Before the Storm

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My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods;

time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees.

My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath--

a source of little visible delight, but necessary...

- Catherine (Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights)

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The Burrow was warm and pleasant, filled with the scents of freshly baking buns that Molly Weasley was making for her children, and soap where the sink was busily washing dishes. It was several stories high: the dilapidated structure such an upheaval of wood and paint it could only be upheld by magic.

Bedrooms were stacked upon bedrooms, with windows and chimneys poking haphazardly from the white walls and brown trimmings like awkward thumbs. A few chickens puttered about the grassy yard, and gnomes would run rampant about the garden until one of the children was sent out to rid it of the pest.

It was by no means spacious, and the slapdash scatter of mismatched furniture and oddities inside were by no stretch of the imagination fashionable, but the tattered cushions told their own stories, and each one of the patched and frayed quilts and afghans had a history of love behind it. A fire crackled mightily in a chipped grate, and the second-youngest son at age seventeen, Ronald, was stretched out before it and flipping through a Chudley Cannons newspaper interview in an attempt to keep his mind distracted.

Ginny, the youngest and only daughter in a brood of seven, was peering anxiously out the dingy window by the battered kitchen table, unable to bring herself to watch the wizarding clock with her twin brothers. Their brilliant red hair, a trait shared by all in their family, clashed terribly with the pink flowers Ginny had gathered and set in an old mug on the table that afternoon. They kept their heads close together, sharing a kinship only twins possessed, until one of them tore his pale blue eyes from the wall and turned quickly to their mother.

"It says he's in mortal peril again," said George worriedly, and his identical brother Fred, shook his head, pointing back at the clock.

"Not so! Now he's back at work."

Sure enough, the hand that was scripted with their father's name was slowly moving back to the work label. The other hands, each displaying their names, stood in different positions of Home, or Ma's house, or even Dragon Tending in the case of their older brother, Charlie, who was in Romania.

"It's staying Ma!" cried George, and Molly, her brown eyes closed in relief, stood and put her hand on her chest.

The mother of the Weasleys was plump and pretty, with dark eyes and feathery orange hair that was currently spilling down her capable shoulders. Without hesitation, she displaced Fred with her hip and moved to open the oven door. She flicked her wand, and the tray of buns floated to the cooling rack where they sat, waiting.

"Now then. Go wash your hands for dinner, and - "

"He's Apparated home!" Ginny breathlessly turned to her mother and smiled tearfully, thankful her father returned to them safely. "And he's brought something home!"

"Another Muggle toy, perhaps?" Molly asked wearily, but her voice was tinged with fond relief as she moved to open the door.

"Arthur!" she cried happily, but her smile faded into worry when she looked at the figure standing beside her husband. "What in Merlin's name...?"

"Come Molly, we must get him inside quickly."

Fred and George stood peeking past their mother, attempting to get a glimpse of the hooded figure standing immobile beside their father. Ginny too stood waiting, clasping her hands to her chest and edging closer to Ron, who had abandoned his newspaper when he heard his father's arrival.

The cloaked person was very tall and thin, his shoulders straight and his head high beneath the shabby blue Ministry robes that obviously belonged to Arthur. Muddied shoes peeked beneath the too-short robes and pale hands hung limply at the strangely silent person's side.

"Run a bath, Molly," nodded her husband, and he quickly moved to unclasp the garment shrouding the stranger.

When he pulled it off, the haggard, filthy body of Draco Malfoy was revealed, and the teenagers gasped, Ginny shrinking back against her brother's arm.

The seventeen-year-old they had always known as an antagonist of the highest order was staring blankly through them, his usually malevolent gray eyes limpid and dull. His sharp, handsome face was smudged with dirt and grime, and his expensive attire was torn and sullied. Ginny was horrified by his grubby state.

"Malfoy?" gasped Ron, and the newcomer flinched, but said nothing.

"Come now, dear," urged Molly, and she ushered the boy through the small crowd and up the stairs to run a bath. "Ron, bring me a clean set of clothes," she ordered, and moved the boy out of sight.

Fred turned in shock to his twin, and George just shook his head, bewildered. Ron however, was not content to remain silent and turned to his father with a confused frown and a flaring temper.

"What's Draco Malfoy doing in our house for, Da?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

Shaking his head, Arthur removed his pointed hat and hung it on the coat rack near the door. He was tired and saddened, and though there was no love lost over Lucius Malfoy, he felt sympathy for the son that had never stood a chance against fate.

