Unaffected

Chapter Six

Ginny made her way to her office Thursday morning with more trepidation than she normally felt for any of her patients. She was interested to see if Draco would be as cold as he had been yesterday after the mention of Harry's name, and wondered why he'd closed up so suddenly. Perhaps she could coax him into talking about Harry; she knew there had been more than enough bad blood between them since they'd met.

She entered her office and hung her cloak up on the hook, then sat down behind her desk. She was alone this morning, much to her relief. She waved her wand and conjured a cup of tea, and went about her morning ritual of adding the sugar and milk to it. When she had finished stirring and put her spoon delicately on the plate, she turned to look out the window.

There was a certain amount of comfort to be gained from ritual. She was a creature of habit, and she knew it. She was not displeased by this. She knew exactly what was going to happen next in her day, who would be coming to see her, when, and for how long. She knew precisely what time she would be going home. As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, the only disruptions in her life were the unplanned, spontaneous events that peppered it occasionally.

Like Harry being murdered. She sighed. Everything came back to that eventually, didn't it? Of course, there was comfort to be found in that thought, too, if she knew where to look for it. Even thinking of Harry's death brought to the surface other, better, memories of him. She smiled to herself as she stared out across the grounds, not even noticing the sound of her office door creaking open.

"Ahem." She was so startled at hearing him clear his throat that she accidentally sloshed the tiniest bit of tea onto her lap. She ignored his stifled laughter and grabbed her wand.

"Scourgify," she muttered. The wet spot disappeared, and she sat her cup gingerly on the small plate beside her spoon. She took a small breath before tugging her eyes up to meet his, and forced a smile. "Good morning. I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"Fancy that," he smirked. "Seeing as how you were so, er, caught up in Wonderland?" She blinked at him.

"Wonderland?"

"You do read, do you not? You know, Lewis Carroll, Wonderland? Bint by the name of Alice?"

"I'm familiar with the fairy tale, yes," she said, nodding. She took another sip of tea. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, a nice, stiff one, if you've got it." She blinked, and he rolled his eyes. "I'm kidding, Potter. Did you lose your sense of humor overnight?"

"No," she said softly. She sighed. "Actually, I must admit that I wasn't sure what kind of a mood you'd be in this morning." He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Is that right? And why is that, may I ask?"

"You seemed to shut down yesterday when your mother mentioned that my home once belonged to my husband."

"Did I?" He was playing with her, and she knew it.

"Why don't you tell me. Did you?" he watched her thoughtfully for a moment, then relaxed in the plush chair.

"I wouldn't use the phrase 'shut down,'" he said.

"What phrase would you use then?"

"I'd say that I more or less just tuned you out after that."

"Really? Why? Does hearing Harry's name bother you that much?"

"Potter's name doesn't bother me anymore," he said coldly, shrugging. She folded her hands together in her lap.

"Draco, it does no good to lie to me."

"And what makes you think I'm lying?" he asked, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Your body language. The inflection you use when you say his name. The look of barely contained hatred on your face. If you're going to talk to me, that's fine, but I can't do my job effectively if you're not honest with me, or with yourself. By not being honest with me, you're compromising your integrity."

"Must you constantly spew this psychobabble at me?" he asked, wrinkling his nose distastefully. She didn't even blink.

"Do you remember how you told me yesterday that I was very good at steering the conversation away from myself?"

"Yes."

"You're an old pro at it yourself, as well."

"Is that what you think?"

"I know it."

"And how is that?"

"We've been speaking for five minutes, and you still haven't bothered to answer my questions."

"I thought you said I could talk about anything I wanted to in here," he pointed out, trying to mask the fact that he had been shaken by her observations. "And I don't want to talk about Potter."

"Fair enough. Is there something else on your mind, then?" Draco was awfully tempted to say you, but didn't want her to know that. The truth was that he'd been thinking about her nonstop since yesterday afternoon, and it had annoyed the hell out of him. All through his shopping excursion, all through dinner, and even in bed with Natasha - all he could think about was their conversation at lunch, and the fact that he'd stooped low enough to apologize to her.

