had a quiet dinner out in the garden, after which Mrs. Weasley had taken him aside to gift him her brother Fabian's old pocket watch, which had brought him to tears beyond any of his other gifts. She really did see him as another son- the mother he had never had and always wanted.

He hoped he wouldn't break her heart any more than he already had.

Mrs. Weasley was not at all on board with the idea of Harry, Ron, and Hermione dropping out of Hogwarts, but he didn't know what she expected them to do. Go to Charms class and wait for Voldemort to break into the building? She had to know that that was even more dangerous than heading out on the run... but perhaps she was particularly sensitive these days about a family member, or someone like one, being out of her reach.

Scrimgeour's words about Ginny echoed in his mind. How could the Ministry not think that she had been kidnapped? Harry didn't care that her broom had been found in Godric's Hollow- she had clearly been coerced into going there for some reason, as Kathleen had told him. But the Ministry wasn't accepting of Kathleen's testimony...

It was as it had always been, he supposed- they couldn't rely on the Ministry for anything. Would he, Ron, and Hermione have any better luck looking for Ginny? He knew he had to look for the Horcruxes, and that would be hard enough, but if they were already going to be looking into Death Eater activities... He didn't know why Ginny had been Malfoy's target, but he knew without a doubt that she was in Voldemort's hands now, wherever that might be. The Order hadn't stopped looking, but Mr. Weasley wouldn't tell Harry in detail what steps they were taking; he seemed to think it would worry him, or else distract him.

"Off to bed with you all now," Mrs. Weasley said, shooing them up the stairs. "You need to be up bright and early tomorrow for the wedding, and woe betide you if I find you still in bed in the morning."

"Good night, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, starting to follow Ron up the stairs.

"Good night, Harry dear," she said, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Sleep well."

He kept his eyes away from the closed door on the first floor landing as he went up the stairs.

To his surprise, Hermione was already in Ron's room when they entered, sitting on his bed like she was waiting for them.

"Bloody hell," Ron said with a start. "I thought you were still down in the kitchen."

"Apparition," she said with a smile. "Your mum's been trying to keep us separated, have you noticed? I think she thinks if she keeps us too busy with things for the wedding, we won't leave."

"That or she just enjoys driving us all barking mad," Ron muttered as he closed the door firmly behind him. "Do you know how many times she made me fold and refold the table linens? Six! They're table linens! Who cares if they're wrinkled?"

"Enough about that now," Hermione said, reaching into her beaded bag and pulling out the book Scrimgeour had given her. "I came up here to talk about Dumbledore's will. I've read this thing cover to cover, twice-"

"No surprises there," Ron said.

"-and I think Dumbledore did leave us a message," she continued as though Ron hadn't spoken.

Harry's heart quickened and he hurried forward. "Really? What message?"

"About the Deathstick. It's completely mad, but tell me if I'm making sense," she said, flipping to the back of the book. Harry sat down next to her and Ron did the same on her other side. "You said Voldemort called Dumbledore's wand the Elder Wand, right Harry?"

"That's what it sounded like," Harry said. "He said he was the master of the Elder Wand, and he had Dumbledore's wand instead of his own. Then he called for Ollivander because he needed an expert on wandlore."

"Which makes sense, if we're looking into pure mythology apparently," Hermione muttered, thumbing through the pages where she had scribbled some notes.

"I never thought I would see the day where you would write in a book," Ron said.

"I didn't want to keep separate notes on it in case something happens when we're on the road. Better to keep it contained. Okay, here it is- The Tale of the Three Brothers."

"That one was always Fred's favorite," Ron said. "I preferred Babbitty Rabbitty."

"Who?" Harry asked, biting back a laugh.

"Oh come on, you've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty-"

"Harry and I grew up with Muggle fairy tales, Ron, not wizarding ones," Hermione said. "I had never heard of Babbitty Rabbitty either. But that's not important. Listen to this."

She recounted the fairy tale to them, describing three wizard brothers who were traveling and set upon by Death- an actual figure called Death.

"So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother," Hermione recounted. She looked up at Harry and Ron, who were staring at each other with wide eyes.

"An elder tree," Harry repeated slowly. "For an Elder Wand. You're saying this is real?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, not the fairy tale part, obviously- that would be ridiculous. But this story dates back centuries. What if it got embellished over time? The wand is real, it's just the circumstances around it that aren't."

Harry's throat was dry. There went all of Hermione's reassurances that there was no such thing as an unbeatable wand. "Does the story say anything else about the wand?" he asked.

"It didn't end well for the first brother," Hermione said, skipping a couple of pages. "The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and how it made him invincible. That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. And so Death took the first brother for his own."

"Not exactly reassuring, Hermione," Harry said. "Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed." His stomach tightened unpleasantly.

"But Harry, don't you see? The first brother was arrogant, just like Voldemort. Maybe this wand is special, maybe it isn't, but the first brother himself wasn't invincible- he died almost immediately after using it."

"So make sure to kill You-Know-Who when he's sleeping, got it," Ron said.

"Or get him drunk first," Harry deadpanned.

"The individual circumstances aren't the point!" Hermione said, looking incensed that they weren't taking this in the same light she was. "The point is not to get discouraged! Just like Dumbledore said in his will- perseverance and skill, right?"

"This seems like a very elaborate way to give me a pep talk from beyond the grave, if that's what you're saying Dumbledore meant," Harry said flatly. "But something doesn't make sense... Voldemort had that wand when we were leaving the Dursleys. And it did fail him."

Hermione nodded. "That must have been why he called Ollivander. By this account, it shouldn't have."

Harry closed his eyes, wracking his brain to remember everything Voldemort had said in his vision. "He called himself the Master of Death. And said only the Master of Death may triumph over the Boy Who Lived. At least one of them still resists me... are there other items in the story?"

"Yeah, the stone and the cloak," Ron said. "Each brother got a gift."

Hermione bit her lip again. "That's the other thing. I don't see how it could be possible, but I can't get this out of my head..." She dug around in her bag and pulled out her parchment, which was practically overflowing with notes at this point. She read over something quickly before grabbing the book again, flipping back a couple of pages. "And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility."

"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" Harry interrupted.

"So he can sneak up on people," said Ron. "Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking..."

"Don't take it so literally," Hermione said. "These are real items, remember?"

"Okay, and...?" Ron asked.

"I know this sounds completely mad," Hermione said, wringing her hands, "but Harry's cloak went missing that night too, didn't it? We couldn't figure out who could have had time to steal it, or who would have known it would be in the Astronomy Tower at all. Just like we couldn't figure out who could have had time to steal Dumbledore's wand."

"Are you saying that Harry's invisibility cloak is Death's invisibility cloak?" Ron asked, mouth agape.

"Death isn't real, Ron," Hermione insisted. "It's a story. But do I think that Harry's cloak might be the same cloak mentioned in this story? Well... like I said, it's completely mad, but-"

"But how else do we explain it disappearing?" Harry said, his heart pounding. "You're brilliant, Hermione. But... why wouldn't Dumbledore have told me that it was this special?"

"Maybe he didn't see any reason to," Ron said. "The cloak belonged to your dad, right? You were always going to be careful with it because of that, and it's not like knowing it belonged to De-" he interrupted himself, casting a furtive glance at Hermione, "-to some old bloke in a story would have made you treat it any differently. Or use it any differently- it's always worked perfectly fine."

"And maybe he didn't think Voldemort would ever be able to get it," Harry said. "Just like with the wand."

Ron nodded. "The story even says that the youngest brother passed the cloak to his son when he was old enough to die- maybe it's been passed down, father to son, ever since, and now it's made its way to you, Harry."

His own cloak... a relic from the distant past? He imagined his father receiving the cloak from his own father, and his heart twisted.

"You said there's a third item? A stone?" he asked, suddenly wanting to change the subject.

"Yes," Hermione said, flipping back one page. "Though this one didn't end well either. Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead."

"Like the Inferi?" Harry interrupted, his vision momentarily filled with the cave and the locket, Dumbledore's sobs echoing in his ears.

"No, not like that," Hermione said, flipping forward a page. "Not their body- their soul, or something like it. Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him. Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her. And so Death took the second brother for his own."

Mention of a veil made him think of Sirius. He had seemed so near and yet so impossibly far the moment he had fallen through it...

