Harry Potter 1. Stupefied

_**I'm not making any promises that this story will last, as I'm not a very experienced writer yet. I'm really grateful for anyone's support, please bear with me, I'm not sure this will work out. However, I do appreciate reviews and views in general. And I hate to beg, but please give me a shot!**_

Chapter One: Stupefied.

The sunlight of a crisp, cold December day filtered through the one true window in the Three Broomsticks, glowing softly on the dark floor. It was late day, nearly sunset, and the sky was pale pink with a few wispy white clouds hovering on the horizon, the sun a bright golden orb just above the distant black mountains. Though the inside of the small pub was warm and cozy, Draco could hear the wind howling like a wounded animal just outside the double doors.

It made him shiver, though he was still wearing his black cloak, gloves, and boots. He should have been burning alive, but he wasn't. All he felt was cold. It seemed to cling to the inside of his clothes, to his skin, to his entire being. Always, always cold. He hadn't been truly warm in...a while.

"Firewhiskey." Madam Rosemerta said, slamming a glass down on the bar. Draco jumped, startled. He'd had to turn around on his stool to see the window, and hadn't noticed her approach.

"Thanks." He mumbled, fumbling for his pockets. "On the house." Madam Rosemeta said with a small smile. Just like she did every Friday. He tried to smile back, but failed.

He rarely ever succeeded. She turned away, a slightly concerned look in her brown eyes.

Draco sipped his firewhiskey, comforted by the familiar path it burned down his throat and into his stomach. He'd gotten used to the slight bit of steam that billowed from his mouth every time he drank it. It was the only thing that made him warm anymore.

The pub was more crowded that it usually was, but, then again, it was a Friday and people were celebrating the end of the work week.

Red-faced men clinked glasses and laughed, rather too loudly, over old memories and stories from the past. A few witches chatted idly at the end of the bar, one of them(the prettiest by far with curly honey-colored hair and long-lashed blue eyes) smoking a golden pipe that emitted rings of purple smoke. She noticed Draco watching her and winked. He half-smiled back, but didn't mean it.

Two old gentlemen sitting at a table in the corner played wizard's chest. The losing wizard was, very, very loudly, accusing the winner of cheating.

It was a happy, joyful atmosphere, made all the more robust by the knowledge that Christmas was only two weeks away, as evidenced by the thick garlands scattered about the room, and the mistletoe hung over the doorway. But Draco Malfoy was not filled with Christmas spirit. And he was very bitter about it.

He should have been clinking glasses with his friends. He should have been kissing girls and going to the many, many Christmas balls and parties that were being thrown. He was twenty-one, a Hogwarts graduate, working at Borgin and Burkes and slowly earning the profits to buy it himself. He'd refused to use any of the(greatly diminished) Malfoy fortune, secretly preferring to do something without the aid of his parents for once, though his doting mother had been desperately trying to force him to except _some_ money. Especially after he'd gotten a tiny flat in London. "Oh, but Draco!" She'd moaned, looking around the rather bare and cramped kitchen/living room/library. "It's horrible in here!"

"It's fine, Mum. Honest." He'd said, laughing. _Lies._

He hated the flat. He was used to the grand, open space of the manor, and suddenly being thrown into a dingy little living space was what he imagined a great lion being thrown into a pet crate was like. He was king of the jungle, forced to be common.

So why had he left home, and why so quickly(two months before Christmas)?

Because, on the evening of September 25th exactly, he'd received an owl from Potter. Inviting him to the wedding in July. Something in Draco had snapped, and he'd promptly left the manor, unable to stand the...memory. The one he didn't dare think about.

After the war, his family had lost quite a bit of money and respect, but they had kept the manor and a few house elves, and things were slowly getting back to normal. His father was back at the Ministry(after a bit of blackmail), his mother and the other former Death Eater wives were forcing their way back into the world of the grand ladies. And he was at least _respected_ by the other young wizards of his day. Even Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived(twice), was pleasant when they met occasionally on the street. Not that Draco was anything but cool back. He couldn't bring himself to be personable when he imagined Ginny looking at Harry with that adoration she'd given him back at Hogwarts.

It was stupid, being angry with Potter over something as silly as a girl. But he was a Malfoy man, and possessiveness and pride passed down through generation after generation of refined, aristocratic people coursed through his veins like fire.

He wanted Ginny Weasley. And he intended on someday having her.

Somehow.

He checked his watch, pulling back the long sleeve of his robe and tugging off his black glove. His white hand was streaked with beads of sweat.

It was 6:34. Any minute now.

There was the sound of a door creaking open.

He winced, dreading the pain that was coming.

"Gin!"

One of the witches at the bar called out in a very warm tone. Draco turned, the sweat new again on his forehead. He hurriedly pulled the hood of his cloak up, but though his pale face was shadowed by the fabric, his gray eyes were piercing.

A young witch was crossing the floor of the pub, her burgundy cloak billowing out behind her, and all eyes were soon following her every movement. She had long, vivid red hair that was tied back in a loose braid, allowing strands to fall and shimmer around her pale, lightly freckled face. She had chocolate brown eyes that glowed with humor and warmth, and today she wore eyeliner, which made them bright and commanding in her face. Draco tried not to let his gaze stray to her lips, but today they were shaded with crimson lipstick and twisted into a confident smile. They sent a pang through him, and he had to close his eyes for a moment so that he didn't leap up and take her on the spot. He didn't want to remember how they'd felt that one night a year ago.

"Hi, Angie." Ginny called.

She'd reached the bar. She was wearing a tight, knee length, sleeveless black dress, though it was freezing outside. He felt his mouth open, but he could not close it. She was not a person. She had to be some sort of...some sort of something sent to torture him for all of his past crimes. The ones he'd been running from and trying to block out for years.

She swept off her cloak, shivering slightly, and leaned her elbow on the bar with a sigh. "Sorry I'm late. Got caught up in practice."

"What are you wearing?" The blonde witch asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ginny, it's thirty degrees outside. What the hell is that?" Angelina laughed.

"Oh please. It's like _summer_ out there." Ginny waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. They all laughed at this.

Heat had rushed up to Draco's face, and he watched her with greedy eyes. _Notice me,_ he begged her, _c'mon, Ginger._

She didn't turn around.

"Whoa, Malfoy, you look like you're gonna crush that glass." A voice beside him chuckled.

Annoyance swept through Draco, and he turned, instinctively reaching his for his wand.

A round-faced boy looked at him, his cheeks red with cold. Longbottom. Draco relaxed his fingers, setting his half-empty glass on the counter. "Whoops." He forced a chuckle. Neville's dark eyes were prying, but he smiled widely. "How's Borgin's?" He asked casually, leaning back on his bar stool. Draco thought. _Dark, cold, slightly terrifying,_ but still popular among former Death Eaters and those who studied dark magic.

"Fine." He said.

"Good." Neville replied.

"How're the Aurors?" Draco asked politely.

Neville's cheerful face darkened for a moment before he smiled, again. "Great." Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but before he could say anything, there was a shuffling behind him.

"Let's go. We don't want to be late." Ginny said.

Draco's heart thudded violently. _No, no..._ he moaned inwardly.

She was leaving, her sweet, flowery scent making his knees weak as she walked away, half-hidden by her cluster of friends. He'd wasted all his time.

Every Friday, she came here, and he watched her. Remembering. He treasured every moment. Except for this one blasted time. _She is not getting away again._ He thought violently, biting his lip in frustration. He tasted blood seconds later.

He stood suddenly, his boots thudding loudly on the floor. A few heads turned his way, including her's.

Their eyes met, stormy gray to chocolate brown, and he wanted to say something, anything, to wipe the stunned and slightly fearful expression she wore off of her pretty face. He didn't want her to be afraid of him, or feel guilty for anything. Three words leapt into his throat.

_I miss you._ They bubbled to his lips but he swallowed them away. His cloak hood had fallen back. She could see him, he could see her. He felt _the_ memory flash hot and painful in his mind.

It was December 11th, one year ago, all over again. The Christmas party at the manor, the one his mother had spend days setting up. He'd insisted on inviting Granger, Potter, and Weasley, as sort of an apology. A bold statement against his parents after they had controlled him for so long. Potter had been away on some sort of stake out, already an Auror thanks to Kingsley. Ginny was supposed to have come to the party with him, she'd already had the dress, which was long and white and made her look like an angel. It had been the first time he'd seen her since his graduation. _Do you want to dance?_ He'd asked, almost as a joke.

_Yes. _She'd said.

And everything had escalated from there. And then dawn had come, and she'd gone.

"Hi Draco." Ginny said, looking uncomfortable.

He blinked, returning to the present.

"Hi Ginger." He said softly.

Her friends were watching, their eyebrows raised.

"I didn't expect to see you here." She forced a smile.

"Me neither. You look good. Um, how's Potter?" He had no idea what to say.

She suddenly laughed, eyes sparkling like diamonds at some memory.

"He's alright. Tired. Work's been stressful. They caught an old witch who was murdering muggles and reanimating them to do housework last Wednesday. He was out all night." She was grinning now. Her front teeth were delightfully crooked. Adorably crooked.

"Sounds interesting. Fun, even." He said, smirking.

She laughed again. "Draco Malfoy, you are horrible."

He laughed with her this time, a genuine, from the bottom of his stomach laugh.

Angelina set a dark hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Hey, we have to catch the concert. I spent two months saving up for these tickets." Angelina's black eyes were fastened accusingly on Draco's. Ginny nodded, looking awkward again. "Right. Well, see you around, Draco. And you, Neville. Hello." She smiled, peering over Draco's shoulder. "Hi Gin." Neville said.

She then turned to her smirking friends, and the group swept from the building.

With Ginny gone, the warmth and happiness that had seemed to fill the little pub went sour and promptly died. In reality, it was just Draco who really noticed that she was gone.

He was no longer in the mood for a drink.

What seemed like hours after Ginny left, when in reality it was about ten minutes, he finished his one glass of firewhiskey and told Neville he'd better get home. "Hey, Malfoy?" Neville said hopefully as Draco pulled up his hood.

"Yeah?"

"All of us Hogwarts graduates are having a Christmas party at Harry's next Saturday and I'm supposed to do all of the invites. Well, I keep forgetting to write cards, so I thought I'd just ask you. You know, while I'm thinking about it." Neville smiled.

Draco wasn't really in the mood for a party, but an idea struck him as his lips formed the word "No."

Ginny would be there. Maybe she'd wear white again. Maybe she'd dance with him.

"Sure, Neville, I'd love to come." He said with as real a smile as he could muster. Neville grinned back. "Excellent."

Walking down the dark streets of Hogsmeade, he felt utterly alone. The sun had just set, and the sky was cobalt blue with jets of blood-red light shining across it. Stars were only just visible, and a bright full moon was slowly edging into the sky. It was a lovely night.

The shops around him were nearly all dark, save a few other pubs and, surprisingly, Honeydukes. There were a few people milling about inside, no doubt stocking up on Christmas candy. Wreathes and lanterns filled with tiny fairies were hung in windows all around him, and the people who walked by him were bundled in warm clothes, clutching bags filled with presents or food.

He wondered how he looked, his hands empty of gifts, his face grim and pale, his entire demeanor the exact opposite of everyone else. He was, in someways, truly alone. He wanted to laugh, laugh at the cruelty of the world. It would be better than shutting down like he had.

Draco Apparated to his doorstep. The crushing sensation in his chest barely fazed him. And, as it had become a tradition every Friday, he began stewing over his predicament. Why couldn't he just...let her go?

_Because she's beautiful._ His mind reasoned. No, that wasn't it. There were plenty of pretty witches. He could charm every single one if he wanted.

_Because she's smart. _There were other pretty, smart witches around. That wasn't it.

_Because she's funny. _There were pretty, smart, funny witches. He could find one.

_Like Ginny?_ _No._ And there was the problem. None of them WERE her. God, that was sappy. It was completely the opposite of what he would have thought at Hogwarts. Well, that had been a very long time ago.

_It was one night, Malfoy. Pull yourself together. _He sighed, resting a hand on his doorknob and leaning his head against the wood. Yes, it had been just one night. One silly, throw-away night when he'd been full of firewhiskey and she'd been lonely without Potter. To add to that, it had been last year. _God,_ He thought, _what is wrong with me?_

He was broken from his thoughts by a rustling inside his house. His eyes snapped open and he drew out his wand, alert as a cat watching a mouse hole.

He threw open the door, peering into the darkness. "_Lumos._" He whispered. His wand suddenly sparked, a small orb of light shining from the tip. He slowly stepped inside, running the jet of blue light over the small room. It was completely quiet, and not a thing was out of place.

"_Stupefy!"_ Screamed a deep, male voice. Draco went limp as a rag doll, and he slipped out of consciousness. The last thing he heard was his body crashing to the ground.


	2. In The Cavern

**_I've done a bit of editing!_**

Chapter Two: In The Cavern.

_Draco,_ a familiar voice cooed in his ear. It was completely black: he couldn't see a thing. This unnerved him for a moment, and then a soft hand pushed hair from his forehead.