"Of course there is," he snapped, not wanting to admit that he really hadn't anything else to talk about, and had only wanted to steer the topic away from Potter. He sat in silence for a moment, until he realized that she was waiting for him to continue. He pushed his lower lip out and released a sigh, feeling some of his energy leave him as he exhaled. "No, there isn't." She didn't look surprised; but then, he hadn't expected her to.

"That's a good start," she encouraged softly. "Even if you don't want to talk about my suggestion, it's a good start to admit that much to yourself." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, studying her intently.

"How is it that you can see both my mother and I in therapy like this, or outside of your office, for that matter - and be so damned civil to us?"

"Why would I not be?"

"For starters, you hate me. You loathed me, if I remember correctly. Your late husband felt the same way, or stronger. Your entire family has been looked down on by my family for years upon years! What makes you so damned forgiving?"

"Who am I to pass judgement on anyone else?" she was vaguely reminded of her conversation with his mother yesterday. "I'm not perfect. I've made mistakes, just the same as anyone else has."

"So you can just let go of your hatred, just like that?" he snapped his fingers.

"Would you rather I didn't? Would you rather I reverted back to my negative feelings towards your family?"

"No," he said, a little too quickly for his own tastes. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if what he was about to say was wise. "I want you to teach me how to do it." He couldn't have shocked her more if he'd have walked in wearing Dobby's old tea cozy.

"Teach you?"

"Teach me how not to hate," he said passionately, his eyes glittering like liquid pools of mercury. "It's all I know how to do. I'm ready to let go of it. I'm ready to feel something else. Anything else."

"You don't just hate, Draco," she corrected him gently. "You love your mother."

"She's different, I have to love her."

"That's not true. You don't automatically have to love someone just because they're your parent."

"It's an unspoken rule," he disagreed.

"Did you love your father?" His eyes narrowed in thought, and he was silent for a moment.

"No, I suppose not." She nodded.

"Our life is made up by the choices we make on a daily basis. You're not defined by who you do and don't love, or whom you choose to be friends with. You can't choose who you love, though. It just happens. You know the old adage, 'The heart feels things the eyes cannot see, and knows what the mind cannot understand.'"

"I've never heard that before," he said quietly, his head drooping slightly. "But yeah, it makes sense."

"You couldn't force yourself to love someone that you didn't respect. Respect isn't just given; it has to be earned. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"Sort of."

"I'm saying that you're absolved of the guilt you've been carrying around all this time, because you didn't love your father. It was not something you had control over - he had the power, and he chose not to exercise it in that way."

"But everyone I've ever known would lose their respect for me if they realized that I followed a man I didn't hold in the highest of esteems."

"Actually, I think you'd be rather surprised at how many people already realize that you followed him because you had no other alternative." He looked up at her, and she was surprised to see the tortured look in his steely eyes.

"Oh," was all he could manage.

"You know, what lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us," she said quietly. "You have the strength in you, Draco. You always have. I've always admired that about you. You possess a kind of strength that keeps you from falling apart in front of people, no matter how bad things are inside. But you have to allow other people in, or you're going to self destruct."

"I've tried. Don't you think I've tried? Merlin knows I've let Natasha get closer to me than anyone else, until now." He froze. Had he really just said that out loud? She didn't seem to notice, and the sympathetic look on her face made him want to crawl into her lap and cry like a baby - only Malfoys didn't cry.

"Humans are social by nature. People need people, Draco. It's as simple as that. You need meaningful interaction with peers and family to maintain some semblance of normalcy. It's unhealthy to lock yourself away from the world and hide like you're doing."

"I can't let anyone get too close to me," he said, shaking his head. "Everyone who does winds up hurt somehow."

"I do hope you'll pardon my saying this, but you just sounded exactly like my husband." He looked up, startled.

"What?"

"Harry used to say that on a daily basis. As a matter of fact, he warned me before we even started dating that it was a very real possibility that I could wind up hurt or dead simply because of my association with him - not to mention what the risks were to his own life."