"That's the only one we've never seen then, if it's Dumbledore's wand and Harry's cloak," Ron said. "You think it's real too?"

"I think it must be," Hermione said. "If the other two are, I don't see why the stone wouldn't be as well. And..."

"And?" Harry asked.

"What was it Scrimgeour said? A Snitch would be a good place to hide a small object?" she said in a quiet voice. "But it was ripped open somehow, even though it should only have opened at your touch. Whatever was inside, if there was anything inside, was missing, and no one could account for how it could have been stolen or when."

"Just like the wand and the cloak," Ron said in wonder. "Harry, what if Dumbledore meant for you to end up with all three of them? You had the cloak already, he gave you the stone, and... well I don't know how we would have gotten his wand, but maybe somehow we would have!"

"If Voldemort hadn't stolen them first," Harry said. He was sure, in that moment, that Hermione was right- the stone had to have been hidden inside the Snitch, just waiting for him to open it. If he had the stone now... he could talk to Dumbledore again. Talk to his parents, really talk to them, for the very first time in his life. They had given him brief encouragements that night in the graveyard, but to have a full-on conversation with them... Harry could scarcely imagine it.

"Do we... try to steal them back?" Ron asked, looking nervous.

"No," Hermione said vehemently. "That would mean walking right into Voldemort's lair, wherever that is. We have to destroy the Horcruxes before we even think about these... these things."

"The Hallows," Harry said. "That's what he called them." He pulled the ruined Snitch out of his pocket and turned it over in his hand, examining the warped metal. "He kept talking about a prophecy. There must be some remaining task, some missing piece with the Hallows. He has them all already, but they must not be working for him correctly. He couldn't kill me with the wand, but he's not positive that it's the wand that's the issue. At least one of them still resists me."

"Let's hope Ollivander has never heard of the Elder Wand, then," Ron said. "Why would he ask for Borgin?"

"Borgin and Burkes has all kinds of weird old artifacts in it," Harry said. "And Voldemort used to work there, acquiring rare magical items for sale- that's how he found Hufflepuff's cup. He probably thought Borgin would be a good person to consult, since I don't think there's any experts out there on resurrection stones or invisibility cloaks."

"Which brings us to maybe my biggest question," Hermione said. "If this is even all correct, we've accounted for all three Hallows- what they are, who had them before, and where they are now. Voldemort asked for Ollivander, Borgin, and the girl. What could Ginny possibly have to do with these things?"

The three of them were silent for a moment. Harry wracked his brain, trying and failing to come up with an adequate answer.

"Did Ginny like this story too, Ron?" he asked. "Like you said Fred did."

"Not in particular, no," he said, his brow furrowed in thought. "She always preferred The Warlock's Hairy Heart. Don't know why, it's bloody scary."

"Does that story have anything to do with the Hallows?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said with a frown, flipping back to another section. "I'll read it again, but the stories aren't connected."

Harry turned the Snitch over and over in his hands. "What if we are supposed to get the Hallows?" he asked. "I don't know how Ginny is connected either, but Dumbledore apparently did- he had Tonks watching her for months, and Malfoy targeted Ginny for apparently the same reason, we just don't know what it is. But if we had the stone... we could ask Dumbledore what he meant. Ask him for more information on the Horcruxes too."

He did not voice aloud the thought that, quite apart from the stone, he would very much like to have an unbeatable dueling wand in his hand rather than Voldemort's whenever their final confrontation came. And his cloak... just the thought of Voldemort's disgusting hands all over it made his stomach turn. It was his, he needed it back-

"Harry, we can't," Hermione said. "The only reason we even have any chance with the Horcruxes is because Voldemort's hidden them away in different locations, and even then it'll be devilishly tricky. We aren't even sure how to destroy them- Secrets of the Darkest Art didn't say anything about it, only how to create one. The Hallows aren't like that- he's not ever going to put that wand down. We'd have to literally pry it out of his hand."

"Or disarm him," Harry countered.

"Which would mean confronting him head-on, which we definitely don't want to do," Hermione insisted. "Especially before we destroy the Horcruxes. An unbeatable wand in the hands of someone who's effectively immortal? We can't possibly take that on."

"But you just said yourself, we don't know how to destroy them," Harry argued. "But Dumbledore did- he destroyed Marvolo Gaunt's ring."

"We know basilisk venom worked on the diary-" Ron started.

"And where the bloody hell do you suppose we're going to get that?" Harry said, losing patience. "We can't go back to Hogwarts, if the thing's corpse is even still down there."

"I don't know-"

"But Dumbledore did!" Harry stood up. "Dumbledore did, and he didn't have time to tell me before Snape murdered him. But if we had the stone..."

If he had the stone, Harry wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't have to try to figure everything out just by blindly guessing.

"It wasn't good for the second brother to use the stone, Harry," Hermione said gently. "The woman he hoped to marry didn't really come back. That's what all of Beedle's stories have in common- some moral about not messing with the fundamental laws of magic. Remember what Adalbert Waffling said in Magical Theory, all the way back in our first year?"

"I think you're the only one who remembers that," Ron said.

Hermione huffed. "Tamper with the deepest mysteries- the source of life, the essence of self- only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind. There's a reason the Department of Mysteries keeps all those rooms locked up tight. Messing with life and death is incredibly dangerous."

"Gee, I wonder what it would be like to do something incredibly dangerous," Harry muttered, but some of the fight had gone out of him. He plopped back onto Ron's bed. "Okay. So we find the Horcruxes, destroy them somehow, then confront Voldemort and the Hallows. And rescue Ginny somewhere along the way."

"Piece of cake," Ron said faintly. "We'll be home by Christmas."

Not knowing what else to say, they got ready for bed in contemplative silence, and Harry's mind went back to the stone again and again. Dumbledore had left him a means to speak with the dead in his will. He had to have meant for Harry to use it to talk to him... right?

---

JULY 31st, 1997

Time passed terribly slowly when she was by herself. The room tried its best to help, but it couldn't replace actual human contact. Ginny was bored, and being bored felt dangerous- like her mind could drift to places she really didn't want it to.

Memories of Rookwood were stronger here than at Malfoy Manor, no matter how hard she tried to push them away. Pain after agonizing pain, unceasing in its intensity, no hope to get out, no hope for it to end, none-

"Stop," she said, and dug her fingers into her forearm. "It's old."

It didn't feel old, when the memories came to the forefront of her mind. Her body remembered it, vividly. Even now, her nerves were on fire-

She stood up from the couch, her heart pounding. Sitting here and doing nothing wasn't helping anything.

"Room, show me a sunset," she said. "With a garden outside."

The room complied. It created a window looking out on a sea of flowers, with a deep red sun sinking below the horizon. It even managed to manufacture light from the "sun" on the floor- a very convincing display.

Would she ever get to go outside again? Or would she just be trapped in here forever, pretending?

"Not helpful, Ginny," she muttered before pacing a bit. It was early afternoon now, and there had been no sign of Voldemort. That was good… right? She didn't want to interact with him, especially not in a room with no doors and no windows. But him not being here meant that she didn't know what he was doing, which was dangerous. If he was in here talking to her, that meant he wasn't out chasing Harry, or murdering Order members, or torturing Muggles, or-

"Stop," she repeated. "Enough." She willed her mind to go blank, but of course it didn't. Her nightmare on the throne flooded her brain so intensely that she momentarily lost sight of her surroundings, making her gasp. She blinked rapidly to clear it away, and slowly, stubbornly, it subsided.

It had to have a magical origin. It had to. Her thoughts didn't work like this, and it had only started once she had slept here for the first time. Was the room doing this to her? Maybe all of its giving in to her wants was nothing more than a ruse for its true purpose. But what purpose was that? Tormenting her?

As though determined to prove that it was not, in fact, trying to torment her, the room conjured her painting supplies and plopped them right in front of her. She hadn't painted since that night in the library with Zabini- ruined before she could even finish it.

Could she try again?

She looked out the "window" at the setting sun and thought of Alys. She had to have been absolutely terrified… had she gotten away from Malfoy Manor? She had to have…

Her mind flashed on the painting she had seen in the front hall. Guinevere's Plight. She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing the colors of it, the shape of the tower, the way the light had glinted on the dragon's scales… Had the painting survived the fire? Ginny wasn't sure. But she was sure she remembered the painting.