It made him smile. _Ginny,_ He thought. He could smell her sweet flowery scent, and felt her long red hair brush over his face. She had curled up beside him, her arm across his chest, the other tucked up under her side. His smile widened. He reached out to touch her-

"WAKE. UP." A voice shouted in his ear. His eyes snapped open and he pushed himself to a sitting position. Where the hell was he?

It was dark, cold, and wet, and a few ancient torches flickered on the earth walls. A droplet of moisture dripped onto his forehead. He was lying on a tough old pallet, and his head was throbbing.

"God. Finally."

He turned and saw Ron Weasley crouched on the floor staring at him with annoyance. Draco felt heat rush to his face and guilt fill his stomach. God. Caught by her brother. Ron, however, seemed not to notice Draco's red cheeks.

"I am going to have to kill Harry for this." He muttered, rising to his feet and wiping his hands on his clothes. He wore a bulky orange sweater and horribly beat-up blue jeans, and his feet were completely bare. The cavern they were in was so small that he had to bend over so that his head wouldn't hit the ceiling. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." He said roughly. Though Potter was at least respectful to Draco, Weasley was another story all together. Draco wondered if he'd ever understand that while Draco wasn't a saint, he wasn't Hogwarts Draco anymore. However, he disliked Ron as much as the latter disliked him, so he doubted they would ever have a pleasant relationship.

Ron looked eerie in the torch light, his hair looking like real fire, his face shadowed and dark. "What the hell am I doing here?" Draco demanded, his chest aching now that he'd registered that Ginny was nowhere near him.

"I'm not allowed to tell you that." Ron sighed, rubbing his temples. "Believe me, you should be glad that you have no fucking idea where you are. I would _love _to be in your place." His brown eyes were very distant.

"Can you at least tell me what's going on?" Draco asked sharply.

"Nope." Ron grinned, suddenly humorous. "Harry'll explain everything when he gets down here. However, he is taking his sweet-ass time, so don't expect answers any time soon." His voice was weary and vehement, the humor having died. "I've been down here for two goddamn weeks waiting for him. And then all I get is a message telling me to stupefy you and no explanation. Sometimes I just want to fucking strangle-" Ron stopped, face blank for a moment, then turned to Draco with a wry smile. "Sorry. Just stressed." He said, then, after a moment of looking uncomfortable, he said "And-um- I'm also sorry about stupefying you." He rubbed his neck and winced. "AND I'M ALSO SORRY WE'RE STUCK IN THIS STUPID-"

"Ron!" A voice cried.

Draco looked up, and saw a cloud of dust erupt from the ceiling as a hatch was moved aside.

A girl peered down, her chestnut-brown eyes narrowed, her mane of frizzy brown hair glinting in the torchlight. Hermione Granger. Her face was gaunt and hollow, and a cut marred her left cheek.

"Would you shut up? I'm working on profiles up here!" She said shrilly, then, noticing that Draco was awake, she smiled dryly. Granger didn't like him either, but she at least made an effort to hide it. "Hello, Malfoy," She said, "How's your head? I have something if it hurts too badly." She disappeared for a moment then returned with a bottle of muggle pain relievers, rattling them gently. Of course she wouldn't think to bring wizard medications. She was the brightest witch in the world and bringing a potion or two did not occur to her.

Damn it, Granger.

"I'm fine." He snapped, harsher than he'd meant to. "Um, thanks." He said, hoping to soften the blow.

She shrugged, glared at Ron, and muttered "Git." And then disappeared. "I love you too, dearest!" He yelled after her as the hatch slid back into place.

"What p-profiles?" Draco asked curiously. He was shivering. It was absolutely freezing inside the cavern.

"Well-Harry will tell you. _Whenever he decides to show up._" Ron spat. Draco was nearly as furious as he was. He wanted to know why he'd been stupefied in his own house and dragged down to...well, that was just another question for the famous Potter to answer. He covered his face with his hands and heaved a sigh, anxiety prickling at his stomach. What the hell was going on? Was it serious? He hated the thought of being reduced to waiting for Potter, stuck in the dark when a crisis could be going on, like he was a lesser man. Waiting for the man who was holding Ginny under his thumb, keeping her from running to Draco's arms, where he wanted her. She belonged on his arm, her kisses should be planted on his mouth, her adoring smiles should be flashed only in _his_ direction. He could imagine that for a moment, and it sent a pang of longing through him.

It seemed like his entire life had revolved around what Harry Potter did. At Hogwarts, it had always been about what magical adventures brave, brave Potter had. He could save the world without even trying, it had seemed.

Draco had thought that, after the war, when they all graduated and became adults, that the tables could turn and he could be important for once.

Apparently not.

With nothing else to do, and with his worry making his body feel as though it were made of ice, Draco examined his surroundings, peering through his long fingers.

The cavern was almost perfectly round, and small stalactites covered and hung down from the ceiling, all except for a circular blank space which glowed dimly in the fiery light of the torches: the bronze hatch. There were other things in the room, a desk littered with quills, a Sneakoscope, and a gigantic book.

There was also a small table with a pitcher of water and a half-eaten sandwich on it. It made Draco's mouth water, and he realized how starving he was. However, Ron looked very preoccupied and extremely cross, and it didn't strike Draco as a good idea to demand food from him.

They sat in silence for what felt like years, when it was probably another hour, listening to the drip of moisture and the faint _scritch scritch_ of Hermione's quill upstairs. Ron was massaging his feet, which were pink with cold, and muttering curses ranging from things a first year might yell to completely vile swears. Draco, at least, had the decency to think them while mentally hexing Potter. Over and over.

What was him doing that was taking so long? Draco was on the verge of screaming just to break the monotony of the dripping and quill-scratches.

Suddenly, the hatch was violently thrown aside, knocking a wave of dust into the air and causing Draco to have a violent coughing spasm.

Something wiry and tall fell through the hatch with a yelp, and then Harry Potter was sitting before Draco, his untidy black hair even more of a mess than usual. His face was hollow and tired, and bags rested under his vivid green eyes. His glasses were cracked from the fall. Despite his shoddy appearance, he grinned at Draco. "Hey, Malfoy. Sorry I made Ron kidnap you." He laughed, getting to his feet. He wore long gray robes that were tattered and dirty, and Draco thought he saw blood stains on Harry's left sleeve. He raised an eyebrow, stifling the surge of dislike he felt when he caught sight of a tomato-red hair shimmering on Harry's shoulder.

"It's about time you got here." Ron said loudly, standing and hitting his head on a stalactite. Blood erupted from his forehead and spilled down his cheek. "Goddamn it!" He screamed, clapping one giant hand over his cut.

The hatch opened again, and a small sigh came from Hermione as she jumped through the opening, clutching bandages and a needle. "Come on, Ron," She said wearily. "Upstairs." She helped him through the hatch then turned to Harry. "I'm happy you're here, Harry. I was worried." She smiled at him, then followed Ron up the hatch while muttering "Fifth time this month. Stupid-" She disappeared.

Harry turned back to Draco, no longer grinning. "I suppose you'd like to know why you're here." He said.

Draco nodded, frowning. "Yeah, Potter, if you don't mind, that would be excellent." He said sarcastically, allowing all of his impatience and frustration leak into his voice . Harry sighed.

"I'm sorry about the..._stupefication." _He half-smiled. "But I couldn't think of any other way to get you here."

Draco raised his brows. "Where exactly _is_ here, Potter?" He asked.

Harry cleared his throat. "I can't tell you that. That's why Ron stupefied you. It's very obvious, honestly. You'll eventually figure it out. But for now...this is Headquarters, okay?" He had sat down on the pallet next to Draco and had covered his face with his hands. Why was he being so vague? What was going on?

"You remind me of Dumbledore sometimes." Draco spat, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Harry forced a chuckle. "I've been getting that allot lately. Mostly from Ron. I don't think it's a compliment." His voice sounded only slightly hurt. Draco looked at him, exhausted, dirty, beaten down. He didn't look like Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, famous Auror. Draco didn't know who he was sitting across from.

The last time he'd seen Harry was at a coffee shop in London, three months ago. Ginny had been next to him, so Draco hadn't really paid any attention to the brief, formal conversation they'd had, or really even **looked **at him, but he'd seemed alright. Bright-eyed and happy, at least.

He definitely hadn't been this down trodden. For the first time since he'd woken up, Draco wondered if something bad had happened. He truly wondered what was wrong.

"What's going on, Potter?" Draco asked softly, real fear filling his stomach. What could have happened in three months that would wreck Harry like this? Harry sighed, lowering his hands.

"Well...the Aurors have been having some..._problems_ lately." He said, not meeting Draco's eyes. "Yeah? I could see that much." He grumbled.

"Do you read the Prophet, Malfoy?" Harry asked softly.

Draco shook his head. "Not since Hogwarts. I don't really care about the news anymore." _Or anything,_ he added in his mind.

"Well, if you did, you would have heard that eighty wizards have been killed in the past month. Lots of people are afraid to talk about it, but I'm surprised you haven't heard anything." Harry glanced at him. "Many of them seem random. A few were Aurors, a few graduated from Hogwarts with us, there were some Hit Wizards, and..._two_ were students. Griffindors." Harry's voice was a ghastly whisper.

Draco swallowed, his palms sweaty. "You don't think-?"

"No," Said Harry firmly, his face suddenly panicked. "No I don't. It-it isn't _possible._ However, I wouldn't rule out a cult of bitter Death Eaters." He was stroking his chin thoughtfully. "What's odd is the way they've been killed. _Poison._ Not the Killing Curse, which was a staple of Voldemort."

Draco winced, though he knew his old master was dead and gone, he couldn't stifle his fear and disgust for that name.

"Poison? All of them?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Horrible stuff. Kills you slowly, draining your life until...well. I don't want to talk about it." He shuddered.

"How? How are they _all_ being poisoned?"

Harry looked desolate, the strange light of the torches making his face look gray and sickly. He looked absolutely terrified. "I don't know. Well, that's not entirely true. There just isn't a pattern. The two dead Griffindors were in the infirmary for three weeks, and were so sick they couldn't speak. They found a few Cauldron Cake wrappers in the dorms...but there wasn't a trace of anything but chocolate. A new Auror, Lindsay Crallitch, was sent to St. Mungo's after a Thanksgiving meal. She was the _only_ one poisoned out of ten people. She died in a week. And...Susan Bones is dead now, too. You remember. The Hufflepuff." Harry whispered.

Draco was thinking hard. There really was no pattern to be had. He could have guessed that it was anyone connected through the order or through the Ministry, which lead to the assumption that Death Eater were acting up, but two seemingly random Griffindor students? Why?

"God." He muttered.

Harry nodded in agreement.

"So...so is that what the Dream Team is doing down here? Tracking down suspects?" Draco asked. Harry, again, nodded. "That's exactly right. But there's one stitch in our plan. We have ruled out most of our suspects for each case. And Malfoy, there are so many cases. The entire Department is working day and night. Kingsley is completely buried. So many people are afraid." Harry was talking very slowly, as though he was only half paying attention to what he said.

"And you haven't caught a single person yet? How long has this been going on?" Panic was rising in Draco's stomach, making his mouth dry and his throat tight. It was hard to talk.

Harry looked vaguely annoyed, but he seemed buried in his thoughts. "We've been working down here for two months. Twenty people have been killed in that time, and we've gotten nowhere. Hermione has had to put her entire position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on hold for this, Ron's been down here for two weeks, every Hit Wizard and Auror is working overtime, like I told you, and we've gotten absolutely nowhere." Harry's voice was rough and angry, and his eyes glistened. Draco turned away from him, embarrassed.

"We've had to keep this place a secret. We don't want any information given out...so we couldn't be at the Ministry, just in case. That's why you can't know where you are." He said. "Are you the only ones with a secret hidey-hole?" Draco asked, attempting humor. He still looked like he was going to cry, and what the hell would Draco do to comfort him? _There, there, Potter. Don't cry. It's not your fault that eighty innocent people have died._

Harry didn't even twitch at the joke. His brow was wrinkled with worry, and

his face had darkened. "Not exactly. There are others, but...Hermione is doing most of the tracking. She volunteered after Ron came home with complaints, God knows why she wants to be involved in this. She doesn't want a team of workers. She says she can manage it, which is a lie, because she _also_ has her position to worry about. I think she's trying to pretend that it's less of a problem than it is." Harry's speech was barely audible now. His eyelids had dipped. He looked absolutely exhausted.

"So why do you need me?" Draco asked, trying to keep his voice from quivering. _I do __**not**__ want to be involved in this._ He thought, his knees beginning to shake. No more involvement with horrible murderers. He'd done his time. He couldn't repeat the past.

He saw Crabbe's charred, dead body lying beside him again, saw Albus Dumbledore falling to the ground, saw Hermione Granger writhing on the floor as the word **_mudblood_** was carved into her skin. He felt tears well in his eyes.

"We need you to keep an eye on your customers." Harry said, setting a hand on Draco's knee in a pleading gesture.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a long piece of parchment. "While we've ruled out _most_ of our suspects, there are still a few for the fresher cases we're working on. They are all considered to, possibly, be in this cult."

Draco's eyes slid down the parchment, which sported more than fifty pictures of witches and wizards of all ages, each captioned with a name, an age, an occupation, and a House if they were Hogwarts graduates. Draco wondered why a House would matter, but he knew it was because Harry would never trust Slytherins again.