"And you still married him?" he asked incredulously.

"I loved him - how could I not marry him? I would have cheated us both out of the happiest times of our lives; not to mention that I would not have my daughter if I hadn't trusted my gut. Loving someone takes a lot of courage, Draco. You have to be willing to make sacrifices for each other. You have to let that person in. I know how hard it is; trusting someone means giving them a certain degree of control over you - but you have to give them the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone is going to exploit you."

"Sweet mother of God," he whispered, rubbing his eyes with his hands. It felt as though she'd just reached into his mind and plucked out the very things that had been haunting him for the whole of his life.

"Don't limit yourself like this," she encouraged. "Open yourself up to someone - anyone. It can be as simple as saying hello to someone you've never met. It's a baby step - you're trusting them enough to say hello back. A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle." He glanced up at her and gave her a wry smile.

"Why do I feel like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders?"

"It feels good to talk and get it out, doesn't it?"

"I never thought I'd say it, but I agree. It does. It's nice to talk to someone who isn't constantly judging me."

"I have no right to judge," she said, maintaining her earlier stance. "And I'm here to listen. What else am I good for?" she gave him a small smile.

"I only wish I could trust the people I've surrounded myself with."

"Don't you trust Natasha?"

"No."

"How can you have a working relationship with someone you don't trust? Relationships are built on trust."

"She was beautiful and she fawned over me. My mother likes her. What more can I ask for?" Ginny bit her lip, not wanting to let him hold onto a woman simply because he thought his mother liked her, when she didn't; but she didn't want to give away anything from another session.

"How long have you been engaged?"

"A year and a half."

"Why haven't you married her yet?" she asked softly. He rubbed his eyes again, and suddenly she was struck by the thought that he was more similar to Harry than either of them would have liked to admit. Neither one of them wanted to allow anyone to get close to them for fear of hurting a loved one. Neither of them opened their hearts to anyone very easily. They were both tortured by the same things.

"I suppose I've been procrastinating," he said flatly, raising his head to stare out the window behind her.

"What are you going to do if she gets tired of waiting and just leaves? Because that's a very real possibility. Women don't like to wait, and if my guesses about the type of women she is are right, she's already impatient." He gave her an amused look.

"Perhaps I should recommend you to Natasha," he smirked. Yeah, she'd just love that, wouldn't she? He could almost hear the fight that would ensue. ("Darling, you should go and see my therapist, she works wonders." "You see a therapist?" "Yes, and she's made me feel like a new man." "Only loonies see therapists, Draco." "Well, she did say I was certifiable." "I will not marry a loony!") She eyed him with interest. The longer he stared out the window, the broader his smile became.

"Recommendation is the highest form of compliment," she said quietly, her voice breaking through his reverie. "And I do offer couples therapy as well." He looked surprised.

"You mean that if I could somehow get Natasha in here, you could fix us?"

"Not exactly," she disagreed, reaching for her teacup. She waved her wand and his silver mug appeared, steam rising from the brown liquid. He took it without stopping to ask how she'd known he'd needed it right then. "I can help the two of you fix it, hopefully."

"And what is 'it'?" He sipped at the coffee, and was not surprised to find it exactly the way he took it. How funny, he thought. Natasha has been living with me for almost two years and she still doesn't know how I like my coffee.

"Your relationship," she said, noting the distracted look in his eyes. "I can't promise that even after my help it would work out, but I would certainly do everything within my power to help the two of you communicate and work things out."

"I'll think about it," he said noncommittally. She nodded.

"Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

"This thing at your house on Saturday," he said, his long fingers curling around the silver mug. "Is it formal?"

"Oh, Merlin, no!" she said, smiling. "It's casual. Jeans, slacks - sweatpants, if you'd like - anything is fine. I wouldn't dream of asking anyone to dress up just to come to my house!" He repressed the urge to ask her if her green pants would be making an appearance.