"Okay, you win, room," she said. "I'll paint."

The room conjured a stool for her in front of the easel, and she sat down and began to prepare her palette.

"I suppose the good thing about painting in here is that you could make literally any color of paint I want," Ginny mused. She began to prepare the canvas, her mind on fairy tales.

As with the last time she had painted something, she soon lost herself in the joy of creation, in the satisfaction of getting a detail exactly right. It was like her surroundings faded away, and there was only the canvas in front of her.

It was sunset in the painting too- rich pinks and purples and oranges colored the sky, and the first twinkling of stars could be seen in the twilight. Distant snow-capped mountains formed the outline of a valley which gave way to rolling hills in the foreground, on top of which stood a tall stone tower. There were no doors on it, and only one window at the very top. Here Ginny painted Guinevere, looking out at the land surrounding her. Ginny gave her red hair and a pretty navy-colored dress. She couldn't quite nail down her expression. She had only seen the painting for a few seconds, not long enough to really examine the finer details. Surely Guinevere looked sad- she was trapped in a tower, for Merlin's sake. But no matter how Ginny adjusted her technique, Guinevere here looked… thoughtful. Stoic, but not unhappy.

She thought back to Draco's strange reaction to her reading about princesses and towers. He had said the same thing, hadn't he?

Who wins?

The dragon.

Ginny's princess dream flashed in her mind, the way dream-Tom had bragged about beheading a silver dragon and mounting its head on the wall- her mind's way of translating her fears for Draco's safety. Her hand shook a bit as she gripped her paintbrush. Where was Draco now? When was he coming back?

Guinevere's Plight had had a green dragon in it, but Ginny chose to paint an Antipodean Opaleye instead. Its iridescent silver scales reflected the many colors of the setting sun, and it wrapped its lithe body elegantly around the tower, its head level with the window.

Charlie had always loved dragons. He had had a huge book full of information about the different species, including illustrations, and he had often read it to Ginny when he was home from school. Antipodean Opaleyes, she remembered, were loyal creatures, and less dangerous than other dragons. They rarely attacked unless they were hungry, and were known to keep to themselves up in the mountains of New Zealand and Australia.

Death Eater Malfoy was like an Antipodean Opaleye, she thought. Still incredibly dangerous, still a dragon, but when compared to the alternatives…

She glanced at the clock when she was finished and was amazed to have found that nearly six hours had passed. Her stomach rumbled, cuing that it was time for dinner.

"Room, can you clean my hands?" she asked, looking down at the paint splatters. In an instant, they were gone.

"Thanks," she said, standing up. "You were right, I did want to paint." She walked toward what she had taken to calling the dining table, where a plate of food appeared for her, but paused when she caught sight of the vanity. There was a box sitting on it which had not been there before she started painting.

"Are you giving me surprise gifts now, room?" Ginny asked with a laugh as she walked toward the vanity. It did look like a gift box- white, with a light blue ribbon tied around it in an elaborate bow. She glanced at her reflection, surrounded by mini-Ginny's dancing along to the Weird Sisters, before pulling on the ribbon to open the box.

Her stomach dropped. Inside the box, resting on a little cream and gold pillow, was a tiara. It wasn't the same tiara from her dream; this one was gold, with emeralds and diamonds rising up from it in spikes, and quite a large emerald at the front of the base. There was a sheet of thick white cardstock inside, folded in half. She reached in the box with a shaking hand and picked it up.

In an elegant, looping script that she was horribly familiar with, the card read: For the beginning of an era.

Her mind flashed on her dream. Oh, and Ginny? If I give you a gift in real life, I suggest you take it.

He hadn't visited her since that dream. How did he know? Or was it a coincidence somehow? Could he read her thoughts even if he wasn't in the same room?

Ginny covered her face with her hands.

Draco doesn't like it when you close your eyes, but I don't mind it, Ginny. You can't escape what's inside your own head.

"No, no, no…" she murmured. How could she protect herself if even her own thoughts weren't safe? She couldn't hide anywhere, couldn't have even one shred of self tucked away-

A rustle of parchment drew her attention, and she took her hands away from her face. The list of names had appeared on the vanity next to the box. Molly Weasley's name glinted in the light.

If I give you a gift in real life, I suggest you take it.

She made herself take a deep breath before putting the card down on the vanity and picking the tiara up with both hands.

It didn't feel like the tiara in her dream either. It wasn't heavy, it wasn't laced with magic, at least none that she could detect. It felt like an ordinary piece of metal.

What if Voldemort was watching right now, somehow? What would "taking" the gift mean?

Trying it on, I suppose.

But what if the tiara made her forget everything, like she had in her princess dream? How would she ever get back to herself?

She looked down at the list of names again, her eyes lingering on each individual person as she recalled their face, their voice, their laugh. They would guide her back, if it came to that. They would have to.

She took another deep breath before turning the tiara around and setting it atop her head.

Nothing happened. The tiara did not grow heavier. Ginny still felt like herself. There was no tingle of magic, nothing. She frowned and glanced at her reflection. The tiara was beautiful- just the right size for her face, and light enough that she knew she would forget she was wearing it after a little while.

Was that… it?

She looked around the room, but nothing seemed amiss.

"Thank you," she said for good measure, in case Voldemort was listening. He had said he wanted proactive compliance, and this was about as close to that as Ginny was going to be able to get.

She wasn't going to eat dinner or go to bed with it on, though. She took it off and set it back on its pillow in the box, at which point the box disappeared, leaving the pillow and the tiara sitting on the vanity.

She frowned as she turned away from it, sure that she was missing something. She observed her own thoughts as she ate, looking for any signs that something was off, but she still felt perfectly normal, or as normal as she had felt the whole time she had been here.

Voldemort didn't do things by accident. She pondered the card as she took a bath and prepared for bed. For the beginning of an era. He wanted her to "play her role"- maybe that's all this was? Part of the role?

She was still suspicious as she laid down and stared up at the gauzy canopy. She couldn't let her guard down here, even mentally.

Even while she slept.

…

She was eating dinner, again, but she was somewhere else. This table was wooden, with thick striations in the grain. She had never seen it before. She looked down at the porcelain plate, confused for a moment. Hadn't she already eaten dinner?

"In waking reality, yes. But we were interrupted before we got here last time."

She looked up with a start and saw Tom sitting next to her. He was dressed in the same elegant black robes he had worn in her princess dream. He was wearing a crown in this one, though- a golden crown inlaid with emeralds. He smirked at her.

"I remember you still," she said.

He nodded before taking a bite of potatoes- the first time she had ever seen him eat anything. "Yes, I think that was a mistake, before. You're too strong-willed for that. But we'll try for a do-over."

She looked down at herself and found that she was wearing the same gown she had been before- cream laced with golden sparkles that caught the light with every movement. The snake locket rested against her chest, and her heart started beating faster.

"Don't take it off," Tom warned, glancing at her before taking another bite of food. "You promised me that you would obey, remember?"

"But it-"

"-isn't hurting right now," he finished for her. "You have no reason to take it off."

She gripped the edge of the table, willing her heartbeat to even out. It wasn't hurting right now, he was right about that. This was a dream, which meant it wasn't forever. It would end.

"Not for a good while yet, if you can manage to behave, but yes, it will eventually end."

"Why are you doing this?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Why are you dreaming this, you mean? I don't know, your subconscious must have some unfinished business here. You can't get this throne out of your mind, can you?"

She looked around and realized that she was indeed sitting on a throne. She and Tom were up on a dais, looking out over a great hall where many indistinct figures dined.

"I don't want to be here," she blurted.

"Some part of you does, apparently," he said, unconcerned.

That wasn't true. A lie, a lie…

"Believe what you want, I suppose. It doesn't change anything." He continued to eat, and Ginny looked around the room, looking for an escape. The space kind of looked like the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The ceiling held dozens of floating candles against the backdrop of the night sky, and the dais where she sat took the place of the professors' table. The room was stone, like Hogwarts was.

"Is this the same dream then?" she asked, willing herself to stay calm. Maybe if she just got more information, she could try to get out.

"Sped up in time just a bit, but yes," he said. "You and I danced for the crowd, at which point I escorted you to dinner, and here we are."

"No walk in the gardens," she said faintly.

"You did seem upset by the idea last time, so no, no walk in the gardens. Maybe later."