Samantha Rachelle

Age: 35

Occupation: Pygmy-puff breeder.

House: Hufflepuff.

Alexander Crim

Age: 29

Occupation: Healer(Potion and Plant Poisoning)

House: Graduated from Beauxbatons.

Robert Reckloose

Age: 65

Occupation: Cauldron Maker.

House: Ravenclaw.

He didn't know a single person on that slip of parchment.

"We know Borgin and Burke's is still very popular with Dark Wizards, and, assuming these are Death Eaters, they'll come to you for any merchandise." He said.

Draco swallowed back a sea of sharp, fearful comments. This was desperate. This was pointless. Borgin and Burke's didn't supply enough...anything to support a cult, and anyone who wanted to shop there had to be loaded with Galleons. Besides, as far as he knew, these creeps were murdering with strictly poison, so in what universe would a shriveled hand that strangled anything in it's path, or a small metal cube that contained a tiny red spider with five-inch long fangs that dripped with venom(the last of it's kind, his boss proudly stated) be any use to them? Potter had stupefied him and dragged him down to the depths of Hell, apparently, to ask him to watch out for a few suspects?

"Fine." Draco said curtly.

Harry's eyes hardened for a moment, and he seemed to be repressing anger. His face glowed pink with frustration, and then the fight drained from him once again. He looked sick and tired again.

"Draco," Hearing his own name forced him to pay attention. It was the first time Harry had ever called him by his first name. "We haven't found a _trace_ of anything. No footprints, no witnesses, nothing. None of our magical equipment did a damn thing. And maybe I am grasping at straws right now, but you're all I've got in the Dark Magic business." Harry Potter was pleading with him, Draco Malfoy. It sent a pang of sickening pleasure through him, making his fingers tingle. It was immature, pathetic, and it showed that snobby Hogwarts Malfoy still existed somewhere deep within him.

But then another emotion sprouted within his chest, squeezing out his breath and making him wheeze. Terror. Harsh, cold, blinding terror.

Harry Potter was _begging _him for help. The Harry he'd known at Hogwarts would have died before even asking him for a quill.

Either times had really changed, or this was more serious than Draco could imagine.

"So...if I _did_ agree to help you...how would I contact you?" He asked grudgingly. Harry suddenly grinned, his entire face lighting up. He reached into the pocket of his robes and brought out a small turquoise book with the words _My Diary_ embossed in big gold letters on the cover. Draco couldn't contain his amused smirk as he accepted the small book, flipping it open. He glanced at the first page. It read:

Date:

Suspect:

Time:

Location:

Item of purchase:

"It's marvelous magic, Malfoy." Harry said. "You record who you saw, where you saw them, when you saw them, and what they bought, and it's recorded in that big book over there." Harry pointed to the giant leather book on the desk. "Ron then contacts the Aurors, and we leap on the suspect." Harry had a feverish, excited light in his eyes. "We've given these out to every Potions Shop and Apothecary we could contact, and a bunch of other shops too."

"Did you get anything?" Draco asked, turning the book over and over in his hands. Harry's face darkened, and his eyes grew misty. "No. Ron's been checking day and night, but nothing. He used to only check once a day, but...things have gotten a bit more serious." Harry's voice had dropped to a whisper, and his face was pale and shone with sweat. Draco knew that he was remembering every horrible thing that had happened to the Wizarding World during his lifetime, could almost see it replaying right before the man's eyes. The deaths. The fear. The twisted deals and broken trust.

While this was nowhere near as serious as Voldemort's reign of terror had been, who was too say that, if it wasn't shut down, this could become just as bad? Or...even worse.

Right on cue, Harry said "I'm just so worried about...everything." His voice wasn't quavering and it was rough, but there was a sea of pain and fear in just those few words. "I'm worried about Ginny, and the Weasleys, and Ron, and Hermione, and everyone...every witch and wizard out there." He said quietly, but Draco was no longer listening.

It was like someone had hit him over the head with a frying pan. Everything seemed distant and unreal, like it was all a hazy dream.

He'd been so caught up in absorbing this information, in realizing what was going on, in processing his own fear and horror, that everything else had slipped his mind.

Of course Ginny was in danger. She was engaged to Harry Potter, who was working overtime to shut this cult down and was very obviously leading the operation.

It would be stupid to assume that the cult was unaware that the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement was trying to shut them down, and even more idiotic to assume that they didn't know that the most famous wizard alive was hunting them down with everything he had.

Wouldn't they want to hurt him? Cripple him? Send him spiraling down in a mess of grief and pain?

He wanted Ginny in the room. He wanted to see her alive and well, because all he could imagine was an open casket under a blue sky, all he could see was her cold, white face, her closed eyes, her tight gray lips. Dead Ginny looked peaceful with her flaming hair spilling out underneath her in gentle waves.

It made him want to scream, or cry, or smash something.

And then his mind pushed Ginny to the background for the first time in months when the cadaver aged thirty years and became his mother, stiff and dead, being lowered into her grave, and then his father, dressed in his favorite black suit, being covered with earth. His family could die as well.

Tears welled in his eyes and he stared at Potter, thinking that maybe they weren't so different after all. They both wanted to protect the ones they loved.

"Okay, Potter. Alright. I'll help you."


	3. Boggarts and Blaise

Chapter Three: Boggarts and Blaise

Draco was back at work by Monday, having been re-stupefied(this time of his own will, which was a nice change) and carried back to his house by Weasley, he assumed. He still winced when he thought of Ron Weasley with his unconscious body slung over his shoulder, Apparating to his apartment and having to lie him down in his own bed.

Not that Draco had gotten much sleep. His worries about the many murders were keeping him up at night, destroying his appetite, making him grim and paranoid. He'd sent his mother an owl the moment he'd woken up(he secretly managed to keep a small barn owl in his flat, though he had to let it live outside most of the time), unable to stay calm but forcing himself to be casual, and she'd immediately replied with a thirteen page letter about how much they missed him and wanted him to come home. It had made him so guilty that he'd almost thrown up. He'd even written Potter, who he knew was living at the Weasley's house with Ginny for the time being, asking how everything was going. It had made him feel stupid, seeing his panicked, quick hand writiting scratched across the parchment displaying his fear and worry, but he'd felt a surge of something like joy when he'd received Harry's annoyed, curt response.

_The same as yesterday, when you last talked to me, Malfoy._

_We're all still alive._

_Harry Potter_

He'd forgotten how fun pissing off Harry Potter could be.

His strain was starting to show. In fact, that morning, when a young witch had accidently stepped on his foot, he'd shouted at her until tears ran down her cheeks.

Part of the reason that this was so frightening was because he no longer had a family name to protect him from things like this, and the absence of that one form of protection that had guarded him for so many years was grating on his nerves.

For the first time in his life, he was just another wizard, not dangerous, infamous Luscious Malfoy's son.

But that was what he wanted, wasn't it? Freedom from his parents, which had controlled him throughout his childhood. Freedom from the darkness of the reputation his bloodline had earned? Didn't he want to be independent, and not have people judge him for his past or his family's past? For a long time, the answer had been Yes. Ever since the war had ended, he'd been slowly drifting away from his parents, slowly breaking the bond between them. He hadn't consciously been doing it, but soon he was refusing to go to the classy parties of Ex-Death Eaters that he once would have gone to and danced at, putting on airs and acting like the pompous prick that was required of him. Soon he was openly talking to people that had been so far out of his social circle before that he hadn't spared a glance in their direction.

Soon he was in love with another man's fiancee, a blood-traitor who he'd relentlessly teased for years.

He knew that these things hurt his parents, who were too old now to really change their ways. They concealed their contempt for mudbloods and muggles a bit better, and they could hide their obsession with the Dark Arts to a socially acceptable point, but they would never be the kind to walk an old witch across the street or donate to charity. Hell, they'd never be the sort to converse politely with random people in a coffee shop who could be below their class. They had a strict mold that could never be shifted or remodeled, and for seven years, Draco Malfoy had been on the fast track to being the same way.

But when Harry Potter and his friends had pulled him out of that fire in the Room of Requirement, something in him had broken. Gone was the prideful, selfish Draco Malfoy who had fought against Harry Potter and the Dream Team, and the person left in his wake was conflicted and afraid, forced to battle between his Slytherin descent, and his fear of becoming his past.

But now he wondered if he would have been safer, turning into the Malfoy man that he would have been, taking his father's place at the Ministry, marrying a nice, pureblood girl, and inheriting a mountain of Galleons. It sounded like a gloriously boring life to lead, but much more enticing than the lonely, frightful, bleak one he was forced to endure now.

It gave him a headache to think about it all. How could so much have gone wrong in so little time?

It was a deary day at Borgin and Burkes, and the sky was thick with swirling gray clouds that occasionally spat out flurries of freezing snow. Business was slow, and he'd been standing behind the counter for three hours with nothing to do. He imagined what it would be like when he finally signed the contract that would hand him his business. He would have this place packed in no time...somehow.

The parchment with the suspects rattled in the pocket of his black slacks, and he pulled it out, examining the faces idly. He'd been doing this every twenty minutes for the past hour. He looked down the list, his eyes passing slowly over the different faces. Most of them were cantankerous-looking old men, former Death-Eaters who'd escaped Azkaban by fighting the Ministry, but there were also a variety of young magicfolk, a few young men who were not from Slytherin, but from Ravenclaw, Griffindor, and Hufflepuff. There were also some witches of varying ages, some old and some young, including a young girl of about six with long, straight black hair and cold blue eyes that seemed to dare him to make one move against her. She was pretty, but it was marred by the scowl on her face.

He glanced down to read her name, and was surprised to only find two letters.

_A. J._

Nothing else. No last name, no nothing. She looked strangely familiar...her round face and strong jaw brought threads of nostalgia to his mind. Where had he seen this girl before? And why was such a young child on a list of suspects for murder?

As he stewed, he heard the squeal of old door hinges and the thud of heavy footsteps. Hastily, he shoved the parchment back into his pocket.

"Malloy!" A voice boomed. Draco sighed as his boss, Mr. Borgin, stomped into the dim room. He was a short, round man, with slick black hair and cold brown eyes, and he had the memory and attention span of a shrew. Draco wondered if he should say "It's _Malfoy._" For the ninetieth time, but decided against it. He was beyond the point of caring.

"We need you in the back," Borgin said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, "Some old witch has traded in an ancient china case and it's got a boggart in it." He spat. His face was pale and sweat dripped down his forehead.

Malfoy sighed. "What do we need an old china case for?" He asked, leaving the counter, his thoughts drifting protectively to Harry's book, which was thunking loudly in his pocket. "This is a fancy little thing, I haven't seen one in thirty years. You'll be the one setting up, so you'll be testing it. Now get in the back!"

"You can't get rid of a boggart?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew he could be as disrespectful to Mr. Borgin as he liked, for the little man was terrified of him. Draco wanted to distance himself from the Malfoy reputation, but using it to his advantage was just too much fun to resist.

Mr. Borgin's chest swelled in indignation, but he said nothing, only gesturing towards the hallway which led to the back room, where all of the newest pieces were kept until they could be brought into the front.

Draco walked down the dark, musty hallway, the small lights flickering as his footsteps clumped over the ancient wood floor.

The back room was large, but it felt cramped and crowded. Ancient tapestries lined the walls, depicting bloody battle scenes that shimmered and moved as though they were really happening on the fabric. These were, of course, the ancient(and now banned) curses of old witches and wizards from medieval times, spells that hadn't been used in centuries, and the tapestries were spun with the finest threads imaginable. Draco knew that if you cut or damaged the tapestries in any way, you would be cursed for all eternity, and he avoided touching them at all.

The room was full of dusty objects, seemingly innocent wardrobes that would actually murder you if opened(these were illegal, yet Borgin loved them), gigantic safes designed by rich wizards who were very overprotective of their fortunes(these also murdered you, but in a variety of different ways) shrunken body parts of extinct magical creatures, and other strange and horrifying things.

He followed the sounds of thumping, indicating the boggart's position, until he reached a very peculiar china case.

It was six feet tall, and made of dark oak wood with intricately carved daisies for handles. The glass doors, which were strangely circular, were so thick with grime that you couldn't see inside, which explained the reason a boggart could survive inside.

The legs were carved into six-inch talons at the bottoms, and they spread out across the dirty floor in a wide fan shape.

Draco reached forward, bracing himself for his worst fear, and yanked open the doors. There was a puff of thick dust that exploded into the air, blinding him, and he stepped back in surprise.

He heard a scream, a scream he recognized, and then a few muffled voices crying out in pain.

The dust cleared, and he saw something that almost made his heart stop beating.

A dark, faceless form stood with both feet planted the backs of two different people. His father, who was unconscious and bleeding heavily, and his mother, who was screaming through the gag in her mouth, screaming for him to run.

The form had it's arm around Ginny's waist, clutching her to it, and a knife was pressed against her throat, slowly cutting into her pale, freckled skin. A current of blood flowed down her neck, dripping onto the floor.

"_Riddickulus!" _He screamed, but his mind was blank of any way to make the scene before him less terrifying. The knife cut deeper, and Ginny screamed in tormented agony, tears of fear and pain oozing from her eyes.