"Come sit children," he said with more calm than he felt. "I need to speak to you."

Worried, the four sat down in the living room, Fred and George sitting on the couch before their father, while Ginny and Ron sat on the floor. For a while, the silence was only broken by the soft hiss and pop of the fire, and Arthur tried to smile for his family but could not. He took a deep breath, and began to recite the events of the evening as best he could, knowing it was better to hear it from his lips then the distorted version the wizarding paper, the Daily Prophet, would release soon enough.

"Tonight, the Ministry received word that the balance of power was shifting in You-Know-Who's regime. As you probably were aware, Lucius Malfoy wasn't very secretive about his loyalties to the Dark Lord... " Arthur's eyes settled sadly on his daughter for a moment. "However, tonight it was discovered that Mr. Malfoy was aware that there was

a traitor in their midst, and had not come forward... He was protecting the spy - his friend. Honor among thieves as they say..."

Here Arthur stopped for a moment, and his throat constricted harshly when he recalled the sights he had seen that night.

"Lucius and Narcissa, his wife, were accosted in their Wiltshire manor, and were executed. Lucius knew, for-for his friend had tried to help him earlier, but he knew it was too late. He was always a prideful man, and...h-he would not leave. We weren't in time...and Lucius...He had hidden Draco in the manor before the attack, and the boy watched from his hiding spot as his parents were slaughtered."

There was silence, his children staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. Arthur looked down,

seeing his hands fluttering uselessly against his knees. He stilled them, swallowing.

"What about the spy? Did they catch him?" Fred asked seriously, and his father looked at him, uncertain of how much he could say. Arthur glanced away, uneasy, shifting his pale eyes to the fire.

"I-In a fashion, yes. They sensed the threat coming, and anticipated the maneuvering. When

the cards fell, all evidence suggested another..."

"Who?"

"One Rudolphus Lestrange. It was led to believe that he had turned traitor in exchange for certain comforts while in Azkaban. He was loyal to the very last, but..."

"Yes." Ron said hollowly, his eyes troubled. He knew who the real spy was. "And that greasy

old git gets off without so much as twisted knickers."

"Yes, well." Arthur's eyes hardened at the insult to Professor Snape, who was devastated by the deaths of Lucius and Narcissa, and had risked everything to safely transport his son into his care. "It was unfortunate... But this is a war. We could not allow our only eyes into the Death Eaters to be blinded....And Lestrange's death means many a life will be spared from his cruelty."

Arthur looked sickened, hearing the words coming from his own lips but wishing he could swallow them up and never see the bewilderment and fear dawning in his children's eyes. Because it was Dumbledore's decision, in the end, of who would be sacrificed, no matter upon which side they stood.

"How did Malfoy, you know... get out?"

Running a tired hand through his hair, Arthur sighed and forced himself to continue his tale.

"As far as I gathered, Lucius had taught Draco of secret tunnels beneath the Manor, and when his parents were killed the boy ran. He made it to the forest, where we were waiting to ambush the Death Eaters inside, and our man found him."

Ron's pale eyes, just like his fathers, were mutinous, and he shook his head. "A coward as always... Running. So why is Malfoy here?" He asked again.

George interrupted Arthur's answer though, narrowing his eyes at his brother with disbelief filling their brown depths.

"What did you expect him to do, Ron? Run out and get himself slaughtered by a mob of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord? Jolly brill, that idea. Especially since his Da went to all that trouble to save his life. I know Mr. Malfoy was a terrible man, Ronnie, but at least he did right by his son in the end."

Ron flushed angrily, but stilled his tongue, as hard as it was to do so. The most pressing issue at hand was why Malfoy was at the Burrow, after all. He looked at his father. But here Arthur was unsure, and he looked away from them and stood, moving to the pan of buns and tentatively

picking one up. He thought that the food might bolster his nerves some, and he nervously retrieved the butter from the counter and spread a pat over the bread.

"Because, son, Draco is going to be staying with us."

Ron stood, mouth hanging open unpleasantly. It felt as if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water on his head and told him that his worst nightmare had come true.

"What! But he must have family! The Malfoys are purebloods, and go back for ages! What about his mother's side -"

"Ron!" gasped Ginny, and she turned to her brother and shook her head. Her long red hair drifted around her pretty face, and her brown eyes were sad. Ron quieted, and Fred and George turned back to their father, waiting for him to continue.