"You didn't have a crown last time," she said, glancing at him and then quickly looking away, but not before he smirked at her.

"The kingdom was so grateful that I rescued you, they offered it to me," he said. "And who was I to say no?"

"You didn't rescue me. You trapped me here."

"Not here, I didn't. You're thinking of the waking world."

"The real world."

He shrugged. "Like I told you in your vault, this is real right now. Taste the food, see for yourself."

She didn't reach for her fork, and suddenly her left arm burned intensely enough that she gasped. She looked down to see the tattoo appear on her skin, wrapping her arm in black vines.

"So stubborn," Tom said softly. "I'm giving you something nice, and you won't let yourself accept it. Too bad- I thought our little agreement meant more to you."

"What?" she said, whipping her head toward him. "That's in the waking world, not here."

"You agreed in the dream too," he said, unconcerned. "On the tower, before I showed you your family. But I suppose you've changed your mind-"

She picked up her fork, eyes stinging with unshed tears, and took a bite of meat- venison, maybe. Her arm stopped burning at once.

"Very good, little saint. Does that taste imaginary to you?"

It didn't- she could taste the richness of the meat, feel the juices of it in her mouth as she bit down.

"No."

"No what?"

She took a deep breath. This would end. It wasn't forever. "No, my lord."

"Good. Then eat."

She ate, even though she wasn't hungry, but this was a dream world- it had no effect on her stomach. Soon, her plate was empty, and Tom waved his wand to vanish it.

"I knew this was a dream right away this time," she said.

"Yes, as I already said, making you forget yourself was a mistake."

That was an interesting way to say it. Making her forget. The dream making her forget?

"I would have figured it out anyway."

"What makes you say that?"

"You would never have another throne next to yours." She turned to look at him, taking in the serpents carved into the sides of his throne. It was identical to the one in the waking world.

He laughed sharply. "I suppose you're right. But I thought you wouldn't appreciate me making you eat on the floor. We'll allow it just this once."

He waved his wand again and the table vanished.

"Play your role now," he said quietly, and before she could respond, the older man from her previous dream stepped toward the dais. His monocle glinted in the candlelight, as did his military badges.

He bowed deeply before saying, "We hold this feast in your honor, Princess Ginevra, and for your gallant rescuer, who has ensured your safe return to us at last. Our noble houses have prepared a tribute for you, which they would like to present now."

Ginny froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond, before she felt the dream prompting her. "I gladly accept your tribute. Please, bring it forward."

The man bowed again and walked away toward the doors at the far end of the hall.

"See how easy this can be if you just follow along?" Tom said quietly. He was smiling at her- something that should have been handsome but wasn't. "You don't even have to think."

That made her think of Umbridge, for some reason. Hadn't Hermione said something like that, that the Ministry didn't want them to think?

"You know that's not what I meant," Tom said, a little cross now. "In due time, when you have your magic back, I'd actually like to teach you. Severus said you showed aptitude for cursework. You could be quite the powerful witch, under my tutelage."

She felt nauseous at the thought of Voldemort making her learn Dark magic. "When will that be?" she asked, her throat dry.

"A couple hundred years, maybe. Once all your loved ones have passed on, and I'm sure that you're loyal."

"A couple HUNDRED years?" she exclaimed, but she was cut short by the doors of the hall opening again. She grimaced and made herself face forward. She could feel Tom's satisfaction from here.

Tribute, as it turned out, meant a lot of gold. Literal barrels full of it, chests laden with gems and coins of every imaginable kind. Guards carried it in and piled it at the base of the dais, dumping it out in an obscene display of wealth. Not terribly unlike the way it had been piled around the throne in what Voldemort called the vault; she was just higher up this time.

"What use do you have for gold?" Ginny asked flatly as yet another chest was dumped at their feet.

"It's not for me, it's for you," he said. "Weren't you listening? Tribute in honor of your return. They give their precious things as a sign of their appreciation for their ruler."

Ginny's mouth was thin. Sometimes he seemed to be speaking of the real world, and others he doubled down on this fake one. "I'm not anyone's ruler."

"You're wearing a crown. Aren't those for rulers?"

She reached up and felt the points of the tiara- the same one as in the waking world, she was sure of it.

"Is it magical?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"The tiara. The real one. Is it magical?"

"Do you think it's magical?"

"I don't think so. But it must be."

"Why is that?"

"You're trying to trick me somehow. Get the fourth Hallow to yield to you, or whatever. You don't do anything without a purpose."

Tom said nothing, merely conjured a wine goblet and took a drink.

"You can't just mean to lock me in a room forever," she said once it became apparent that he wasn't going to speak. "That can't be your goal."

"How quickly you jump from a few days to forever," he said with a cruel laugh. "I do have other things to attend to out in the world, you know. I can't entertain you all the time. Oh, but this might be entertaining. Look."

He gestured with his goblet toward the far doors, where two men had entered. One of them was quite large and wore clothes that looked far more common than the noblemen's around her. His face was smudged with black.

"A smith," Tom said. "A master craftsman, despite his humble appearance. I had this piece specially commissioned."

The other man was carrying quite a large chest, his arms straining from the weight. They approached the dais and, upon reaching it, the man dropped the chest with a great clatter. They both bowed.

"In honor of your stunning victory, and for returning our princess safe and sound," the man said, sounding slightly out of breath. The smith flipped open the chest and pulled out a piece of armor, but it didn't look like any metal Ginny had ever seen. It was white- no, silver- but it reflected a rainbow of colors, almost like-

"Armor forged from the scales of the Antipodean Opaleye, fit for our brave new lord," the smith said, and Ginny clapped her hands over her mouth.

"You saw my painting," she whispered.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Tom said. "This is your dream, remember? Your brain supplies the details."

Ginny shook her head, unable to tear her eyes away from the dragon's scales. Tom stood up.

"I thank you for this fine gift," he said smoothly. "I will wear it with honor." He levitated off of the dais down to the ground and approached the man holding the armor.

"Stay away from it!" Ginny shrieked. He couldn't touch it, he couldn't...

Around them, the featureless crowd, which had been quietly chatting until now, stopped speaking. Everyone was staring at them.

Tom stopped and looked back at her, amused. "Why, Your Highness? The dragon can't harm us now. I took care of that already, don't you remember?"

"Keep your disgusting hands off of it."

Concerned murmuring raced through the crowd, and Tom's practiced smile grew tight. His eyes were cold as he said, "Worry not. The princess is confused- a side effect of the dragon's curse. You're safe now, Your Highness. Look behind you."

Ginny turned in her seat to look at the wall behind her, and screamed. Mounted above the thrones was the head of an Antipodean Opaleye, its grey eyes cold and unseeing.

She woke up screaming, and glowing. The room was dark, but Ginny was barely present in the room. The beheaded dragon filled her vision. That wasn't a dragon, that was Draco-

The wall beside her rippled and Voldemort walked in the room, making her scream louder. The glow around her body grew brighter, casting streaks of light out into the room around her.

"Why are you screaming?" he demanded. "It's the middle of the night."

"I... I..." Ginny stuttered, and the light stuttered with her, fading in and out. "I had a nightmare."

It wasn't real. Just a dream. The real Voldemort was right in front of her, irritated that she was screaming in the middle of the night. She vaguely wondered if that meant that he did, in fact, sleep. Did she wake him up?

There were no dragons here, dead or alive. Not real.

"Sorry," she murmured, and the light subsided. The room was dark, except for her Arnold plush, which glowed a faint purple. Feeling a little silly but not altogether caring at this point, she picked up the plush and held it to her face, inhaling Draco's scent.

"I sometimes forget how young you are," Voldemort said quietly; she could see that he was watching her by the dim light of the plush. "You're still a child."

Ginny said nothing, wishing he would leave.

"Go back to sleep," he said. "You have nothing to fear in this room. Rest now."

She said nothing as he left, and once the ripples in the wall subsided, she burst into tears for all the people she desperately missed, Draco among them.

---

AUGUST 1st, 1997

It took her a while to go back to sleep, long enough that she didn't wake up again until mid-morning. She laid in bed for a while, unsure of what to do. What would be safe to do. Her thoughts weren't safe. Engaging with the room, even over something innocuous, wasn't safe. Just existing wasn't safe at this point.