"Will there be many people there?" She wasn't sure, but she thought she might have detected a note of trepidation in his voice.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not sure. My brothers Ron and Fred will be there, as will my mother and Remus Lupin. Blaise Zabini and her family will be there as well." His eyebrows popped up.

"You're having tea with the Zabini family? And a werewolf?"

"Oh, and I almost forgot, Hermione will be there with her daughter, too." She nodded. "This is why told you yesterday that you needn't feel pressured to attend - I know that you didn't particularly care for a lot of the people who'll be there." She stopped for a moment and wondered with amusement how a small family dinner had turned into an engagement party.

"And how is it that my mother came to be invited to this little soirée?" he asked curiously.

"She's a good friend of Blaise's parents, is she not?" He nodded. "I'm sure that Blaise will want her friends and family present for this." He studied her carefully for a moment, and she could feel the blush rising in her cheeks at the thought of her real motive for inviting Narcissa. He mistook her blush, and his eyes widened.

"Blaise is marrying into your family, isn't she?" Her eyes widened, and he knew he'd guessed right. "Mordred, Morgaine, and Nineve," he swore softly. "And the smarmy bint didn't even tell me!"

"I don't think she wants anyone to know until Saturday," she said, her cheeks still pink. He forced himself to ignore the tightening sensation in his chest at seeing her blush. It colored her cheeks brightly and accentuated the freckles that were sprinkled liberally across her nose.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything," he promised. His stomach lurched. Since when had he become so polite and passive? Where was his sharp tongue and his ability to let the insults flow effortlessly from his lips? Then again, he reasoned, She has made me feel better, even if only for today. It's worth it to return a little kindness, isn't it?

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we need to start wrapping this up," she said, glancing up at the enchanted clock. He gave her a strained smile.

'Time flies when you're having fun, right?"

"Actually, I do rather enjoy my job," she said, gracing him with a smile. It sent shock waves through him. "Helping people heal is the most satisfying thing you could ever imagine."

"You're a better person than me, then," he said, standing. "I couldn't stand to be locked into this office all day and listen to people whine. Then again, you do have me for company for an hour every day, so perhaps your job isn't as dismal as I thought." She snorted and tried to look angry.

"Some things never change," she said, shaking her head. He gave her a wicked grin.

"Then again, some things do." He bowed deeply, and a lock of flaxen hair fell across his forehead. "I'll be back for you at noon." She gave his retreating back an interested look. She'd never really given him a second thought after she'd married Harry, but he seemed to manage to find a way into the headlines, whether he wanted to or not. He'd gotten a load of negative press over his defection to Dumbledore's side during the middle of the war, and he'd provided valuable testimony to the Ministry that led to the capture of at least twenty Death Eaters - by her husband, of course.

She shut the door and went back to her desk. Harry had joked about Malfoy making his job easier, and she'd laughed with him. She'd never stopped to think about the kind of pressure that Malfoy might be under, or what a fragile state of mind that his actions might leave him in. She sighed as she sank into her chair and picked up her teacup.

Draco had called her a conundrum, but he was a puzzle as well. He was frightening and charming and scared and bold all at the same time - but then, Harry had been, too. Where Harry had been a light shining through the darkness, Draco had been the darkness encapsulating the light. They were opposite ends of the same spectrum. Harry seemed to carry hope around like a wellspring - it was always present, always flowing, and most of the time, contagious. Draco, on the other hand, had lived without hope for so long that she wondered if he even knew what it meant to hope.

She was truly grateful to be able to say that she had (successfully) put another case of animosity behind her and become somewhat friendly with a former enemy. They didn't have to be best friends or even very close for her to consider it a happy thing; she was happy with the simple fact that he didn't go out of his way to insult her any longer. And she wouldn't hesitate to become a friend, if he would allow it. She'd lost far too many of her own friends in the final battle against Voldemort and his risen army; friends were too precious of a commodity to pass up.

The rest of her morning passed at its regular leisurely pace, and before she realized it, it was time for lunch. Her stomach began growling insistently, and she laughed at herself. She began putting her notes into a file folder and replaced it in the cabinet where it belonged.