"Yes, well," said Arthur. "Draco's family is still aligned with the Dark Lord... And Draco is in danger from the Death Eaters now... So you see, we are to be his safe house."

"You're his Secret Keeper," breathed Ginny, and Arthur smiled wanly.

"In a way. Now, Ron, your mother asked you to bring the boy a spare change of clothes, and I dare say that though he must be quite over six feet, you are the closest of fits."

Grumbling, Ron moved slowly off, clambering up the spiral staircase to his attic bedroom. Fred turned to George and grinned shakily, then took a deck of cards from his back pocket.

"Exploding Snap before dinner, mate?"

Ginny watched her father for a moment as he moved sadly to the back of the Burrow and closed the door of his bedroom behind him. It wasn't often that he was sent on Auror raids; instead his talents were used in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office and he spent his days tracking down cursed items given to Muggles or experimenting on the devices himself. To be sent on such a raid suggested its magnitude.

Ginny turned and followed her brother up the staircase, but she stopped on the landing where the bathroom was and where Draco was being tended by her mother. Tentatively, she walked forward and peered around the blue carpeted corner, seeing her mother standing by the bathroom door with a fluffy orange towel.

"Mama?" she asked cautiously, and Molly turned to smile sadly at her daughter. Tears darkened her already deep brown eyes, and Ginny saw tracks of wetness falling down her

cheeks.

Coming forward, the sixteen-year-old hugged her mother, and the woman's warm, soft arms came up and enveloped her slim and dainty daughter in a firm hug.

"I'm sorry dear, I just can't help but feel sorry for them, even after everything they've done..."

Lucius had abhorred the Weasleys for years, and had intervened at every opportunity Arthur had had for a raise or a promotion, keeping the poor family impoverished as he sat in his mansion and got richer. The Malfoys' prejudice against Muggle-born wizards and Muggles

themselves was as blatant as their wealth, and when Draco had come to school, it was made clear that he shared his father's views.

But now, seeing the pale and frighteningly stricken boy, standing in her humble doorway with nothing but the clothes on his back and the memories of his parents' murder softened the girl towards him. Even though Lucius had orchestrated disaster for Ginny in her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, and used her as a pawn in an attempt to purge the school of those he considered unworthy, she had not wished his death. To have his wand snapped and to be cast from the wizarding world, perhaps, but not dead.

"Is he alright?" she asked her mother in a whisper, and Molly shook her head.

"He's had a terrifying shock, and he's likely to take time recovering..." She turned and glanced at the door, then back to her daughter.

"Go fix up Percy's room for the boy. We'll put him there. It's as far away from Ron as possible, and Percy always was the neatest boy in the Burrow."

Ginny turned to go, uncertain now, because Percy's room was beside her own.

Though I hardly expect Malfoy to come into my room at night and have his wicked way with me, now do I?

She reached the landing when her mother called to her again, and she turned around, almost fearing that her mother had heard her thoughts.

"Ginny? Use the good sheets, dear."

Nodding, the red-haired girl hurried up the stairs to the fourth floor, and pushed open the door to Percy's old room. Percival had always been an uppity kind of child, never playing in the dirt with Fred or George, and unwilling to play mock Quidditch with his older brothers, Bill and Charlie. He was currently working for the Ministry of Magic, with high hopes of becoming a government officer, and had distanced himself from his family when his parents had suggested he was offered a promotion in order to keep a close eye on the Weasleys.

Shivering in the sudden chill, Ginny wished she could use magic to start a fire, but decided to call George or Fred in to do it later. By law, she was not allowed to do magic outside of school. The lights flared on when she entered, charmed that way by Percy the year before he left for good, and she glanced around the sparse room unsure of where to begin.

The bed was empty, and so she walked out and down a floor to the linen cupboard, retrieving the best sheets in the Burrow and the matching pillow slips with them. She closed the door to Percy's room behind her and moved to the bed, carefully tucking and smoothing the blue cotton sheets over the soft mattress, then fluffing the plump pillows her brother had left behind. Ginny thought for a moment, then turned to Percy's closet and opened the doors wide, quickly finding the navy blue comforter along with several other more worn blankets her brother had used. Nights were cold at Ottery St. Catchpole, and the fires burned low as the hours waned. Thin walls and drafty windows didn't aid the Weasleys in warmth, but Molly was always willing to knit another afghan for her children, and thus Percy's stack of faded blankets were soon put to good use again.