Maybe thinking about Alys was safe. Voldemort couldn't hear those thoughts. But thinking about Alys made her think about Lord Malfoy, which made her think about Draco, which made her heart squeeze so badly that she momentarily lost her breath.

It was his absence that had made it sink in- first the threat of it, and then losing him for real. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, there was good in Draco Malfoy, and she had seen it firsthand at Malfoy Manor. She cared for him; there was no use denying it to herself, no matter what awful things he had done to her or anyone else. What was it that Mum had said when she was a child? Sometimes feelings didn't make sense?

This was certainly one of those times, but the strength of the feeling was so intense that she couldn't possibly rationalize it away. He had been her enemy, and now he was... well, she didn't know what he was. He was still loyal to Voldemort. That certainly qualified as enemy material. She didn't know how to reconcile that with the cool, soft ocean waves he had sent into her mind after Voldemort's Legilimency. They felt so much like him, like the essence of him; his piney soap reminded her of him, but the ocean was him, deep down. Deep and dark and chaotic, but full of life and possibility and hidden wonders, too. Rhythmic and familiar, once you learned to pay attention, with the promise of better days on the horizon.

"Room, show me the ocean."

The room complied, and her "window" became a porthole looking out on a vast sea. Brightly colored coral caught her eye as fish of every shape and size swam by, and in the distance, she could see the great hulking body of a whale diving down into the deeper ocean. She let her gaze, and her mind, drift for a while, following the path of the different fish as they swam around. It was peaceful, and wonderfully devoid of threat.

But of course it couldn't last.

Around noon, Voldemort burst into the room. He was clearly elated; his monstrous face was set in a wide grin and he swept into the space in what Ginny could only describe as triumph.

"Today's the day, little saint," he said, turning to face her. He frowned a bit. "What are you still doing in bed? Get up!"

She sat up cautiously. "Today's the day for what?"

His frown disappeared. "Today's the day the Ministry falls," he said, his voice oozing satisfaction. "By nightfall, Scrimgeour will be dead, and the Ministry will be mine. And you know what that means- no more special protections for your dear Harry Potter."

Nausea rolled over her. This couldn't be allowed to happen, but she couldn't stop it.

"Of course you can't stop it, don't be ridiculous," he snapped, turning away from her and striding toward the vanity. "I see you got my little gift. It seems I gave it just in time- our new era begins today, Ginny Weasley." He picked up the tiara, examining the way the light refracted off of the various diamonds and emeralds. "You'll wear this tonight. There's to be a grand celebration- take this time to prepare yourself, I'll be back for you in a few hours. There is much to be done before then."

He put the tiara back down on its pillow and started to turn away, but the pictures Ginny had tucked into the vanity mirror caught his eye. She wanted to run to the vanity and snatch them away, but she remained in bed, her fists tightly gripping the comforter. He picked one up and watched mini-Ginny strike a silly pose and stick her tongue out for the camera. He scoffed.

"Still a child," he said, echoing his words from last night. "But I have a feeling with the way the world is going to change, you'll grow up rather quickly."

Ginny didn't want to know what he meant by that.

He dropped the photo carelessly onto the vanity and turned away from it. "Today's your first test of our agreement- play your role, and your family will be safe."

Ginny's throat was dry. "Yes, my lord."

He smiled at her. "Very good. Get up then, and be ready for me when I return."

He left the room, and Ginny covered her face with her hands. The Ministry fallen, and Harry in terrible danger. She had to do something, she couldn't just let this happen...

She needed to gain the second sight, and get back to Alys, regardless of Draco's commands. Was it worth trying to contact Alys again without the second sight? Alys had never exactly been helpful, but Ginny didn't know how much more desperate her situation could get. Draco had commanded her not to, but if there was ever a time to try to get around the tattoo, it was now.

She was going to get a chance to get out of the room today though- a grand celebration sounded like it meant a lot of Death Eaters. Would Draco be there? And if he was there, could she get him alone long enough to get him to release his commands about Alys? He wouldn't want to... but she would have to convince him somehow. If she was going to be trapped in this room, she couldn't be barred from her mission for Alys, she just couldn't. And if that didn't work... well, then she would just have to risk going to the misty place and seeing who showed up. She couldn't contact Alys, but she had to do something. Maybe Ignotus would show up there instead, or something like the wolf-beast. Even the sprites would be better than nothing.

She got out of bed with a renewed sense of purpose. Being trapped in here by herself, even if only for a few days, had really worn on her psyche, but the promise of action, any action at all, that she could take was enough to get her moving again. She hurried to the bathroom to take a bath. She would have to "play her role" well if she wanted any chance of getting Draco alone, quite aside from protecting her family and friends. Appearance was a part of that role, apparently, if she was expected to wear the tiara. Part princess, part saint.

She made herself take her time in the bath, taking care to use extra conditioner on her hair. She hated the room enough that she had spent the absolute bare minimum time bathing over the last few days, but that wouldn't do today. She kept her breathing even by focusing on Alys, and reminding herself that if Alys was in Ginny's position, she would do whatever it took to meet her goal. Ginny wouldn't let fear stop her.

The room conjured a bathrobe for her as she dried off, which Ginny gladly put on. She would bathe in here since she couldn't get around it, but everything else she needed could easily be accomplished in the bedroom instead. She sat down at the vanity and tucked the photo Voldemort had dropped back into its place along the mirror's edge. Her eyes glanced toward the list of names and her jaw tightened, along with her resolve. She needed to make the most of today, whatever today held.

She spent the next couple of hours getting ready, taking her time and making deliberate choices that she thought would play to her "image." She didn't have her wand to style her hair, so she did the best she could with pins the room provided. She put half of it up into a twisted bun and left the rest down, brushing it over and over so that it shone in the light. She applied makeup for the second time since her arrival- more conservatively than she had done for her pretend Weird Sisters concert, but with a touch of green eyeshadow to match the emeralds in the tiara. Having a feeling that Voldemort would want to show off the power of the gem at one point or another, she applied lotion all over and then a gold sparkling body spray that made her skin shimmer in the light- very reminiscent of the gem's glow.

"Okay room, I need a dress fit for the occasion," she said. "Not... not cream colored. Maybe green."

The wardrobe rustled, the doors folded open, and the room conjured an emerald ballgown, just as Ginny had asked for. It was a similar silhouette as the one in her dreams- very full skirt, embellished bodice, tiny off-the-shoulder sleeves- but the emerald color made it look different enough that Ginny could ignore it. She slipped a pair of plain black knickers on before stepping into the dress, the layers of fabric rustling as she slid it up her form.

"A little help?" she asked the room as she tried and failed to pull the laces on the back tight. The room obliged; she gasped for breath as the dress tightened uncomfortably but then loosened a bit as the room tied off the laces in a bow. Without her having to ask, it conjured a pair of emerald velvet slip-on shoes, which she stepped into easily. She walked back to the vanity and observed her reflection. She didn't look like herself. She looked... like something out of a fairy tale.

Exactly what she was going for.

"Well, I guess there's nothing else left," she muttered, looking at the tiara. Praying again that it was not somehow secretly magical, she picked it up and settled it on her head, tucking the ends of it into her hair so that the tiara framed her bun. It matched the dress exactly. Nothing happened when she put it on.

Not sure what else to do, she sat down at the vanity and looked over the list of names, praying silently to the Morrigan or to whatever gods were listening that her loved ones would stay safe.

Please keep them safe, please let them get away...

She heard the wall ripple around her and she stood up to face Voldemort as he entered. He did a double take when he saw her, and she curtsied.

"My lord," she said, fighting back revulsion. She was doing this with a purpose; she had to hold that front of mind.

"I see you're taking our agreement seriously," he said after a moment.

"I believe you asked for proactive compliance, my lord," she said, channeling a bit of the formality Alys spoke with. "I do take the agreement seriously."

"Good," he said before immediately turning around to the wall again. "Come." The wall rippled for longer this time, and the door reappeared. Ginny fought back the urge to run to it, and instead made herself walk with deliberately measured steps, following Voldemort out of the room.

She was out! She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face when she entered the hallway- who would have thought she could be so happy to see such a hated, dreadful space?

"If you continue to behave, you'll get to come out more often," Voldemort said as he moved down the hallway, his back to her.

"Yes, my lord."