"You seem very adept at amusing yourself," a voice drawled from the doorway. Her heart jumped at the unexpected intrusion, and she laughed.

"And you seem very adept at entering people's offices unannounced," she quipped. He grinned.

"Touché," he said, bowing his head slightly. He held out his arm, and she put her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Shall we then?"

"Always the consummate gentleman, aren't you?" she asked, amused. He arched an eyebrow at her as they walked down the hallway, and tried to ignore the pointed looks that were aimed at them. She hadn't considered what a strange sight it might be to see a Malfoy and a Weasley out and about together.

"Not many woman appreciate a gentleman these days," he murmured, holding the door for her. She breezed through it and turned back to him. He proffered his arm again, and she took it without thinking.

"I think that's a gross overstatement," she said. "I haven't met a woman yet who didn't complain that her boyfriend or husband was less gentlemanly than she would have liked. Besides, I don't think you're a gentleman, after all."

"Is that so?" a smile played at his lips.

"You're more chivalrous than gentlemanly. There's a bit of difference there, I think." He swallowed down the surprise at her words, and gave her a smile.

"It's a world of difference," he said, his stomach lurching pleasantly. They moved slowly down the sidewalk, enjoying the clear summer day. Ginny didn't realize that she'd let go of his arm, and automatically reached for his hand. She threaded her fingers through his, which took him by surprise. He didn't protest, though; it was an interesting feeling. He'd never held hands with someone before.

"Where are we going?" she asked distractedly. She smiled at a little girl chasing a puppy. He watched her with growing interest. He knew she hadn't realized that she was holding his hand, and the thought flashed vaguely through his mind that she must have held Potter's hand all the time, for her to do it so thoughtlessly. He didn't want her to hold his hand and be thinking of her late husband, but he didn't want to bring her attention to it and have her let go, either. Her hand was warm and soft, and it was all he could do to keep from rubbing his thumb across her knuckles to savor the smoothness of her skin.

"Draco?" she asked, turning her eyes to him. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs that had started to form, and lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he said, nodding. They stopped walking, and he pointed down to their hands. "Although I'm not sure if you'd want anyone else to see this." She looked down at their entwined fingers and gasped in surprise. She looked back up at him as she disentangled herself.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her cheeks turning scarlet. "It's habit. Harry and I used to hold hands everywhere, and whenever I walk with my brothers, we hold hands like that, too."

"I'm flattered that you felt comfortable enough with me to share such a gesture," he said honestly, realizing that it was a gesture of comfort. She didn't know why she should feel so at ease with him; after all, he'd done nothing but hex her husband every time he'd been given the opportunity. Still, it was nice to have a friend nearby, and he had been rather pleasant about it. He seemed very understanding, and he wasn't running away from her, which was always a good sign.

"So, where are we going?" He watched as her therapist's mask went back on, and sighed inwardly. She was harder to get close to than he would have originally suspected, although he knew that everyone had a breaking point. He was amazed at his own thoughts - hard to get close to? Was that what he was trying to do? No, she was his therapist, and more importantly, the first true friend he'd ever come close to having.

"Right here seems nice enough," he said, pulling his wand out. A tiny crease appeared on her forehead as she frowned, and she eyed the grass below them. He picked up a pebble and murmured something as he pointed his wand, and a dark green blanket appeared in his hand. She watched as he spread it out on the grass, then waved his wand several more times. Two plates appeared alongside two crystal goblets and a picnic basket. She turned delighted eyes to him.

"A picnic! How lovely! I haven't been on a picnic since-" she stopped herself before saying Harry's name. "Well, I haven't been on a picnic in a long time." He nodded and motioned for her to sit down as he did the same. They sat facing each other, and she watched as he waved his wand and a pitcher appeared. He poured her pumpkin juice, then poured his own.

She had to give him credit; whoever had taught him his manners, they'd done an impeccable job. She wondered why he'd never been this well mannered at Hogwarts, then reasoned that his father had still been around at that time, and he probably hadn't wanted anyone to think he was weak. She lifted the crystal goblet to her lips and took a drink, unaware of his eyes on her as she did so.