His mother struggled harder, but the killer merely kicked her, and she groaned, thumping against the floor.

He repeated the spell, but it did no good. His arm fell limply to his side, his hand releasing his wand, which clattered to the floor. He had fallen to his knees without realizing it. The form began to change. Crabbe's dead body. A flash of green light. Hermione screaming and thrashing. Voldemort's red eyes boring into his soul.

He covered his face with his hands and sobbed, sobbed like a tiny child. The boggart, sensing that the threat had passed, leapt back into the cabinet with a crash. It wobbled slightly, and then silence fell.

Draco sat there, his shoulders shaking, the cold air numbing his body.

An hour later, Borgin opened the door to find the young man with his head leaning against a dresser that was making odd crooning noises, his eyes as bleak and cold as the winter wind. For the first time in his life, Borgin felt a twinge of sympathy.

"We'll call someone. Go home." He said gruffly.

Draco rose, nodded his thanks, and swept out the door.

His worst fear for many years had been disappointing his family. Shaming his mother and father, who had been like gods in his eyes since he was a young boy. Both his mother and his father excelled at the art of being polite and perfectly mannered while simultaneously flaunting their superiority, which gave them an air of wealth and importance that seemed to overpower everyone else and make them look dull and drab in comparison.

They both had delicate aristocratic features that showed their fine, pure bloodlines, and well-made, expensive robes, not to mention piles of wealth and a giant manor.

They had been the very definition of what good pureblood wizardfolk should be, and, as a child, Draco had known from he had to be just as perfect as they were. He was the only son, after all, and it was his duty to be everything a pureblood wizard needed to be. He had to act a certain way and live a certain life, and he couldn't mess anything up, couldn't tarnish his image in any way.

And he'd been terrified of slipping up. That had been his one fear for as long as he could remember. It was the one he had braced himself for.

But he was a changed man, different now than he'd been, independent of his parents, he should have known that his fear would change.

As he walked down the snow-speckled street of Diagon Alley, the early afternoon sun(which had managed to fight through the now thinning gray clouds) warm on his icy cheeks, he saw everything again before his very eyes. Ginny screaming, his mother and father helpless on the floor...Voldemort's eyes, his cruel sneer...

His heart thudded wildly in his chest, and he felt like he needed to see his family, and Ginny, alive and well before he could ever be truly sure that what he had just witnessed was just a boggart. _That's cowardly, _he hissed at himself, _stupid. They're fine and you know it._

He'd let a boggart get the best of him. They'd covered boggarts in their third year. He shouldn't have let it get that strong, now anyone who came to deal with it would have a time getting it under control.

He sighed, deciding that he should just go home and rest, hating the idea of arriving at an empty house and just sitting there in the cold.

"Draco Malfoy." A voice behind him said. It was smooth and sly...untrustworthy. He knew who it was right away.

He turned around and saw Blaise Zabini, five inches taller than the last time he'd seen him, draped in an expensive looking black cloak. "Blaise." He said stiffly. They'd never been very close, though Blaise had been by his side through almost all of his sixth year.

"Interesting to see you here." Blaise said, his voice a purr in his throat. He wanted something. Draco could smell it on him.

"Not really. I work at Borgin and Burke's now, actually." He said warily, raising his brows. "Really?" Said Blaise, sounding completely bored.

"Yes. Are you still looking to become that treasure hunter?" He asked jokingly, remembering how many times Blaise had talked about hidden treasures in Egyptian tombs.

Blaise's face twitched, and he grinned, displaying perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. "I've actually found a much better occupation." He said. Draco's eyebrows touched his hairline. "Ah." He muttered.

"Blaise!" A voice called. Blaise turned, flashing a brilliant smile towards a young witch and a wizard at least twenty yeas older than Draco, both of which seemed to have come from nowhere. "Jackie, Reynolds." He said warmly as the pair reached him.

Jackie had creamy skin and wavy copper hair, and her face, which was round and cheerful, was pink with cold. She had a wild sparkle in her eyes that intrigued Draco, and she let her eyes linger on his before turning to Blaise and saying "Who's this?" In a tinkling little voice.

Reynolds, a tall, gaunt old man with thin gray hair and an extremely piggish nose, was glaring at Draco with piercing eyes.

"This is Draco Malfoy. We were friends in school." Blaise said airily.

"Lucius Malfoy's son?" Jackie asked, smiling a charming smile. Draco nodded.

"Do you remember me? Jacqueline Williams? We danced at every Malfoy ball together!" She said.

Jacqueline...he did remember her. His first kiss, under the staircase at the manor during winter holiday of his...fourth year? That sounded right. He could remember thinking that Jackie was a silly little thing in her pink gown with her copper hair tied back like she was sixteen, but she'd been pretty at least. Her parents were pureblood, but they hung on the coattails of the more wealthy and famous like leeches.

"Yeah, I remember you. The staircase?" He said, giving her his most dashing smile for some reason or another.

It felt good, seeing a woman blush under his charm after so long.

"Maybe you two would like to catch up over a few firewhiskeys? Personally, I'd love to hear about Borgin and Burkes. We were going to the Leaky Cauldron tonight, if you were interested." Blaise said casually.

Draco thought a moment. Something about this seemed...odd. But, after the past two months of hating Potter and craving Ginny, of dreading the wedding and racking his brains on ways to stop it(complicated plans filled his thoughts every night before he went to sleep), and now with the added stress of possibly having everything in his life taken away from him, he desperately wanted to go out. Maybe this would take his mind off of...everything.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. What time should I show up?" He asked.

Blaise's eyes flickered with something like triumph. "Eight. We're celebrating a...birthday, tonight." He grinned.

"See you then, Draco." Jackie smiled, winking as Blaise turned the group away and they began walking in the opposite direction.

Draco stared after them a moment before heading back to his flat, feeling, for the first time in months, just a little bit excited.


	4. The Galleon Grabbers

Chapter Four: The Galleon Grabbers.

He was at the Leaky Cauldron that night, perfectly on time. The inside of the pub was stifling and packed with people, which was pretty unusual. They talked and laughed, clinking glasses and spilling butterbeer all over themselves.

He felt very out of place, wandering through the throng completely sober with clean robes and a grim expression. He didn't seem suited for the merry twinkle of the lights and the joyous atmosphere. It was the Three Broomsticks all over again.

He almost felt like turning back, but he wouldn't let himself do it.

Instead, he fought his way to the bar, where he saw the owner of the pub, Tom, feverishly pouring drink after drink with a delighted smile on his face. Draco was quite sure he hadn't had this much business in years.

He spotted Blaise, dark eyes flashing, talking in a low voice to a witch he recognized. The blonde one he'd seen with Ginny at the Three Broomsticks.

"Ah! Malfoy!" Blaise called loudly when he spotted him a moment later. A few heads turned in Draco's direction, including that of the witch, who smiled broadly at him.

"We almost didn't think you were coming. You're fifteen minutes late. You! Make room for Malfoy. He deserves to sit down." Blaise bawled at a person Draco recognized as Reynolds. The old man glowered at Blaise, but he gave him such a withering, angry expression that Reynold's face contorted into one of almost fear, and he rose, gesturing towards his stool for Draco to sit down.

He did, feeling slightly confused. Why was Reynolds, who was taller and definitely more skilled than Blaise, cowering so easily?

He watched the old man's head of gray hair disappear slowly into the crowd of people. The blonde witch muttered something in Blaise's ear, smiled winningly at Draco, and then followed Reynolds, almost immediately being enveloped by the pack of wizards. Draco turned back to Blaise, who was watching him like a cat watches a mouse hole.

"This place is packed tonight." Draco remarked, looking causally around himself. He got the feeling he shouldn't show how suspicious of Blaise he truly was. "It is. These are all friends of mine, actually." Said Blaise quietly.

"You were always popular at Hogwarts." Draco said, trying not to sound bitter. He wished that he had a giant crowd of friends to surround himself with.

"Not as popular as you, what was your title again? The Slytherin Sex God?" Blaise laughed. It sounded slightly forced.

Draco grinned despite himself. Why contradict the truth? "Yeah, I think that was it." They both laughed this time.

"So who's birthday is it?" He asked curiously before turning to Tom and ordering a butterbeer. There was no way he was going to get hammered in Zabini's presence. He could very well be robbed, and he was not going to have _Zabini_ of all people wandering around with Draco's own Galleons in his pocket.

"Birthday?" Blaise asked, still smiling, his eyes blank for half a second. "Oh! Right. Well, it's the daughter of a friend of mine. She's turning seven." He said airily. Draco raised his brows, thoroughly surprised. "Seven? Isn't she a bit young for this sort of party?" He asked as he spotted a couple kissing passionately on a nearby table.

"Ah, Alice? She's very mature for her age." He scoffed. Draco shrugged, letting the matter drop.

Tom had returned, and he set butterbeer down on the counter loudly before hurrying off to assist the many witches and wizards who were clamoring for drinks all around them .

As Draco lifted his drink, Blaise snorted. "Butterbeer? Are you fifteen? Bring us some real alcohol, Tom. I know firewhiskey is Malfoy's favorite." Blaise tossed a handful of shiny Galleons onto the bar, making Draco's eyes pop out of his skull. Even he didn't have that kind of money anymore. No wizard did. The war had taken a chunk out of every fortune, and half the rich Slytherin families were in Azkaban.

Tom took the money carefully, a blissful gleam in his eyes, and then nodded, leaving them alone once again.

"Butterbeer seems fine for everyone else. Why am I different?" Draco asked curtly, taking a few gulps from his own bottle. Blaise shrugged. "These fools don't know how to drink." He said quietly. " You and I should be different, considering our backgrounds. Personally, I prefer wine, but this place isn't classy enough to carry what I like." He spat.

"Mmn." Draco grunted. He'd never cared for Blaise's complaints about "class", then again, no one ever had. At Hogwarts he used to get an earful at breakfast, lunch, and dinner of how _poor_ the food was or how _tasteless_ the decorations in the Slytherin common room were. Sometimes there were even complaints about the castle decor itself. Blaise had one time remarked on how terribly rusty and disgusting the suits of armor were, and they'd been chased up three flights of stairs before Professor Flitwick had saved them with an extremely fancy joint-rusting charm that froze them in place.

He still felt like kicking Blaise in the stomach when he thought of the two of them cowering behind tiny Professor Flitwick. Pansy Parkinson had laughed until she'd had to go to the infirmary for hyperventilating.

Apparently nothing had changed with his old House-mate in the way of snobbishness.

"So who was that blonde witch?" Draco asked, his eyes darkening with interest. Blaise smirked knowingly. "Does the Sex God crave a new wench?" He asked, a bit sharply. Draco returned his smirk with three times the audacity. "Maybe. Maybe not." He said, shrugging.

"Well, if you are, her name is Jane Wormwood, she's from the United States...North Carolina, I think? And she's lonely. Her long-term boyfriend died recently and she's grieving." He said, almost in sing-song. Draco's smirk deepened. "Tempting. Tempting." He muttered, leaning back on his stool. He felt almost like himself again, how he was supposed to be. The dashing, charming young Malfoy. He was soon finished with his butterbeer without really even realizing it, because he'd been using it as an excuse to peer over the top and watch a few select witches that had caught his eye, including Jane, who got prettier and prettier as the bottle slowly drained.

However, when he lifted it to his lips and found not a drop of liquid left and he could no longer casually stare at girls, he felt a pang of guilt in his stomach that took a moment for him to analyze.

Unbidden, Ginny rose into his thoughts. All stubbornness and fire, with her sharp tongue and clever mind. All of the plans he'd thought about and toyed with, all of the ways to win her heart, all of the times he hadn't had the courage to talk to her at the Leaky Cauldron, though he'd been going there every Friday just to see her for a month. He wondered for the millionth time why he'd never noticed her before the Christmas party. He'd had so many chances, there had been moments when they'd been quite alone in the long corridors between classes, and he'd merely thought things like _God her hair is weird. Who has hair like that? It's distracting. Unnatural._ Or _Ugh. It's that Weasley girl. I hope she doesn't say anything to me with that whiny stupid voice of hers._

Oh, if only he'd known what she would mean to him! He could have had her, he could have kept her from Potter-

He pushed these thoughts from his mind, determined to have a good time and nearly as determined to forget her.

Tom helped him with this by arriving with their firewhiskey, which Draco gladly accepted.

"So Draco, how are old Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy?" Blaise asked as Draco took a long drink. Draco thought a moment. Alive, as far as he knew. This tiny thought sent a shiver of unease down his spine, but again he refused to think about it.

"Good. Father's back at work and everything now, we avoided Azkaban." He said bluntly, letting Blaise know that this was not a good topic to pursue.

Apparently he didn't pick up on the message. "Really? Did you lose allot of fortune?" Blaise asked. "My mother and me suffered some, but not too much." He explained when Draco's eyes became wary, "I was just wondering if you had any trouble."

Always wealth with Zabini.

"We lost maybe half of everything we had, but we've earned some back. We're still the fourth wealthiest vault in Gringotts, by any means." He said pompously, feeling his ancient family pride rising to the challenge in Blaise's tone. However, Blaise just looked back at him with carefully innocent black eyes that had been wiped clean of all emotion. "Good...good." He said nodding in appreciation and then preceding to drain his glass. Draco felt himself tense up, and he gave Blaise a sideways glance, deciding to do the same. Tom seemed to appear out of thin air, and the glasses were soon refilled. Draco began to drink again without paying attention, still staring out of the corner of his eye at Blaise. What was he up to?