They descended the stairs, and Ginny mused that this was the first time she wasn't being forced either up or down them. She followed Voldemort toward the ballroom, already knowing their destination. Her heartbeat quickened a little- every time she had been in here had ended in disaster.

"Play your role."

"Yes, my lord."

The doors swung open and the murmur of people chatting died instantly. This was the largest gathering Ginny had seen yet- upwards of fifty people. They all dropped into bows and curtsies as Voldemort passed them, Ginny following a few steps behind. She didn't dare look through the crowd for Draco- not yet. That would have to wait.

Voldemort ascended the dais steps and Ginny followed behind him. The pillow was still there. He walked to the throne but did not sit down. Ginny, unsure of what to do, remained standing and kept her gaze respectfully downcast- what Merilda would have encouraged Alys to do with Lord Malfoy.

"The Ministry of Magic... has fallen!" Voldemort declared, and the room erupted into raucous cheers and shouts. Ginny's stomach twisted but she made herself hold still. Nagini ascended the dais stairs from the other side and Ginny quickly looked away from her. She looked out at the celebrating crowd for a moment and noticed a number of people, men and women both, staring at her. She didn't see Draco among them, but she only allowed herself a quick glance before looking down again.

"Tonight we usher in a new era," Voldemort continued, "one where pure blood is honored with the respect it deserves, the Mudblood thieves are punished, and the Order of the Phoenix dies at last! Tonight, my friends, is just the beginning of our triumph. Rejoice, for Lord Voldemort is victorious!"

More cheers, and toasts, "to the Dark Lord's glory!" Voldemort sat down, and Ginny followed suit, fighting back revulsion as she knelt on the pillow next to the throne.

This was apparently intended to be a real party. Quiet classical music began to play, making Ginny's heart twist as she thought of Malfoy Manor, and little platters of champagne and appetizers floated through the crowd, who had taken to mingling in little groups. Some guests continued to arrive, which Ginny found a bit odd; Voldemort had made such a point of commenting on Snape's and Yaxley's near-lateness a couple weeks back.

"They had permission," Voldemort said, answering her thoughts as he had taken to doing. "Ministry business, of course."

Ginny grimaced, not wanting to know what that meant. Voldemort chuckled.

"I'll spare you the details," he said. "You're probably happier not knowing."

"Probably," she said faintly.

A tray of champagne floated its way up to her.

"No thank you," she said.

"Go ahead," Voldemort said. "It's a party."

Ginny grimaced again and took a glass off of the tray, which floated back down to the crowd, its purpose served. She took a quick sip before setting the glass down on the ground next to her.

"Do you not like it?"

"I don't want to get drunk... my lord."

"Hmm."

He let the subject drop, and her eyes wandered the crowd. Where was Draco? She had felt sure that she would recognize his hair immediately, but there were more people here than she had anticipated.

The music shifted to something a bit faster-paced- not quite the music from her princess dream, but similar. She glanced at Voldemort, but his eyes were on the crowd. He must have seen that dream somehow... He had to have some way of looking in her thoughts even when she was alone. Her stomach turned.

"No secrets between friends, little saint. Quite the creative imagination you have. Let's bring it to life, shall we?"

"What?" she blurted, turning to look at him, but he still wasn't looking at her.

"Draco, come here," he called out over the crowd.

"No, please-" she whispered.

"Be still. I'm giving you what you want."

Ginny was absolutely sure that wasn't true, but she forced herself to stay quiet as a familiar figure made his way through the crowd, approached the dais, and bowed.

"My lord," he said in that practiced cold voice he had. Death Eater Malfoy.

"Ginny would like to dance with you," Voldemort said in a bored voice, twirling the Elder Wand between his fingers. "Indulge her, will you?"

"Of course, my lord," Draco said.

Ginny looked at Voldemort, trying to figure out what the trick was, and he smirked at her.

"Go play," he said to her with a wave of his hand, shooing her away. "Let them all see."

She bit her lip as she stood up and walked down the dais steps. No secrets between friends... That meant he had probably seen her dream from last night too, about the Antipodean Opaleye.

This whole thing felt like a threat.

Draco's eyes were black as he extended a hand to her to guide her out into the middle of the room. Just like Tom had done in her dream.

This is real, and that isn't. Forget it.

She took Draco's hand and allowed him to lead her through the crowd, which unfortunately formed a loose circle very reminiscent of her dream.

"I hope you remember McGonagall's lessons, Weasley," Draco said. "Follow my lead." He put a hand low on her waist, pulling her closer to him, and started to lead her in a dance.

"I thought you said you didn't know how to do anything other than slow dance," she said quietly enough that the crowd couldn't hear.

He smirked at her. "This is different."

Ginny said nothing, intimately aware that they were being watched. She took a brief moment to relish the fact that Draco appeared uninjured- whatever training he had been put through with the Death Eaters hadn't harmed him as far as she could tell. His arm was mercifully very much still attached to his body.

"I don't think you've ever looked more beautiful," Draco said, spinning her in a circle. "All dressed up for the Dark Lord's victory."

"Thank you," she said, her eyes skating over the crowd. "We all have roles to play."

His grip on her waist tightened. "That we do. You're playing yours very well, surprisingly. No prompting from me needed."

She looked up at him and understood immediately that he was worried about exactly the same thing she was.

"Seeing you tonight was my big motivation," she said as he spun her again.

"Was it now?" His eyes were so, so dark.

"Yes," she breathed. "I thought of you constantly while you were gone."

"I'm touched, Weasley. You were so determined to hate me forever, but I guess I was right- you couldn't hold out indefinitely. What's today? Day sixty something? Although I'm not sure if we should count the last few, so maybe we're still in the fifties."

Ginny grimaced. This was not the heartfelt reunion she had been imagining- this was Malfoy rather than Draco. But, she reminded herself, people were watching. She needed to get him alone somehow. But how? Every eye in the room was on them.

"Nothing to say?" Malfoy asked. "That's unusual for you."

"I think the last few days do count," she said.

"Day sixty something, then," he said. "I missed you too, but you wouldn't have liked where I went."

"Where did you go?" she asked, her chest tight.

"To become a soldier."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Become a soldier." She looked up at him, her eyes lingering on where she knew his dimple was.

"I would say so, yes," he said, looking away from her and out over the crowd. "Now I'm ready to serve the Dark Lord in whatever way he requires."

Whatever way he requires. What did that mean?

The song was ending. Malfoy slowed them to a gradual stop before reaching down and kissing her hand, just like he had at the Valentine's Day party all those long months ago.

"I should take you back," he said, his eyes on her face.

She wanted to protest, but she was keenly aware of Voldemort's eyes on them. "Alright."

He led her back to the dais, at which point he bowed to Voldemort and, acting on instinct, Ginny curtsied.

"Cheers to young love," Voldemort said in a mocking voice. "Dolohov tells me that you performed quite well in your training, Draco. Congratulations on making it through."

"Thank you, my lord."

"I hope you're prepared to resume your role here. Now that the Ministry is mine, it'll soon be Ginny's turn to be in the spotlight."

"Absolutely, my lord. Whatever you require, I will do it."

"She's been so very worried about you in your absence," Voldemort continued, his eyes landing on her. "Touching, really, and remarkable the way you've been able to turn her attitude around. She and I have come to an understanding, but you can still be of use to me here. I'm sure Lucius will complain, but you'll stay here for the time being."

"Of course, my lord," he said with another bow.

Ginny's stomach tightened, her eyes on Voldemort and the vision of a beheaded dragon filling her mind. This too felt like a threat.

Voldemort smirked at her. "You should learn to separate dreams and reality, Ginny. He isn't a dragon."

She took a sharp intake of breath and she felt Draco glance at her, confused.

"Come up here now," he said as Nagini crawled up the side of the throne, coming to rest across his shoulders. "The party isn't over."

Ginny walked up the dais steps, keeping her eyes away from Nagini as she knelt down on the pillow again.

"You can escort her to her room when the party is over, Draco," Voldemort said. Draco bowed once again and walked back into the crowd without so much as a backwards glance at her.

"That looked fun," Voldemort said in an amused voice, his free hand on Nagini. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. We'll have to see what else you dream up, hmm?"

Ginny said nothing, though her hands tightened into fists.