Everything about her was so delicate and deliberate. Her pinky extended effortlessly as she drank. Her legs were tucked beneath her in the most ladylike fashion he'd ever seen. Below the hemline of her lime green skirt, he could see the tops of her knees, and for some reason he couldn't explain, the chaste view was making his heart speed up. He'd never met anyone like her before. She was sweet and kind and forgiving, and that made all the difference to him. She was the only person who'd been friendly to him since his defection - well, the only one who had been honestly friendly, without wanting something in return.

"Are you looking forward to Saturday?" he asked politely. She smiled.

"I am. It's been a long time since my family has all been together in one place, and it's been even longer since I've seen Remus. He's a very good friend of the family, and I've really missed him. Right after-" she looked flustered. She didn't want to keep bringing Harry up to the man who had hated him so much. "Two years ago, he and I became very close. We used to have the most incredible late night chats, when neither one of us could sleep."

"He seems like an interesting fellow," he said, reaching for a sandwich. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. "Just because I didn't like him in school doesn't mean I didn't think he wasn't interesting."

"He is an interesting man. He's very intelligent. He's so... so..." she looked towards the heavens as she searched for the right word, and he smiled to himself. She was almost... cute when she did that. "Philosophical."

"As in how?"

"As in, he can rattle off quotes off the top of his head."

"About?"

"About anything, really."

"Care to give me an example? Can you think of anything?"

"Well, he likes to discuss love an awful lot, since he's never been in love. Actually," the color rose high in her cheeks. "He asked me the same question you did - about what it feels like to be in love."

"He's never been in love either?" he tried to hide the surprise in his voice.

"Surely you didn't think you were the only one out there who'd never been in love, did you?" The look on his face told her he had thought that very thing. "It's rather difficult for a werewolf to find someone who's accepting."

"I never thought of that."

"I always wished that I could fall in love with him," she said, smiling wistfully. He blinked.

"Why?"

"Well, we were both lonely. He's a brilliant conversationalist. He's a wonderful man, all around. I'd love to have someone like him in my life. He deserves a woman who'd be good to him."

"Did you date him?"

"Oh, no," she said, laughing softly. "I don't think I'm quite intelligent enough for him. Besides, he looks at me like a daughter, and he's sort of a father figure to me now that-" her voice died, and he cleared his throat.

"Do you remember any of his quotes?"

"Oh! Yes, I do, actually. My favorite one is 'I would rather live and love where death is king, than have eternal life where love is not.'" He gave a low whistle.

"That's deep."

"Mmm Hmm." She chewed thoughtfully. They ate the rest of their meal in silence, and she watched as he laid on his back and stared up at the sky. His hands were folded beneath his head, and he looked totally at peace. He turned and caught her looking, but she didn't look away.

"What?"

"I was just thinking about how peaceful you look."

"And here I thought you were admiring my dashing good looks," he teased, turning his eyes back to the cloudless sky. She smiled.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For this," she said, motioning towards the plates. "It's nice to have a friend."

"You consider me a friend?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows to stare at her.

"Should I not?" she asked, frowning. "I didn't mean to offend you by saying it."

"No, you didn't," he protested quickly. "I was just... surprised, that's all. I never thought to be friends with a Weasley - Potter, I mean," he corrected himself. She smiled.

"Well, I understand you perfectly. I never thought to be friends with a Malfoy, either." He nodded. "But it's nice."

"I agree." She stood and brushed herself off, and he clambered gracefully to his feet. With a wave of his wand, the picnic things disappeared. She gave him another warm smile that made his breath catch in his throat.

"I have to be getting back. Thank you again for lunch, both yesterday and today. I've really enjoyed myself."

"Me as well," he said smoothly.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow morning, then." He nodded, and watched her walking away, a strange sensation pooling in his stomach. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone if they'd have had the gall to ask, but he was looking very forward to Saturday, indeed.