"I THINK IT'S TIME WE TOAST THE BIRTHDAY GIRL!" A slightly slurred voice shouted.

"What a good idea!" A red-faced witch cried. She was so tipsy that she had to hang on to a very disgruntled looking wizard's arm, and her hair, which was Indian straight and the deepest shade of burgundy Draco had ever seen, had come free of it's pins and now straggled across her face.

She looked slightly familiar, and he had a fleeting glimpse of a tall wizard and this very witch waltzing around the room. However, an entire glass of firewhiskey and a bottle of butterbeer had numbed his brain a bit, and he couldn't examine the image for very long before it was gone.

"Yes, let's bring my little Alice up!" The witch hiccuped, turning and looking back through the crowd. It parted significantly, and Draco peered around the witch and wizard, only to have his glass slip from his hand and crash to the floor, spraying firewhiskey everywhere, his one evening of fun burned to a crisp and thoroughly destroyed.

A.J., her round little face as grim and hostile as he'd seen in the photograph, was walking right towards them.

Everyone had backed away from Draco, allowing Tom to scurry forward and mutter _Reparo_ before mopping up the liquid and, with a shrug and a chuckle that Draco didn't return, refilling Draco's glass.

Shock soon faded to adrenaline, and instinct sparked in his mind.

He had to get out of there, he had to tell Potter-

He felt the book slap against his hip from its position in his pocket as he shifted on his stool to get a better look at A. J.

He had a quill tucked inside of it. If he could get out of the pub without causing a scene...

A.J. reached them, looking thoroughly bored and unhappy. She had the soft brown eyes of a puppy, and they were very grim.

"Do I have to?" She asked the red-headed witch, her little voice impatient and exasperated. The witch was suddenly fierce. "Alice Johanna, don't be a stick-in-the-mud and ruin everyone's good time. That's not how I raised you. Besides," She said, waving her arms in a grand gesture, "all of this is for your birthday."

A. J. Looked thoughtful for a moment, but then unhappiness settled again on her round face.

Draco felt sympathetic for the girl, but he was too busy coming up with an excuse to leave to really pay attention as Blaise lifted her onto the bar, and whistled loudly to get everyone's attention. Silence fell immediately, and they all looked up at him with eager eyes.

It would be too obvious to leave now. He'd have to wait until the toast was over.

"A toast," Blaise said, raising his glass, "To Miss Alice Johanna Fredricks on her seventh birthday, among other things." He smiled widely. "And to her beautiful mother, Vanessa, for giving us such a talented child." He looked down at Vanessa, who was blushing a deeper red than her hair, if that was possible. Blaise clinked his glass with her, and everyone did the same with the people closest to them so that it sounded like someone was smashing a china emporium inside of the Leaky Cauldron. Draco did this unwillingly with Jackie, who was beet red and giggling hysterically.

Blaise patted A.J. on the back as she climbed off the bar, looking very embarrassed. She glanced up at him with an imploring expression, and he nodded just slightly. A sudden grin broke across her face, lighting it up like a Christmas tree, and she darted off. Draco's gray eyes followed her tiny form as she bounced around the legs of the party guests, reminding him of a rabbit running through a forest.

How did Blaise know A.J.? Was he part of the cult? Was she, anyway, or was Potter mistaken? Draco thought of every single suspicious little thing Blaise had done that night and decided that he would tell Harry everything. He might resent him for having Ginny, but that boggart had made something clear to him. As long as she was safe, he could bide his time. And he had to keep her safe.

"Excuse me, Blaise." He said casually, quickly finishing his firewhiskey(which seared his throat horribly) and beginning to walk towards the door. It was harder than he wanted it too be, and his feet felt oversized. Blaise caught him on the shoulder. "Hey! Where are you going?" He asked, rather firmly. Draco gritted his teeth, put an easy smile on his face, and turned back to him. "I have work tomorrow. Have to sleep." He said with a shrug.

"You can't stay for just a while longer?" Blaise asked, "You've only been here three hours."

Draco shook his head, thinking about everything he would tell Harry. "No, I don't think so. See you later, Blaise." He began to walk again, but a person had appeared before him so quickly it seemed she had Apparated.

"Leaving so soon?" Jane Wormwood asked him. She was twirling a strand of honey-blonde hair coquettishly around her finger and batting her lids subtly. Her voice was a bit high and excited, and on top of that she was swaying slightly on her feet, sp oe assumed she was tipsy, just like every other person here. Hell, just like himself.

She was eyeing him in a way that made it clear it would be hell to get away from her.

Jane was very pretty up close, but pretty in the way that a pixie was pretty, with a tiny sharp nose and strangely slanted eyes. Not exactly his type. Briefly, there was a swirl of red hair flashing in his mind.

"I have work tomorrow." Draco said, trying to sound firm and uninterested, though that was a lie. He was interested, in some ways.

"Mm." She said, leaning forward slightly and wobbling as she did so. She smelled like ginger cookies and expensive perfume. He wanted to step back, and was going to, but she caught his head in her hands and kissed him. It stunned him into stillness, and he automatically began kissing her back. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and he couldn't break away. There were a few whoops and a shout or two, and he thought he heard some whistling, but it was all distant and far away.

He hadn't kissed a girl in months, and he'd forgotten how much he liked it. Jane was soft and sweet, yes, there was nothing bad about this. _Potter,_ His mind shouted, _murders, the cult, A.J., eighty people dead,_ Not now. Please not now. She had pressed herself against his chest, and he had his hands wrapped in her long hair.

_People are being murdered and you're kissing girls who you barely know!_ The part of his brain that was still sober screamed in outrage. There hadn't been anymore deaths lately, the firewhiskey reasoned.

_What about Ginny? What about Mum and Dad?_

This broke Jane and Draco's lips apart. He stared at her for a minute, feeling ashamed of himself. Her eyes were half closed, and she was leaning on him for support. "Why did you stop?" She asked in a purr.

The real world flooded in again, and he felt cold. He'd actually seen a suspect, which was more than the entire Ministry had done, and he had wasted all of his time. A.J. might have left. She had seemed happy to go.

He felt sick to his stomach.

But maybe she wasn't gone. Maybe he still had a chance to redeem himself.

Just as he was about to run for the door, it was blown open by a jet of red light that smashed it to splinters.

Aurors and Hit Wizards swarmed into the building in a giant mass of black cloaks and flying curses. Draco ducked, shouting in surprise, pulling Jane with him. She screamed, covering her head with her hands.

Draco looked around, stunned, as people began to duel, tables exploded into shards of wood, and shouts of fury and fear rang through the air. There was a deafening series of pops as wizards and witches Apparated out of the building, disappearing into thin air.

The Aurors and Hit Wizards ran forward in a herd of thundering feet, overtaking as many people as possible with full-body bind curses and cries of _Stupefy!_ And _Petrificus Totalus!_

The world was a hazy mess that he could not make sense of, there were so many bangs and screams and swears, so many hands and feet that he could do little more than crouch on the floor and pray he wasn't stepped on.

The lights went out, throwing everything into darkness, the only light coming from the streams of pink, gold, and red that shot across the room. One spell came so close to his ear he could feel the heat wafting from it.

A sudden shout rang out over the chaos, and the fighting ceased so abruptly it was though someone had hit a switch. The light flickered back on, illuminating the ravaged Leaky Cauldron. The windows were broken, the tables were smashed, the floor had a few smouldering holes that glowed with hot embers. Bits of wood and glass were everywhere, including in Draco's hair and robes. Jane was nowhere to be seen, but neither were any of the other witches and wizards that had been in the Leaky Cauldron. Draco wondered how they could Apparate out of a full-body bind curse, and didn't think it was possible.

He realized he was trembling, he tried to steady himself before anyone noticed.

The shout had come from Harry Potter, who sat in the middle of the tarnished building in a circle of ash and glass, his robes torn and tattered, his hair singed. He was crouched over a limp form, the lifeless body of an old man. "Tom!" He said, shaking the man's shoulder, his voice hoarse. Draco felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Tom did not move. His head was turned towards Draco, who could see his face. The man's eyes were blank, and a deep cut still dripped blood on his forehead. "Tom..." Harry said again in a whisper.

Tom was dead, it was plain to see, but like Harry Draco didn't want to believe it.

"Who aimed to kill?" Harry asked in a furious hiss, whirling on the Aurors and the Hit Wizards, who were somehow already bunched in an orderly cluster behind Draco. A few of them had injuries, and all of them had badly singed robes, but none of them stepped forward. They all continued to stare at Harry.

Harry's eyes were full of tears, and he was shaking violently, as though he stood in a strong wind. "_WHO HERE,_" He shouted, his green eyes snapping with fire, "_AIMED TO KILL?_" He had jumped to his feet. "_HAVE WE NOT HAD ENOUGH DEATH? HAVE WE NOT HAD ENOUGH LIVES SACRIFICED TONIGHT?!_" He shrieked. "_REMEMBER THE REASON WE'RE HERE! REMEMBER WHY THIS HAD TO BE DONE!"_ He cried, glaring at every face in turn.

"Harry," A voice said, and Neville Longbottom stepped out of the hoard of wizards, his arm dripping blood, his black hair rumpled and greasy as though he hadn't washed it in days. "Calm down. I'm sure it was an accident-"

"IT WASN'T AN ACCIDENT!" Harry howled, his breathing ragged.

"Harry!" Draco turned in shock, accidently shoving his hand into a pile of glass shards. Pain jolted up his fingers and fire spread across his palm, and he felt hot blood seep across his skin. But he didn't care.

Ginny rushed forward, a deep cut across her cheek gleaming. She walked with a severe limp, and every time she took a step she bit her lip and paled. He wanted to scoop her up and just hold her, just stop her from having to move and hurt herself.

However, he had no right to any of these feelings. Jane Wormwood had made it very clear that he didn't care about Ginny as much as he thought he had.

Draco got to his feet, fighting the urge to help her, hating himself as he watched her limp piteously towards Harry, who made no move to walk forward and save her the pain. His eyes were wide and shattered, almost childlike.

There was silence as Ginny hobbled forward, her face growing pinker and pinker the longer it took her to move.

Finally, when she stood over top of Tom's body, she stopped. "No one tried to kill him. I don't believe that any of our Aurors, or our Hit Wizards would do that." She said loudly, looking up at Harry so that Draco was forced to stare at the back of her head. He could only imagine her expression, loving, caring, her eyes wide and desperate. He knew she was pleading with Harry, trying to get him to keep calm. She knew as well as Draco did that the Head Auror couldn't have a mental breakdown on a crime scene and still keep his respect, much less his post.

Even after everything that had happened, it was like Christmas had come early, seeing her on a day that wasn't Friday. He hoped that, secretly, this meant that he'd get to see her twice that week. It was a glorious, wonderful thought.

Ginny turned to look back at the tattered group of wizards, her brown eyes resting on every face in turn until she got to Draco's. He wasn't sure, but something seemed to spark in the dark depths. "Everyone here tonight was just trying to shut down the Galleon Grabbers, none of us succeeded, though we all fought bravely. Tom was probably lost to a stray spell from one of the _enemy's_ wands." She said evenly.

Behind her, Harry wore a thoughtful expression. He made his way to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"Ginny is right. I-I shouldn't have erupted like that. It wasn't professional. I'm-I'm sorry." Harry said earnestly. Everyone nodded, and a few people smiled. Draco was not one of them. He was looking at Ginny. She was pale and grim-faced, her skin sallow and her eyes dull. So different than the last time he'd seen her.

"Now, team," Said Harry briskly, his voice becoming authoritative. "The Prophet is going to want to know all about this, especially after what happened at the Estelle mansion. We're not going to be able to keep that out of the news, but I do appreciate how well you've managed to cover up the evidence. I want everything to be kept as quiet as possible, because if people panic..." Harry shuddered for effect.

"However, we can keep this down to a minimum _if_ we work quickly. So, lets clean everything up, call the coroner, and I'll need to talk to _anyone_ who thinks they got a good look at a suspect. Kingsley will want to know, and we need to confirm who is in this gang, and who's not. Also, if any objects relating to the criminals are found, please preserve them so that we can analyze them." Harry clapped his hands, releasing Ginny's shoulders.

"Alright. Let's get to work. Also, if anyone needs medical attention, I'll contact the Healers at St. Mungos." He said.

He muttered something in Ginny's ear, and she answered softly "No, no. I'll be fine."

When no one stepped forward to display their injuries(though many walked with limps or winced when they moved a certain way), Harry declared that they needed to get started immediately. Draco thought fleetingly of his hand, which was dripping blood and throbbing like there was no tomorrow. Still, he wouldn't be the man who forced the Healers out of bed to remove some glass.

Though Harry urged Ginny to at least let someone take her home, she vehemently refused, saying that her mother and father would question her until she went mad. However, she was still too injured to do any work what so ever.