The party continued on for a little while longer. Some Death Eaters danced with their wives; Ginny saw the unmistakable poof of Bellatrix's hair through the crowd as she danced with her husband. Was Narcissa here with Lucius? She hadn't seen them, but they must be.

The door opened, and two Death Eaters stumbled in. She recognized Rowle, and she thought the other one might be Avery. She was still learning some of their names. Voldemort's demeanor changed in an instant; she held her breath as she felt the beginnings of cold fury radiating off of him.

"Where is the boy?" he demanded in an icy voice. The party-goers stopped talking and moved out of the way of the two newcomers, wanting to avoid being at the center of Voldemort's ire.

"We followed him to London, my lord," Rowle said. "Him and his two friends. But they got away. Young Goyle is missing-"

"So you returned here, interrupting my victory party, only to tell me that the boy has escaped?"

"I... I'm sorry, my lord-"

"Crucio!"

Rowle screamed, just as he had the last time Ginny was in this room, but it seemed like it stretched on forever. Voldemort had been merely annoyed at Rowle calling her a blood traitor bitch; he was absolutely furious that Rowle had let Harry escape.

He got away, again... thank you, thank you, thank you...

"Get out, all of you!" Voldemort yelled, rising to his feet before firing off a Crucio at Avery. "Except for you two."

Ginny hoped and prayed that that included her as she stood up and started down the steps. Please don't make me stay, please don't make me stay.

He wasn't paying attention to her. He was entirely fixated on Rowle and Avery, who were groveling on the ground, begging for forgiveness even as he cursed them. All around them, people were half-walking, half-running out of the room. Ginny would be one of the last ones to make it out, just based on where she was in the room.

"Come on." She looked up with a start and saw that Draco had grabbed her by the arm. "We need to go, now."

She nodded and allowed him to pull her through the crowd. The fullness of her skirt made it difficult to take big enough steps to keep up with him; she picked it up with one hand to give her feet more room to move.

Draco didn't stop for a moment as he pulled her out of the ballroom and through the foyer, where people poured out into the night and then Disapparated.

"Draco-"

"The Dark Lord has commanded me to stay, Mother," he said without looking back as he started to pull Ginny up the stairs. "I'll see you soon."

Ginny looked back over her shoulder to see Narcissa's pale blonde hair get lost in the stampeding crowd.

"Are they going to be alright?" she asked Draco.

"They're going to be fine. Hurry now."

She bounded up the stairs as quick as she could, stumbling near the top but Draco pulled her upright without missing a beat.

The door was still there on the wall. She didn't want to go back in that room, not at all, but she also did not want an irate Voldemort to find her wandering the halls. Draco opened the door and pulled her inside before slamming the door closed behind them. They were both breathing hard. He didn't let go of the handle, like he was afraid the door would spring open if he didn't hold it shut.

"Draco, I-"

"Do you trust me?" he interrupted.

"What?"

He looked up at her, a vulnerable expression on his face. "Do you trust me?"

"I... yes," she said, feeling wrong-footed. "But what do you-"

"Then don't talk," he said as he stepped away from the door and waved his wand, conjuring some type of... cord? It was braided, but it was dark enough in the room that she couldn't quite make out its colors.

He walked up to her and started wrapping the cord over her wrists, murmuring a string of spells she had never heard before. Her hands tingled with the warmth of unfamiliar magic.

He said don't talk, but what the hell is he doing? Ginny's stomach tightened. She did trust Draco... right?

His words echoed in her mind as he continued murmuring spells. I'll always take care of you. She fought her fear and made herself stand still as he wrapped the cords around her hands once again and moved his wand over the crossings in a complicated pattern that Ginny instantly knew must have taken a lot of practice to memorize. She opened her mouth and his eyes met hers in warning.

Don't talk.

She closed her mouth and he wrapped the cord over his own wrist. He looked nervous, which did nothing to settle her own anxiety. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and murmured one final spell that sounded almost like song.

It happened all at once. She was falling, falling forever in darkness. The room was gone, Draco was gone, she was gone, there was only falling, falling forever-

And then she stopped. She landed with a loud oomph on... the ground, she supposed. She sat up slowly, sore from the impact, and saw that she was on a bridge. An impossibly long bridge.

For a moment, she was sure she was in the misty place, for there was mist here too. But it felt different- more familiar, somehow, even though she had never been here before.

She stood up and looked around. Nothing she could see. Only mist, and the bridge extending far enough in both directions that she couldn't see the end of it.

"Hello?" she called.

"Ginny!" Draco came running out of the mist down the bridge and threw his arms around her in a wild embrace. "It worked, it actually worked!" He picked her up and spun her around, laughing, before putting her down again.

"What worked?" she said, flustered. "Where are we?"

Her questions sobered him some. He looked away, looking nervous.

"I've been trying for ages to find something that would work, and I just kept running into dead end after dead end," he said in a rush. "And then we ended up in the Dark Lord's house, and you ripped open a hole in the world to Merlin knows where, and the Dark Lord sent me away, and I knew I had run out of time. Your Alys memories gave me the idea. I couldn't hide thoughts and memories in your mind, Ginny, no matter how hard I tried, so I had to find a way to talk to you outside of your mind."

Ginny stared at him, stunned. "I... whoa. Okay, slow down. Outside of my mind?"

"Yes," he said, finally looking back at her. "We're... I don't know how to explain it. But the magic built a bridge between us. When we cross the bridge and come to this middle place, it isn't part of you or part of me- it's something in between. The Dark Lord can't see us here. Our bodies are back in the room still, but our selves... we're here."

"He really can't see?"

"Not at all."

Ginny pounced on him, throwing her arms around him in a big hug. He caught her as she jumped, his hands holding up her thighs.

"This is amazing," she said. "Draco, since we've been at his headquarters, my thoughts... there's something wrong with them."

"What do you mean, wrong with them?"

"I keep having these dreams... They don't feel like my thoughts."

Draco's grip on her tightened. "I'll take a look. But not right this second, we don't have a lot of time. It's lucky for us that Rowle and Avery appeared when they did- he won't be paying attention. But he can't find us in the position I left us in. I doubt he's familiar with the magic, but he wouldn't approve."

"Okay, but wait, I have a bunch of questions."

"I'll answer them as quick as I can," he said, and put her down.

"You said you've been trying to hide thoughts and memories in my head for ages," she said. "What thoughts and memories? And why?"

He blew out a breath and covered his face in his hands. "Do you remember when you told me that there was more than one of me? That day in the bathroom at the manor?"

"Yes...?"

"There's not literally more than one of me, but I haven't been able to be... myself, around you, ever since this whole thing started. Not really, anyway. Back before you even made it to Godric's Hollow, when the Dark Lord promised you to me, my plan was to hide you away in the manor and keep you away from all the fighting."

Ginny opened her mouth but he kept talking.

"I knew you would be beyond angry at me, maybe even hate me, but that was going to be fine because you were going to be safe in the manor instead of out there risking your neck for Potter or getting tortured by random Death Eaters for being affiliated with the Order of the Phoenix. That was what was supposed to happen. I would have kept you safe along with myself and my parents- all three of us would have died if I had failed to deliver you, after a good round of torture of course. But then you became an immortal, the Dark Lord freaked out, and before I could do anything he gave you to Rookwood instead. And I had absolutely no clue what to do."

He put his hands down and took a breath before continuing. "I didn't know how to save you. Remember when I told you you might as well have been on the moon? That was what it felt like. How the hell was I going to get you out of there without getting myself or my parents killed in the process? I should have tried harder, I guess, but I didn't, and you suffered for it- badly."

Another breath. "Then we get to the night before my birthday, and the Dark Lord decided to surprise me with you." He grimaced. "I was happy that you were getting away from Rookwood, but that was absolutely not the way I wanted it to happen. Worse yet, you were now clearly a focus of the Dark Lord's attention; I couldn't look too sympathetic to you, Ginny, because if the Dark Lord doubted my loyalty for even a second, he would have taken you away from me and killed me for good measure. But there was still a chance- one of the only good things from the past year has been me developing my Occlumency and Legilimency skills. I'm quite good at it, as you've seen by now. I had performed Occlumency in other people's minds before- Blaise's, and Kathleen's. My plan, as soon as the Dark Lord had Macnair bind you to me, was to find a nice hiding place in your mind for any memories you and I would make that he wouldn't approve of. I would have to be awful to you, but only for a little while, and you would know I didn't mean it. We could figure things out, together."