Ginny went to work, shaking the thick goose down coverlet out and tucking the edges beneath the mattress. Next, she put the rattiest knitted afghan down, followed by two others and completing it with a soft white one saved by Percy for when he had guests over. Leaving the bed, the redhead surveyed the room, knowing that no matter how attractive the dark blue paint or the white chairs were, all that Malfoy would see was the patched cushions and the scratch in the desk.

Digging her toes into the white rug on the hardwood floor, she thought about anything she could do to make the room more sophisticated or at least more palatable for the most horrible person she had ever met. She failed miserably though, as her thoughts turned to the boy himself, and the faded gray eyes that had looked through them all when he had stood by the door. It was how she imagined someone who had been subjected to a Dementor's Kiss would look, and she shivered in the silence.

"Ginny?" a muffled voice said in the hall, and the she hurried to the doorway, throwing it open

to admit Ron into the room. She needed a reprieve from her thoughts.

"I figured Ma would put him here," he said glumly, and he looked over the room with an unsure glance. "You did a bang up job, Gin. If the blighter says anything, just bosh him one."

"I don't think he'll say anything, Ron," she said tartly, and her brother rubbed his arms and stood quietly for a moment.

Ginny turned to the bed again, leaning over it to shut the white curtains over the window.

"I'll send someone up to light the fire, right?" Ron said quietly, and she turned to him, realizing that Draco's presence was harder on him than on anyone else - even herself.

Throughout the last six years in school, Draco had done nothing but disparage and insult their family, humiliating Ron at every turn. The pureblooded aristocrat hated Hermione Granger, Ron's muggle born best friend and fancy, and maintained a childish rivalry with the wizarding world's adolescent hero, Harry Potter.

The only one who was likely to take Malfoy's presence worse than Ron was Harry himself, but even he would merely stomach it quietly and learn to accept it after a good round of pouting and melodrama.

Ginny's heart skipped a beat when she thought of the green eyes and black hair belonging to the soft-spoken wizard she had blindly adored since before she even knew him, and she flushed brightly, though she told herself she was stupid. She had given up on The-Boy-Who-Lived, and started dating a few other boys, but in her heart of hearts he was still more than special to her.

"How do you think Harry will take it?" she asked gently, and Ron let out a gusty sigh.

"As he handles everything else, I suppose. He'll think about it some, then mope about it. Who knows? Maybe Malfoy will turn over a new leaf and he and Harry can become best mates. Kind of like a Muggle movie, you know? Worst enemies turned chums..." Trailing off, Ron tried to laugh but couldn't and Ginny shook her head.

"Don't be stupid Ron. You know that Malfoy hates Harry more than anyone. Even if Harry

tried to be his friend, Malfoy would just spit in his face."

Nodding, the boy shoved his oversized hands into his pockets and turned to the door.

"Anyway, Gin. Dinner's on the table and Da's going to help Draco get to bed, so we'd best get sorted here and get downstairs."

Ginny walked up to her brother, looking up at him and placing a comforting hand

on his shoulder. Her brown eyes sparkled warmly, and her pink lips tilted up in a smile. Even though Ron was an overbearing lout sometimes, he was still too unsure of himself to listen to her counsel, but she tried.

"Don't fret, Ron. It would be pretty ungrateful of him to start slandering our family when we're

all he's got, wouldn't it?"

"You don't know Malfoy very well, do you Gin?" Ron said with a disbelieving arch of his brow,

and they left the room together.

--------

Dinner was somber; nobody knew quite what to say. Draco Malfoy was settled in Percy Weasley's bedroom, sleeping by Arthur's account. Molly had dished out the plain fare of potatoes and corn with roasted goose. She quickly ate her meal, then set about making a broth for their guest upstairs, exclaiming that the poor dear wouldn't be able to hold much down. Fred and George ate more slowly, but exchanged glances, then made their good-byes, Apparating back to their apartments in Diagon Alley with the explanation that their joke shop (Weasley's Wizard Wheezes) needed to be opened early the next morning.

As Molly puttered about the kitchen, Ron picked at his food and spoke to his father on the awkward and strange subject of what would happen to Malfoy once the term started. Neither participant seemed willing to talk freely, and the stilted conversation pressed over the room.

"He'll be safe at Hogwarts, son, and during the holidays he'll be staying there."

"So it's settled then? Just like that?" Ginny asked quizzically, and Arthur glanced at his fiery haired daughter.

"Well yes. We couldn't very well leave the boy at the Ministry, could we? And I volunteered.

We have spare bedrooms -"

"But no spare money," muttered Ron, and Arthur looked hurt.