So she was set on a rickety chair that a _Reparo_ spell had managed to reconstruct and propped in a corner, an angry-faced little statue watching the Aurors and Hit Wizards inspect the Leaky Cauldron, clean up the carnage, move Tom's body to the back to wait for the coroner, and interview each other. Draco knew he had to report A.J. to Harry, but the thought of talking to Ginny alone was too perfect to pass up. And besides, he wanted to know what the hell had happened at the Estelle mansion(what ever that was), and how Harry had known to come here, and why in God's name was Ginny here. That was the main question. She was going to try out for the Holy Head Harpies, and he knew that she practiced day and night for it. She didn't work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she had no business being involved in this. He was going to get some answers.

So Draco, as inconspicuously as possible, crossed the room, weaving through the workers and picking up bits of conversation. "I don't know how we'll keep it quiet-" "So much blood and vomit you'd think-"

"Hit Wizards _**and**_ Aurors, I can't believe-"

"All for money-"

"So much waste-"

He barely listened.

When she saw him coming, Ginny tensed up, staring straight ahead.

"Ginger." He said, sitting down beside her. Though he didn't do a damn thing with it, his hand lit up in flames of agony.

"Please call me Ginny, Malfoy." Ginny spat in response. Her voice was cold.

"What are you doing here?" He asked bluntly, deciding to cut to the point.

Ginny didn't look at him. "Why do you care?" She hissed. Why was she so cross with him? What had he done?

"Just tell me." He said curtly.

Ginny turned her head, her face contorted in anger. There was a tear in the corner of her eye. "I came with Harry and everyone else. I'm not a child, Malfoy. I can handle more than people give me credit for." She shifted so that she could stare deep into his eyes. She was livid.

"How much do you know about what's going on? How much has Harry told you?" She asked, searching his face. There was definite hurt in her voice.

It hit Draco like a ton of bricks. Harry hadn't told her anything about what was happening. Like the rest of the Wizarding World, he had kept her in the dark.

And Potter's little kitten had found out about it anyway. He felt a surge of warmth when he looked at her outraged face, and he knew he was horrible for the joy he felt when he saw the heartbreak in her eyes, but once again he didn't care.

"Just that eighty people have been killed and that it's getting worse every day." Draco said softly, answering her question. Ginny hid her sniffle with a yelp of curt laughter. "Make that two hundred and eighty." She spat.

Draco felt the shock on his face, and he felt his stomach churn jarringly. "God." He whispered.

Ginny looked at her, and her expression softened. "It happened around nine o' clock. There was a Christmas party at the Estelle mansion- you remember Rebecca Estelle?" Ginny asked. Draco shook his head. "She was in school with us. A very wealthy Ravenclaw, kind of a snob if I'm to be honest. Her parents got rich in the broomstick business, her father invented some of the biggest titles of all time. Anyway, they had about one hundred and ninety-five people over, and they were eating this gigantic feast when the first one vomited blood and dropped dead."

Ginny looked grave, and her face was the color of skim milk. "The whole family was killed- father, mother, Rebecca, and her two little sisters Prudence and Frieda. All the guests died.

Someone had gotten the time of the party horribly wrong- they arrived to find everyone dead in heaps."

"So the poison is working faster now?" Draco asked quickly, swallowing the sour bile that rose in his throat. "Before it took weeks to kill-"

"It was slower?" Ginny asked, the heat of anger returning to her voice. "So that's one more thing I didn't know." She glared pointedly at Harry, but he was too busy talking to a group of grim-faced Aurors to notice.

"How did Harry know they were here?" Draco asked, still dry-mouthed, his palms beginning to sweat.

"A shopkeep Harry knows recognized one of the suspects in his shop and was able to figure out that they were going to the Leaky Cauldron through some tricky conversation. The suspect was talking with another woman about 'Family E', mind you that this was just an hour after the Estelle's had been discovered and the shopkeep had no idea what had happened, but he wrote Ron immediately." Ginny said.

It was the first suspect we've seen. A little girl, he said. Can you imagine? A child being involved in all of this." Ginny shook her head in disgust. _A.J. _Draco realized, and then, with another pang, everything became frighteningly clear, as though a dark sheet had just been pulled away to reveal the horrible truth. This had been a celebration for the murders, and almost everyone there had to have been in the gang. Including Blaise, Jane, Jackie, Reynolds, every single person he'd seen.

And for some reason or another, Blaise had asked him to come. Maybe to poison him? They'd never been very kind to each other, and Draco hadn't been paying very much attention. It would have been so easy to slip some potion into his drink He shuddered, and wondered if he would end up vomiting all over the floor and dying before he could tell Harry anything. He wouldn't take that chance.

"Excuse me, Ginger." He said, rising to his feet, determined to tell Harry everything he knew.

"Yeah. Bye." She muttered, not bothering to correct him on her name.

Harry was in Tom's room, talking to the coroner, who was an old, gloomy-faced man with gray hair and a thick white mustache. Tom was lying peacefully in his bed behind the two, his arms folded across his chest.

"Potter, I think I have some information for you." Draco said quickly.

Harry's eyes lighted slightly, and he excused himself, grabbing Draco harshly by the arm and pulling him into an empty bedroom. He shut the door behind them with a clap, and then turned back to Draco. The room was almost completely dark, save a candle flickering on the window sill, and all Draco could see of Harry Potter was the flash of orange light on his glasses.

"What is it?" Harry asked quickly.

"You need to rule out suspects, right?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded, or at least, Draco thought he did.

"I can tell you that Vanessa Fredricks, A.J. Fredricks, Blaise Zabini, Reynolds, Jacqueline Williams, and Jane Wormwood were all here tonight. I'll gladly look at the list and check to see if they fit."

Harry seemed stunned. "Blaise Zabini?" He said in astonishment, and then he growled "Of course. He'd love a gang like this."

"So it's officially a gang, then?" Draco asked, feeling idiotic. Who cared what it was?

"Yes, at least, that's what we assume, especially after the crowd we saw tonight. They're called the Galleon Grabbers, unofficially, by the Ministry, because we've finally found our pattern. They're after money." Harry declared, seeming vaguely proud of himself.

"That's it?" Draco asked incredulously, "it took you this long to figure that out? They're after rich wizards?" He felt thoroughly frustrated and impatient. Harry's brow furrowed, and he gritted his teeth. "It hasn't been exactly easy, Malfoy." He spat. "The families they attacked didn't all seem very wealthy, but there was always some stitch that the Ministry missed. One family had a secret trunk of gigantic diamonds buried under their house that no one knew about. Another had an incredibly wealthy aunt that was constantly on the run from the law, but, if she died, the oldest child in the family would inherit all of her money. Odd things that only family members could know, but all of them involving a fortune. Which brings me to the most disturbing part..." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Hermione has a theory. Almost every one of these families has an outcast child or family member that didn't fit the mold, but knew where these fortunes were stashed, had access to the fortunes, or would inherit the fortune when a relative passed away. For instance, the Estelles had Michael, who abandoned the family to marry a girl they didn't approve of. He's been living badly down in London for a while now. Hermione thinks that these people have become spiteful, and are joining the gang for glory, money, and revenge." Harry sounded even more exhausted then he had at the cavern.

Draco raised his brows, thoroughly impressed with Hermione. She'd found all that out in the three days that Draco had been back in the Wizarding World. "How did Granger find all of that out?" He asked.

Harry smiled broadly. "She finally got all of the family records she needed and pieced everything together. Worked for a solid seventy-two hours, but she cracked the code. Of course, this is all just her theory, but knowing Hermione it's rock-solid." Draco could hear the grin in Harry's voice.

"But wait..." Draco said in confusion, "why would they kill everyone in the Estelle mansion if they just wanted the family dead?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know. I think it was the easiest way to make sure the job got done." He said, his voice hollow. "Accuracy didn't seem to be a problem before." Draco mused. "Well...I don't think the person doing this job was very accurate. And I think there was a reason behind that. Malfoy, I think...I think this might have been an initiation. That, or someone's proving something. The job was just so thoroughly done, so gruesome and terrible, I think someone was trying to be impressive." Harry said.

Draco considered this. "Maybe." He allowed.

"So we do we know enough to shut them down now?" Draco asked hopefully. Harry said nothing for a moment, and Draco thought he heard a creaky breath. "No. We don't know how many people are in the gang, and we don't know where their headquarters is, or even where they could hide without having been spotted by now. We also don't know how they're poisoning people so efficiently, or how they've managed to evade us like this.

"Every Auror and Hit Wizard on duty swarmed this place tonight, and we didn't catch a single person." Harry sounded thoroughly stumped. He looked suddenly up at Draco, his brows raised. "Why are you here tonight?"

"Blaise invited me out for drinks." Draco answered smoothly. Harry suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him violently. "What did he say!" He shouted. Draco jumped back in surprise, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

"Nothing, Potter! Jesus Christ. He just asked me about the manor, and of course the fort-"

Draco broke off mid-sentence, and he felt every ounce of warmth drain from his body. Sweat rose on his face, and he felt his mouth pop open.

"He wanted you to join." Harry said sagely, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "He probably wants to use you to finish off your parents. Rumors have been going around, you know. That you abandoned them."

Draco swallowed with difficulty as the full weight of the situation settled in his chest and filled his mind. "I'll have to go back to the manor." He said hoarsely. "I don't want anything to happen to them. I have to p-prove to Blaise that the rumors are false."

"Could you manage to do it tomorrow? I'd like you to go over the suspect list and confirm who's in and who's undecided."

Draco nodded, then, realizing Harry couldn't see him in the darkness, muttered "Sure. Yeah."

He wondered how soon he could return home, and how he could manage to do that. He'd left for a reason, but now that reason seemed insignificant. He didn't want to see the ballroom where he and Ginny had danced? That was stupid. He wanted to be independent? Who cared? This was more important.

"Harry! HARRY!" A voice screamed bloody murder from the barroom. Harry flung open the door and bolted outside, Draco on his heels, heart in his throat. When they broke into the brightly lit room, he expected to see someone dead on the floor.

But instead he saw Neville crouched on his knees, tears streaming down his face, a tiny limp form in his arms. All of the Aurors and Hit Wizards stood around him in a wide circle, shock on all of their faces."Alice...oh Alice..." Neville sobbed, staring down at the body. Draco's eyes widened in shock. A.J.

That was why she was familiar. She looked like Neville. And as Draco stared at her, he saw the similarities leap out, more noticeable than ever before. Her face was round and cheerful, and her mouth was wide and full. Her hair was thick and black, and slightly curly, just like Neville's.

"What the hell-" He stuttered as the pieces began to come together, but someone set a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Ginny, her face sallow, her eyes wide and urgent. She shook her head vigorously, and he fell quiet.

"Harry-Harry she's out cold! Call the Healers! Call someone!" Neville cried, looking at Harry with tear filled eyes.

"I'll get them immediately. Someone check her pulse!" Harry ordered, his voice hoarse.

He walked off.

A wizard surged forward and crouched beside Neville. "Lay her out on the floor!" He ordered. Sniffling, Neville did so. The wizard checked her pulse, biting his lip.

After a moment of incredibly tense silence, he said loudly "She's alive."

"Oh, thank God." Neville groaned, stroking Alice's hair. Draco closed his eyes and wondered why he was feeling such a sickening surge of relief.

Behind him, Ginny gasped. She'd been holding her breath.

Without thinking, he reached behind himself and slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it gently. Her hand was cold and clammy, and he realized she was shivering.

She pulled her hand away immediately, but he thought he felt a little reluctance. Her fingers lingered on his for just a moment too long.

Draco smiled despite himself.

The wizard had drawn out his wand and was muttering incantations under his breath. A.J. stirred slightly, and then her dark eyes flickered open. They were dull and unfocused, but she mumbled "Mum?"

New tears flowed down Neville's cheeks, and he grinned. "You're okay now." He said, more to himself than A.J.

"Who're you?" She mumbled, blinking hard.

"Dad." He whispered.

Draco turned and looked at Ginny, who looked back at him with the same shocked expression. He knew they were thinking the same thing.

_Dad?!_


	5. Back To The Manor

Chapter Five: Back to the Manor

Everything else seemed to happen in a blur, as Draco's mind was reeling. The Healers arrived just moments after Neville's declaration of fatherhood(so no one could question him), five of them, in white uniforms and carrying bags of equipment.

They examined A.J., who had slipped away again, and reassured Neville(who had gone very quiet and pale) that she was fine, but she would have to go to St. Mungo's because she'd received a stunning spell through the chest.

Ginny, though she refused hotly, was looked over and had to have a very severe burn on her leg that had to be dealt with immediately. She would also be going to the hospital, because it would take three weeks to heal. They were taken away immediately, and Draco didn't even get a chance to say good bye. Neville, however, spent ten minutes slowly releasing A.J.'s hand. Harry told him he could go with her, but Neville refused. He had to help Harry with the Leaky Cauldron, he'd said, as his agonized gaze followed A.J. out the door and into the freezing night.

Draco desperately wanted to know what the hell was going on with A.J., and how _Neville_ could be her father at twenty-five years old, and that was ignoring the fact that she was with the Galleon Grabbers _at seven_.

But there was just too much chaos and frantic work to ask him, and he got the feeling that Neville wouldn't have told him. Already the man was glancing nervously around himself, as though he was afraid someone would sneak up behind him and begin interrogating him. Draco had to admit, he would have liked to demand some answers.