Ginny's mind was racing so fast that she couldn't keep up with her own thoughts. The memory of her first night at Malfoy Manor flashed in her mind, how the very first thing Draco had done once they had entered his room was dive into her memories. He hadn't looked at any of them- just raced through them lightning-fast before pulling out again, and then he had immediately ran off to the bathroom, locked with an Imperturbable Charm.

He laughed humorlessly as he turned to rest his arms on the bridge's edge. "But, for whatever reason, your mind is especially resistant to hiding memories. You might remember me telling my father that your mind is like the clear blue sky. I see people's minds- mine, and others'- as a visual landscape, and that's what yours is. Not even a goddamn cloud to try to hide something in. That's why I kept going back to that Quidditch memory, by the way- that's the memory your mind decided to hold onto, to make the landscape. Mindscape. Whatever."

He bowed his head. "So I was stuck. You were safe, sort of, but the Dark Lord could recall you at any moment and look in your mind. And he needed to see what he would expect to find, or at least something potentially believable."

If you're going to rape me, just get it over with.

Goodnight, Weasley.

"I admittedly had a bad couple of days where I felt pretty hopeless, which meant you had a bad couple of days. I'm sorry for that. It's no excuse. I don't expect you to forgive me. But I was sure, for a moment, that there was no way around it- that I was on a slow but certain path to destroying you. I tried going to Snape, and he... wouldn't help me. But Blaise kindly reminded me that I had access to maybe the second-best magical library in all of Britain."

"That's why you wouldn't let me see what you were reading," Ginny interrupted, unable to contain herself any longer. "In the library. You were reading about mind magic?"

"Yes," Draco said with a nod. "Trying to look for ideas. And that's why, no matter how upset it made you, I had to keep trying Legilimency. I was looking at that memory, looking at other memories, trying to figure out some way to adjust the landscape or just... just anything that would work."

"That's why you were so all over the place," she said quietly, her heart pounding. "Sometimes the real you, and sometimes... Death Eater you. You couldn't keep the act up all the time."

He laughed, again without any real humor in it. "I tried, believe me. Over and over again, I tried. But no- I couldn't act that way 24/7. Whenever I took a bath, I would Occlude as heavily as I could, and even then, sometimes I needed to touch up my defenses during the day."

"Is your... mindscape, the ocean?"

He looked up at her, startled. "How did you know that?"

"When you went into my mind after Voldemort did, that's what it felt like. Like cool ocean waves soothing me." She paused. "Wait a minute. I said Voldemort. Do the tattoo's commands not apply here?"

"I guess not," he said. "Makes sense- they're tied to your body, and we aren't in your body."

"That's brilliant!" she cried. She looked down at her arm and was amazed to see that the tattoo was gone. "This is amazing."

Draco smiled at her, though he seemed a bit sad for some reason. "It is."

"So this isn't mind magic, then," she said, looking around at the mist again. "Did you come across this while you were reading?"

"Er... no." He looked embarrassed.

"What's wrong?" she asked, taking a step closer to him.

He sighed and looked away from her, out at the mist. "I told myself I would be okay if you hated me after this, but doing it in practice is much harder."

"Why would I hate you?" she asked, mildly alarmed now.

"This is old, old magic," he said. "No longer practiced. I had heard about it as a child- my ancestors practiced it, centuries ago."

"Okay...?"

"It doesn't connect us through our minds. It connects us through our souls. A much deeper type of bond than anything else."

Ginny considered that, trying to make sense of it. "Still not sure I see why that would make me hate you."

He covered his face again. "Pureblood families used this set of spells centuries ago as a marriage rite. The world was a dangerous place for witches and wizards back then- the idea was that even if you were separated from your wife physically, you always had this link. You could always communicate with them, always find them, always know if they were in danger. Nothing could ever tear you apart."

He paused, waiting for Ginny to say something, but her mind was spinning too fast to settle on any specific thought.

He sighed. "So congratulations," he said dully. "We're effectively married- the manor will recognize the bond, and I think Gringotts probably will too, for what it's worth. In some ways this ceremony has even more weight than the modern version. And it's permanent, I already checked- there's no way to undo it. If there was another way, I swear to you I would have done that instead. I tried, for months. But once the Dark Lord locked you away again, I knew I had to be able to reach you- I couldn't leave you alone there. Please say something now."

"I... I don't hate you. I don't think."

He looked up. "No?"

"I'm still taking it in, because this is a whole hell of a lot, but no, I don't hate you, at least not right at this second."

He let out a big breath. "I'll take what I can get."

"We'll figure out all the implications of this stuff later. For now, I am profoundly grateful to have a way to speak to you where Voldemort can't see."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"So what's the plan?" she asked.

"The plan?"

"Yes. The plan. For taking down Voldemort?"

Draco blanched. "I think I gave you the wrong idea."

"If you don't have a plan, we can come up with one," Ginny said, undeterred. "I've learned a few things while you were away, and-"

"Ginny, I may be a sorry excuse for a Death Eater, but I'm no Saint Potter," he said bluntly. "It damn near killed me to get this far- my next step was to get the Dark Lord to let you come back to the manor, but I'm getting the feeling that that's not too likely. I can focus on keeping you, my parents, and myself safe, or as safe as I can. That's it."

Ginny took a step back, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. "But that's not enough," she said. "So what, we talk here and then things keep going exactly the same outside of this bridge? We let Voldemort take over the wizarding world and murder a bunch of people? Let him torture people, innocent people? I have this power inside me, this weapon or whatever the hell it is, literally given to me by a god, and you want me to just sit idly by at Voldemort's knee while he destroys the world?"

Draco's jaw was tight. "No, but I'm not willing to do anything that puts you or my parents in danger. In any more danger."

"They're already in danger!" Ginny cried. "You're not the only one worried about protecting people, you know. While you were gone, Voldemort made me write down every single person I wanted him to spare during his great conquest, and then made me cross a bunch of them out because they weren't important enough. If I play my role he'll spare the remainder, or so he says. And guess what- I wrote your name down, and Lucius's, and Narcissa's, and do you know what he said? He told me the deal didn't apply to the three of you. You and Lucius are Death Eaters, and he'll deal with you as he sees fit. He says Narcissa is in no danger from him, but he lies, Draco, he always lies. You are in danger either way, trust me. That dream comment he made, when you went to take me to dance? You were a dragon in my dream, and he chopped your head off and mounted it on the wall behind his throne. He thought it was funny. He made armor out of your scales, he was going to wear your corpse-"

"These are the dreams that you said don't feel like your own thoughts?" he interrupted. His face was ghostly white now.

"Yes," Ginny said vehemently. "We have to do something. The Ministry has fallen, and Harry apparently survived but is on the run. The Order is going to keep fighting, but without Dumbledore... They need help."

"I'm not joining the Order of the Phoenix."

"I'm not asking you to," Ginny said, desperate now. "I'm asking you to help me."

He looked up at her. "You said that once before," he said, his voice faint.

"What?"

"If you loved me, you would help me," he said, quoting her. "If you loved me, you would fight back."

Ginny said nothing. This moment felt like an impossible tipping point, like they were standing on the edge of a precipice from which there would be no return.

"Oh Merlin," Draco moaned before looking out at the mist again. "Alright. Alright. But we do this my way. I'm not putting you in any more danger, I refuse. Tell me where you left off in your Alys research, and I'll see what I can find."

Ginny ran to him, grabbed his face with both hands, and kissed him as she never had before. No longer did she hold anything back, no longer did she feel any sense of lingering dread or conflict or self-hatred over it- there was only her mouth on his, her hands tangled in his hair as she pulled him closer, closer, closer. He kissed her back, and started to pull away after a moment but she pulled him back in, putting everything she had into the kiss- every bit of passion, every bit of longing, every bit of hope for the future. Everything.

Finally, she pulled back, breathing hard.

"Wow," Draco said faintly. He looked starstruck.

"Look into a goddess called the Morrigan," Ginny whispered. "She's also called the Great Queen. She's who Alys worshipped, and who gave her the gem. She's a goddess of death."

"Okay," Draco said, a bit dazed.

Ginny's heart swelled, and she kissed him again. Somehow, some way, everything was going to be alright. It had to be. She and Draco would figure it out, together.