"- spare bedrooms, and what better place to hide a Malfoy than with the Weasleys?" he tried

to joke, but sighed when no one laughed and returned to his food.

"What about clothing, Arthur? And books?" Molly asked briskly, and the gangly man brightened a little.

"When last I heard, Aurors were being sent to retrieve as many of his things as they could. The

Manor will be closed, of course, and is going to be the source of much inspection because it's a crime scene... But he'll have clothing and we'll try to get some of his personal things so he'll

feel more at home here."

"He hates us, Da," said Ron with a roll of his eyes. "He'll never feel at home here. He's used to silks and servants and the dark arts! He's likely to kill us while we sleep!"

Arthur's face turned red with anger, and he frowned at his son with disappointment ripe in his

watery blue eyes.

"Ronald Weasley. I'll not have that talk in this house. That boy just watched his parents die! I don't think a childish feud is going to be his priority after what he went through. He's had a troubled childhood, and what he needs - "

"Bollocks!" yelled Ron suddenly, and he stood so violently his chair fell backwards with a crash. Ginny glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if it had awakened Malfoy. "What was hard for him? Not being able to choose which new broom he wanted? Did he grow out of his dragon hide boots too fast? Maybe he had to share his toys with Crabbe and Goyle! The only thing that git can do is hate, and if you think I'll just accept the pasty-faced dosser as a new brother, than you're off your trolley!"

Molly gasped, and she placed her hands on her hips, shaking her head irately.

"Ronald! How can you be so selfish! He was just orphaned, and we're all he's going to have!"

"We'll see if you're singing that tune when he has his say," the boy spat, and shaking his head, Ron strode to the front door, slamming it behind him as he left.

--------

As night spread over the Burrow, the stars came out to glitter coldly through the cobalt blue sky and the moon sat fat and content on a sea of gray clouds that promised rain the following morning. The summer air seemed to draw away and leave the dark night even

more chilled.

Alone and awake, Draco Malfoy sat in the decidedly abominable bed in the one place he would rather die than stay at, choking back a scream as his nightmare clung like cobweb to his shock-hazed mind. The moonlight streamed in softly, turning his skin to alabaster and his hair to snow, and he panted hoarsely as he tried to focus on where he was.

The Weasleys' hovel.

Grimacing weakly, Draco tossed back the heavy layers of blankets, unperturbed by the frigidity of the room. The Slytherin common room was like ice all year, and Malfoy Manor had been no warmer. Lights flared as he stood up, and in his mind he was taken back to the tunnels, where the torches had lit his way. Stopping, Draco swallowed back a sudden onslaught of nausea and emptiness when he remembered exactly why he was here. His parents...His beautiful mother... His strong, confident father...reduced to crumpled heaps of blood and bone at the feet of the one they had served.

Shuddering, Draco glanced down at his forearm, where the Dark Mark no longer ached dully. To think, he too had pledged allegiance to his father's fiendish snake god. To think, he had craved the same sense of brotherhood his father had spoke of - the same power. The black skull and snake insignia grinned at him in the darkness, and Draco looked away.

Instead, he glanced dazedly around the room, only vaguely recalling how his father's nemesis, Arthur Weasley, had helped him to bed and brought him soup. And the old hag had put him in a bath. He thought he might retch, knowing that that ill-bred woman had seen and touched his body. His mother would have drowned herself first.

The room was dark blue, the color of night skies and oceans, and a white rug softened the cold blow of the wood beneath his toes. White chairs, stout and square, sat before a dying fire and between them was a small table, seemingly kin to the desk that perched by the wall. Cautiously, wondering if he would pick up some Weasley vermin, the pale blonde boy sat on one chair, sinking back into the cushions with a troubled sigh. If he thought too much, he knew he would scream, and that was something his father would have frowned upon. Lucius Malfoy would be appalled with his surroundings, sneering at the Weasleys' attempt at hospitality and their obvious gesture in giving him what he supposed was their best room, their best blankets, and their utmost care.

"You will learn, son, that there exist wizards who are beneath us. Arthur Weasley and his whelps are your most obvious lesson."

But his father was dead, and Arthur Weasley was not. Hot tears suddenly burnt his eyes, and a sense of angry, stabbing freedom surged through him. For Lucius was dead and would never demean him again. He would never sneer at his Quidditch failings, never disparage his marks - for they were tolerable but not top of the class - and never, ever make him feel as if he was not living up to the Malfoy name. He would not have to live up to it, for he now was it.