But he knew that now was not the time to begin questioning him. Everyone had leapt back into their work with frightening ferocity, and the world around him was a swirl of black-clad bodies casting spells and inspecting the scant evidence they'd managed to acquire.

The glass was pulled from Draco's hand by a Healer who'd hung back to care for the injured, and though it hurt like hell, he could barely focus on the flashes of white-hot pain. Too much had gone wrong, and too much was going wrong. Everything was officially in danger, and he wished with all his heart he'd contacted Harry the minute he'd seen Blaise in Diagon Alley. He could have saved two-hundred people.

But no, of course not, not Draco Malfoy. He could never do a damn thing right.

Soon, crouched in a corner of the Leaky Cauldron, watching the Aurors, Healers, and Hit Wizards work, he felt the life draining out of him. He felt as though he was slowly aging into a very, very old man. He had no idea how long he sat there, thinking, worrying, watching the slow work go on and on.

When Potter, sweaty faced and bleary eyed, finally called him up to inspect the suspects list, Draco rose without hesitation, feeling his now bandaged hand burn in protest.

He was led to a back room, given a quill, and he wordlessly ran his eyes over the faces. He recognized A.J., checked her, and then found Reynolds, who blended in with every other old man on the list, and checked him. He saw Vanessa, looking quite different in her picture than she had when he'd seen her. She had wavy, blood-colored hair that was brushed and clean, a warm, delicately featured face, and a placid smile. Nothing like the disheveled woman he'd seen that night.

He didn't recognize a single other person, though he felt, with a pang of annoyance, that he had probably seen every single one of them tonight. He racked his brain, but only frail glimpses of features came to his mind. A black suit, a big nose, a thick head of chestnut curls. All of it was a messy smear of disjointed pieces, mixed with the glow of lights and the glimmer of firewhiskey.

Neither Jane, Jackie, nor Blaise were on the list, so he scribbled their names along the bottom of the parchment.

He handed Harry the list silently. He could feel the worry etched across his face. "Take care, Draco." Harry said with a weak smile, tucking the list into his pocket. "And if I were you, I'd deny having anything to do with this place. It's going to be swarmed with reporters by noon, and the rumors are going to spill out the doors the moment the Prophet is delievered."

Draco nodded, and Harry left him alone in the quiet, dark room.

Draco sat there for a moment, feeling exhaustion creep over him. He spotted a gleam of hazy blue on the floor, and he turned to see faint dawn light spilling in through a small window. The sky had only a few weak silver clouds floating across it, and the first pale yellow hues of sunlight glowed on the horizon.

Though it was a beautiful morning, it only made him feel more exhausted and beaten down. His bandaged hand throbbed, just like his head, and his body felt sticky and stiff. His clothes were torn and ragged, covered in bloodstains and glittering with fragments of glass.

He wanted to go home.

He rose to his feet, and walked wordlessly out of the room, through the pub, and out onto the cold street that was just beginning to come to life. Lights began to flicker on, and curtains had been drawn back. A few people draped in thick, warm cloaks walked quickly down the street, hurrying to work. None of them knew what had happened yet. They would not know until breakfast, when the Prophet was usually delivered, or maybe even later. They still believed that all was well and good in the world, that the Ministry was handling things. He wished he could be one of them. He wished that he could be as innocent as they were.

Draco stopped in the middle of the street, though it was bitter cold and his fingers were already numb, and just watched the world slowly unfold. He felt frozen in time, like he was sitting in the train right before it ran off the rails, or walking on the boat right before it tipped.

He was looking at the last few hours of calm before the panic.

The sun was peeking out above the trees, casting long shafts of golden light across the sky, and he decided just to Apparate, though it was a bit of a long way to go.

He focused on his dreary flat, though focusing was hard as hell, and willed himself to appear there.

His entire body felt like it was being crushed together, and he couldn't see anything but swirling colors. He couldn't breathe because hot, expanding sand was filling his lungs and pulling him apart-

With a crack, he landed in his living room. He knew he shouldn't Apparate too much(muggles would think someone was having a gun fight) but he couldn't help himself.

His house was dark and freezing, and his navy curtains were drawn, shunning the gentle light of dawn.

He stumbled back to his room, almost unable to walk, but he didn't collapse onto his bed.

Instead, he made his way to his window and opened it. The moment he did, his barn owl(who he'd just started calling Barnaby because an owl needed a name) swooped in with snow-speckled feathers and gave him an accusing look. "I was out." Draco muttered. Barnaby's amber eyes didn't relent. "I'm sorry. It was urgent." He said, wandering to his desk and plopping down in front of the parchment on his desk. By the light of the sun, he tiredly wrote a brief letter.

_Mother and Father,_

_I do believe I've made a mistake by buying a flat out here in muggle London. I'd much like to come home to my own room in the manor, if that is possible. Money has gotten tight, and I'm sick of not being able to Apparate to my own home. Also, I'd like to be closer to my own wizarding kind._

_But most of all, I miss both of you very, very much._

_-Draco_

He tied the letter to Barnaby's leg(though he was viciously pecked a few times in the process) and sent him off, a swooping tawny shape against the bright, blinding backdrop of a rising golden sun. Draco watched him go before closing the window and drawing the shades, turning back to his bedroom, and collapsing in a heap on top of his quilt. He was asleep in seconds.

He banged on the glass of the tank, his fists bouncing off with embarrassingly futile little thuds. _Tap tap tap._

The world around him was shadowed and unfocused, and he couldn't tell where he was. The only solid thing was the thick glass tank in front of him.

_Tap tap tap._

Three faces appeared through the gloom, trapped inside the tank. Ginny and both of his parents, bound and gagged, slamming themselves against the glass with panicked eyes. Water, thick and black as oil, swirled around their ankles, rising swiftly.

"_I'll get you out! You won't be like the others! I won't let them kill you!_" He screamed as the water rose to their knees and the volume of their muffled screams grew louder.

A terrible cackle rang through the air, and he saw Blaise sitting on top of the tank, a wild gleam in his eyes. Draco knew, that, somehow, he could break the glass. "_Get them out!_" He cried desperately.

Blaise only laughed, and hoards of people emerged from the darkness, laughing at him. "_Why resist us, Draco?_" Blaise asked silkily, "_You know which side you're going to choose. You know who you really are!_" He cried.

Draco shook his head, and then felt fire blazing on his arm. He yanked back his sleeve, feeling sweat on his lip, and saw that the Dark Mark had turned black again. It had been slowly fading to gray for many months now, but no more. It looked as fresh as it had the moment he'd received it.

He gave a horrible, blinding screech of fear, and flung himself at the glass, desperate to break it. The water had reached their necks, and his father(who was much taller), was trying to pull his mother upward towards the top of the tank. Ginny had stopped struggling, and now just stared at Draco with the wild eyes of a cornered animal. He beat harder, anger swelling in his chest, driving out the fear. _TAP. TAP. TAP._

His fists were bruised and bloody, leaving smears of crimson on the glass.

The water reached the top of the tank, and there was a flash of green light. Draco felt himself sliding to the ground.

_Tap tap tap._

His eyes snapped open, and he found himself submerged in darkness, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his clothes drenched in sweat.

His hand throbbed dully, and he pushed a lock of dripping hair from his eyes as his mind registered where he was.

Lying on the floor of his bedroom.

It had all been a dream.

Hysterical laughter bubbled in his throat, and he laughed until he couldn't breathe, letting the cold wave of relief drown him. His heartbeat was racing in his chest, and he made no move to calm it.

He got to his feet, shaking wildly, and fumbled for his wand.

"_Lumos,_" He muttered, and the tip of the wand sparked, flickering gold.

The tapping noise was coming from the window, and he thought he heard the screech of talons on glass.

Barnaby.

He used the narrow beam of light to navigate his room, narrowly missing the leg of his desk by centimeters.

He pushed open the window, and was greeted with a gust of freezing air.

Barnaby pecked wildly at his head, and Draco shoved him back into the tiny gilded birdcage he kept on the floor by the window, wincing as he felt blood trickling down his neck. He wondered how he'd managed to keep Barnaby undiscovered for so long: the bird was begging to be caught by the landlord.

When, with severely scratched hands, he finally managed to pry a tightly bound piece of parchment from Barnaby's leg, it was a tattered scrap that was almost unreadable.

However, using his wand and squinting hard, he could make out a long-winded letter in his mothers curt, clean script.

His eyes scanned it quickly, and he caught phrases about the Estelle mansion(she didn't seem particularly upset, just curious) and about how everyone was in a fit about it. She did say that she was happy Draco was returning home in this time of danger, though, and that his room was ready for him. Both Narcissa and Lucius were overjoyed that he would be back with them. They would send for his things on Thursday, but in the meantime, he should come home as soon as he possibly could.

Draco heaved a sigh, a cold, rasping breath in the darkness. Every part of him wanted to stay out of the manor. He had so wanted to try being his own person outside of all the Malfoy drama. But one flash of his dream, one look at the terror on his parents' faces, and he bit his lip, threw away the letter, and wrote a quick response.

_I'll be home by Wednesday._

He snatched Barnaby out of his cage, fed him some owl pellets to try and make amends, and then tied the letter to his leg.

Barnaby, with a joyful hoot, spread his wide wings and soared out the window, disappearing into the night.

Draco closed the window and sank down onto his bed, breathing hard. Wednesday. That was tomorrow. He would be home tomorrow to watch over his family. It was like a weight lifted off his shoulders, freeing up his chest and allowing him to breathe again.

What would he do with today, when the sun finally rose again?

Borgin was expecting him at work...

He needed to pack...

Something prickled uncomfortably in the back of his mind, tugging on his thoughts. He was going to take care of his mother and father, but there was another person who he had not thought of. Ginny. Wounded, a prime target, put in a hospital where patients had been killed before. Anyone could slip a potion into her meal, or her water. Anyone.

Again, the childish need to see Ginny alive surged through him like a jet of icy water.

He suddenly knew what he was doing with his last day of true freedom.


	6. St Mungo's

_**Chapter Six is FINALLY up! Woohoo!**_

_**(Please tell me if the plot is moving too fast with this one...I just had the urge to go for it and I'm not sure the story benefitted.) **_

Chapter Six: St. Mungo's

The Wizarding World was in an uproar, just as mother had said, and it took only ten minutes on the subway to get an earful of the swirling cloud of rumors and speculation that hung over the events of the Leaky Cauldron and the Estelle Mansion. The distressed witches and wizards were easy to spot: they stood in oddly dressed clusters, whispering to each other and occasionally looking around themselves. They didn't even seem to notice the bemused, curious glances that regular muggles were giving them. He overheard some snippets of conversation, centering mainly around the two-hundred deaths at the Estelle mansion, if they were linked to the eighty other murders in the past three months(which it was commonly agreed on that yes, they were) and also if Tom, the newly deceased former-owner of the Leaky Cauldron, was tied into all of this somehow.

It truly pained Draco to listen to the rumors that were false(which centered mainly around lazy Aurors and a collapsing Ministry), and it made his blood run cold to listen to the ones that were true. He wished that all of it was false, that he could scoff and laugh at the idiocy of the highly untrusting witches and wizards of the world.

It was another cold day, and he'd realized that morning that Christmas was next Thursday. It seemed strange, after everything that had happened, that the most cheerful holiday of the year still lurked in the near future. He wondered just how cheerful it would be now. He could imagine families gathered around a blazing fire, trying to act happy with strained smiles and false words of optimism. While his own family would never been foolish enough to pretend, he knew plenty of others who would, and he felt pity for them.

When he finally reached St. Mungo's at noon, he thought he had heard every scrap of gossip over the murders that existed. People everywhere were chatting and whispering, so there was no escape.

As bleak as he felt after the two hours of involuntary eavesdropping(there was no shutting out the fearful voices) Draco felt his heart beat happily in his chest when he thought of visiting Ginny. Only now, mere yards from the red-brick building of Purge and Dowse, did he wonder if it would seem strange that he was coming to visit her. He wondered if Potter would be there, or Weasley, or anyone else who'd question him. It made him irritated and worried at the same time. Then he wondered how Ginny would take it.

He knew she had no idea that he hadn't given her up, and there was the constant, gnawing fear that she truly loved Potter and she had forgotten about Draco all together. It would be the normal thing to do, after all, they had only spoken a couple of times since then.

Of course, he knew she loved Potter, that was a constant grating pain on him, but he'd always fancied the thought that he possessed a piece of her heart that no one else could touch. She'd made him believe that last Christmas, somehow, without having to say anything but his name.

Though he had spent every Friday in the Leaky Cauldron for the past month, he'd never spoken directly to her until last Friday. He'd always, always tried, but the terror of rejection had kept his advances at bay.

Draco Malfoy, who had never been afraid of any girl this side of the planet, was terrified of little Ginny Weasley. He was terrified of what she was doing to him, and was positive that her marriage to Potter would kill him, if not her first. Being married to the Head Auror was dangerous even without a gang of murderers hanging about. He was sure he could give her a better life, and he knew he had to act fast if he wanted to do so.

He just...didn't know how. The clock was always ticking, but fear held him back.

With a sigh, he reached the grimy glass window that sat between him and a dusty old mannequin that wore a green pinafore dress.

"I'm here to see Ginevra Weasley." He said quietly, hoping that the muggles that streamed down the street behind him didn't overhear.

The mannequin beckoned him forward with one dusty plastic finger, and he walked swiftly through the portal into the St. Mungo's lobby.

It was a large, sterile room, the gray walls lined with uncomfortable metal chairs, the linoleum floors gleaming under the florescent lighting.

A witch sat behind a large wooden desk, reading a magazine and looking bored. There were only a few people in the lobby today, one old witch supporting a shriveled green arm, another young wizard trying to plug up his nose, which was releasing a steady torrent of blood down his front.

The witch, in a disinterested tone, assigned them their floors without looking up.

When it was Draco's turn, he felt a nervous knot tighten in his stomach. What if she had visitors? What could he say that wouldn't blow his cover?

"Sir?" The witch asked, raising her brows. "I've asked you three times why you are here. If you've had your mouth glued shut, nod twice."

"I'm here to see Ginevra Weasley." He said firmly.

"Fourth floor on the left, Catrina Weslock ward." The witch said, returning to her magazine.

Draco nodded and proceeded to climb four flights of stairs, being passed by busy Healers covered in blood, slime, ash, mucus, and other disgusting substances.

One of them mixed it up and was covered with black feathers. He was suddenly glad that he had never decided to become a Healer as a child.

When he finally reached the long, narrow corridor lit by floating bubbles of light, it took him no time at all to find the correct ward.

Gently, he eased open the door and found a long, drab room with only four beds in it. On each of these there lay a new horror, a man with gigantic purple feet that were crisscrossed with blue veins, a very thin woman with long talons for hands, a mumbling child that kept crushing a piece of clay between his fingers and yelling strange obscenities such as "You old goat-booger you! Give me back the key to Waffleville!" And "The paper clips aren't magnetic! Dammit, Johnson!"

It took all of Draco's willpower not to laugh when the child looked directly at him with unfocused blue eyes and cried "The ant king has arrived!"

A Healer in long white robes bustled into the room and smiled apologetically at Draco. "Confundus spell gone wrong. Sorry."

"Not a problem." Draco said, stifling a chuckle.

"Draco?" A weak voice asked in surprise. He felt something inside of him freeze as a thin hand pulled back the white curtain that had concealed the bed closest to the window.

Ginny lay there, pale and thin, her hair hanging in lank bloody locks around her face. Her leg was thickly bandaged, and on the table beside her, many different vials of potions glimmered in the sunlight.

When she looked at him, she did not smile, but her face twitched like she hd just been stuck with a thorn.

Her deteriorated state scared him, and he crossed the room in three strides, almost running to her, sinking down into one of the chairs propped up beside her bed. The lurking feeling that she had died was banished, but there was something not right about her, something other than her weak state. There was a gloominess about her, and she seemed to project misery.

"You came to visit me?" She asked in her papery, light-as-air voice.

He wanted to grab one of her tiny pale hands and tell her everything he felt, tell her why he was here. Instead, mocking words bubbled to his lips.

"I did. I just wanted to see if Potter's girlfriend was going to die and crush our Head Auror." He said, smirking.

"That was good of you." Ginny said, but it held none of her fire.

Draco looked at the little table beside her bed, and saw that, behind the potions, there was a gigantic vase of red roses.

"Are those from Potter?" He asked, mentally hexing himself for not bringing flowers.

Ginny nodded. "To apologize for not being able to visit today. Work is very demanding, as I'm sure you're aware."

"He couldn't spare an hour?" Draco asked, raising his brows. "Must be hard on you."

"Malfoy, he has to work. I understand that." Ginny said, giving him an even stare.

_How can he take her for granted?_ Draco thought. He knew Harry was extremely busy, and he knew how horrible things were becoming at the Ministry, but somehow the troubles of the Wizarding World seemed to melt away before Ginny. She drowned them out, becoming the center of everything.

"Are you doing any better?" He asked, a twinge worry making his palms sweaty.

"Yes. I'm just on this horrible new potion...it drains the life out of you." Ginny said, running a hand through her tangled mess of hair.

"I'm happy you aren't dying. You're very lucky that I was at the Cauldron to protect you." He said, trying to smirk and cover up his relief.

He knew it didn't carry to his eyes. He could feel his love for her smoldering on his face, and couldn't wipe it away.

Ginny snorted. "You seemed too busy protecting Jane to care about me." Her voice was playful, but there was a sharp undercurrent that he didn't understand, and her brows had knit together in a frustrated grimace.

"I would have covered you if you'd been with me." Draco said, unable to stop himself.

Ginny was staring at him oddly, and her expression had shifted into something he couldn't read.

Quickly, she peered over his shoulder, watched the Healer who'd been with the boy leave, and then got to her feet, wincing with pain as she dragged her bandaged leg forward. Though Draco grunted in protest to her movement, she pulled the curtain around the bed so that it hid both of them completely.

Shadows spilled across them, dulling the color of the roses and the vivid red of Ginny's hair.

She collapsed back onto the bed with a gasp of pain, and then pulled herself to a sitting position.

Utterly bemused, Draco stared at her as she wiped the sweat from her brow.

"Why do we need privacy?" He asked, using every scrap of charm he could muster.

She turned stone-cold eyes up to him.

"You have to stop this." She whispered bluntly and with a ferocity he didn't know she could posses in such a state.

Something in him seemed to catch fire, fizzle out, and explode all at the same time.

"That's not a very nice thing to say to someone who went out of their way to visit you." He spat, venom dripping from every word.

"Draco Malfoy, I'm serious." She hissed.

Hurt and fury swirled into a raging storm inside of him, and red tinged his vision. However, his voice was calm as he answered "Stop what?"

"I know what you're doing and it won't work." Were those tears in her eyes? No. A trick of the mute light.

"What do you mean?" He asked smoothly.

Ginny grabbed the hand he'd unconsciously placed on the quilt of her bed, and gently set it back in his lap.

"I'm marrying Harry," She said, her cheeks turning red, "and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Is this really what you want to discuss in a crowded hospital, Weasley?" He asked, his voice low and furious.

"Yes." She spat, and before he could say anything else, she hissed "I've seen you at Broomsticks."

This stunned him for a moment. She'd never let on, never glanced in his direction...never done anything to let him know she'd acknowledged his presence.

"I'm not clueless, Draco. I've gotten enough looks from boys to know that you still haven't gotten over the Christmas party." She said, her voice more gentle than before.

Hurt swelled in him, but he hid it behind a smirk.

"Maybe I am still a bit stuck on the fact that I banged Potter's girlfriend, and he doesn't even know. Old rivalries die hard, as I always say. But why do you care? If you can ignore me so very well," He said, leaning towards her slightly and praying that she wouldn't recoil, "what difference do my feelings make?" He asked, his voice harsh and cold.

Ginny didn't shy away from him, choosing to glare directly into his eyes, and he thought he saw her cheeks redden.

"I just want you to stop ogling me every time we meet. For one thing, it's annoying as hell, and for another, I don't want Harry to catch on." She growled.

"Yes, yes. It would be a shame for Harry to know that his little hapless kitten betrayed him. After all, he tries to protect you from so much, to know that you have mind of your own-"

"Shut up." Ginny glared at him with a completely livid expression, and he knew she was searching for something equally as hurtful to say.

"You have no idea what he's been going through-"

"Spare me the lecture on how wonderful Harry is. I know what he's doing for the Ministry. I wouldn't want to break his heart while he's doing so much good." Draco said sarcastically.

"Malfoy, if you breathe a _word_ to Harry about what happened-"

"You'll do what? Hex me? I'm not a school boy anymore, Ginger. I've seen things that would make you go mad. There is nothing you can say that's going to scare me."

Ginny was breathing hard, and her eyes flashed like daggers.

"Dammit Draco, when will you learn to let things go? Move on. You always hold on so tightly that you crush everything. It was one stupid night when I was mad at Harry, and it didn't mean anything." She growled.

Draco's mind was a whirl of pain and fury. She was right, but he wouldn't admit that. He wouldn't let her win.

"It did mean something." He said, staring into her eyes, looking for any scrap of warmth in their chocolate depths that would tell him he was right.

Ginny just glared back at him. "No, it didn't. I was lonely and you were there."

Draco shook his head, determined to prove her words wrong.

"You can't honestly tell me that I don't mean anything to you." He growled, angry now and desperately believing in what he'd said. He had to be right.

Ginny was silent, but her expression had hardened. She glanced up at him, a cold, steely indifference in her eyes.

"You don't." She said coolly.

"Liar." He spat automatically. He wanted to make her love him, he wanted to physically force her to need him like he needed her.

Draco leaned forward, his senses dulled by his heartbreak, and kissed her ferociously, knotting his hands in her red hair and crushing her sweet mouth with his own. Her lips began to throb as they moved against his, and he knew he was bruising them, but he didn't care. He was oblivious to the hospital and the world. If she struggled against him, he didn't know it.

When they broke apart, he was panting and she was no better. Her eyes were wild and her face was flushed-with what? Anger, fear? Or could it be that she had enjoyed the kiss just as much as he had?

He fell back into his chair, and glared at her. She glared back, her face slowly turning the bloody shade of her hair.

"Get. Out." She snarled.

Draco merely crossed his legs, feeling reckless with grief, completely uncaring. "Oh come on, Ginger. You can't tell me you didn't enjoy that." He said smoothly, smirking at the fury that glowed in her eyes.

"Get out before I call my Healers and have _them_ escort you out."

"You wouldn't do that." He said.

"Draco, I'm trying not to hurt you." She said, looking at him with an outraged, yet earnest expression.

"It's too late, Ginger." He growled, his eyes growing steely as he stared at her.

"Fine, then. I'm pregnant."

A distant buzzing rumbled in Draco's ears, and he felt suddenly weak. He thought he'd lost the ability to stand.

"What?" He asked, unable to comprehend her words.

"I'm pregnant. The Healers found out when I arrived for treatment." Ginny looked unsettled as she waited for his reaction.

"Potter's?" Draco asked stupidly.

"Who else would be the father, Draco?"

"God." He whispered, his shock giving way to more bone-crushing heartbreak. He saw every plan he'd made, every hope he'd had, dying and crumbling to dust. The storm inside of him picked up again, and he clenched his fists, fighting tears. He'd lost. He was too late.

A wild need to hurt her overcame him.

"I hope the baby doesn't care about having a slut for a mother." He spat, rising to his feet and storming out of the room without looking back.

Once he'd closed the door to the ward, he felt all the tension drain out of him, leaving a brittle husk in it's place. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool wood, breathing deeply to calm himself.

Pregnant. She was pregnant. And engaged. Truly, there was no place for him.

"Malfoy?" A surprised voice asked.

He opened his eyes, startled, and saw Neville Longbottom, standing just outside the door across from him.

"Neville? What're you doing here?" He asked, trying to hide everything that had just happened with feverish conversation.

Neville kicked at the wooden floor.

"I was just visiting Alice." He said, not meeting Draco's eyes.

"Oh." He said, unable to think of anything more complex.

"How is she?" He asked, the manners his mother had ingrained in him surfacing.

"Fine. Better, at least. Um...Harry wants her to get better as quickly as possible...for questioning." Neville's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"Yes, she will be useful." Draco said, half-smiling as hope dispelled a bit of his dread, though it did nothing for the earth-shattering storm inside of him. A.J. could tell them where the gang lived, how they moved so efficiently...everything.

If they would get her to talk.

"I guess she will be." Neville said, his face growing grim.

"Something wrong?" Draco asked.

Neville closed his eyes and sighed. "Harry is pushing her so hard. She's barely awake, and he's already asking her things. She's not clear enough to tell him anything yet, and he's been getting frustrated with her. He just doesn't except that she's just a child."

Draco was surprised at how furious Neville's voice was. He'd never been mad at Harry, at least, not in Draco's memory.

"We need information, Neville." Draco said, then kicked himself. He was not supposed to be siding with Potter, and the mere thought made his fists clench.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Neville asked suddenly, his voice a bit frantic.

Draco felt his mind fly in a million different directions. _Well, Neville,_ _I just came over to kiss Potter's pregnant fiancee and call her a slut. Nothing special._

"I was just...checking on a former customer of Borgin's. Um...I was trying to keep him from suing us over something...sadly, this is the wrong floor for that." Draco said, trying to act natural.

Neville cocked an eyebrow.

"Were you visiting Ginny, too?" He asked.

Draco kept his expression bland through sheer force of will.

"Yeah. I was up here, you know. Decided I should check up on her." He said, lying through his teeth.

"Mister Longbottom?" A cool voice said. A Healer had stepped out of A.J.'s ward, his brow pulled down low over his dark brown eyes. "Your daughter would like to see you. Her treatment for the hour has been completed."

The man walked away.

Neville turned eagerly back to the door, then froze when he realized that Draco was still watching him.

"Um...Would you like to see her?"

Draco desperately wanted to be by himself, but he was curious about A.J. Maybe Neville would talk about his relationship with Vanessa, and explain what the hell was going on with all of that.

"Sure."


End file.

Harry Potter, Adventure, Romance