Never again.

A cold, grating sense of furious pleasure swept through him, dimmed only by the knowledge that Voldemort searched for him, reached for him even in the darkness of the night, and he glanced once more across the room. His lip curled, taking in the cheaply manufactured wood and the threadbare rug.

Honestly, how can such filth as the Weasleys exist?

The fire in the grate spluttered a little, but he did not feed it a log of wood kept by the hearth for occasions such as this. Malfoys did not stoke the fire. That was what servants were for. As it sputtered, it bathed him in orange and yellow and his eyes sparkled, lit with a strange, heavy excitement. He was out from under Lucius' thumb, he was the heir to the Malfoy fortune - obscenely rich - and powerful. He felt as if he was tipping over the edge of something shattering, and all around him the sudden loss of constriction - the newness of no longer answering to someone - was swirling and blowing and trying to cast him over the edge of reason.

But I will not fall, father. I will surpass you in each and every way.

So caught up in this new, uncontrollable wave of freedom, he could barely shoulder away the painful reality that his mother and father were dead, and it was undeniable that Lucius had saved him from the same fate. The bareness of his arm suddenly chilled him, and he refused to delve further into what that meant. Instead he turned his attention to his intentions, and a twinge

of fear fled over his silver eyes. Voldemort would summon him, of that he was certain, but he would not go. He no longer answered to anyone.

The fire guttered out, and the room was left in darkness.

--------

Ginny swept a brush through her hair and yanked on a purple blouse, buttoning it quickly over her white bra. Her breasts were more of a hindrance than anything useful, and she often wished she had inherited her mother's skinny figure from her teenage days, rather than that

of her once curvaceous Grandmother Agatha. She pulled a pair of slacks over her long legs, and buttoned them quickly, eager to go to market that morning with her mother. Ginny fell haphazardly onto her bed and tugged on a pair of socks, wondering absently if Malfoy would

be at the table this morning. Likely not, but she was anxious to see how he fared, despite his past antagonism of her. She hoped that the vacant dullness was gone from his eyes, for even the cruel sneers and wicked smiles so often seen at the Slytherin table were better than the porcelain mask that had been fitted over him after his trauma.

Ginny knew it was too much to hope for, so when she bounded down the steps and found him seated at the table, she could not contain a surprised gasp.

"Ginny dear," Molly greeted warningly. "Good morning."

Approaching the table, she glanced around for Ron but decided he was still in bed and sat down in front of Malfoy. He wore the slacks and dress shirt he had come in yesterday, obviously forsaking Ron's gift of clothing, and so out of place was his fine, yet dirty appearance, Ginny felt as if her stomach was suddenly tied in knots. Looking away, she sighed.

"Good morning, Mama," she smiled, before turning to carefully watch Malfoy over the

breakfast of ham and hash browns her mother was currently heaping onto her plate. She noticed

Draco's was untouched, and she figured he was most likely used to eggs benedict and soufflés for his morning meals. He was merely staring at his plate as if it were filled with worms, a fork

hanging limply in his hand.

It isn't as if we haven't eaten this kind of thing at Hogwarts! He's just being foul!

"Eat up now child, it will do you good," Molly said to Draco gently.

Ginny reached for her orange juice and took a small sip, then placed the cold glass back on the table and picked up her own fork. Her brown eyes were still watching Draco narrowly, and when he suddenly spoke, she was so startled she dropped the utensil and sent it skittering

across the floor.

"I think not," he said stiffly, and he deigned to look at Ginny for the first time. His eyes were cold and an abnormal silver, something she had never noticed before, but otherwise

his handsome face held no expression. When he caught her eyes he sneered, tilting his pointed

chin higher and pointedly putting down his fork. Ginny glared, furious at the insult to her family - her mother - and the disdainful way he was ignoring them now.

"Very well then, dear." Molly smiled and took Draco's plate away. "At least finish your toast. Arthur will be bringing your things back tonight, and you can settle Percy's old room how you like it."

Draco didn't seem surprised at the news, merely lifting his snotty nose even higher, and Ginny

couldn't help but loathe the black-hearted Slytherin for seeming utterly unaffected by his parents murder, and still able to act like the Weasleys were vermin and they ought to be serving him on hand and foot.

Perhaps it's a defense? she thought, biting her lip. Maybe he acts this way like a type of armor.

Naïve, she snorted inwardly at herself, stupid, getting more frustrated as she studied him when she found it was hard not to notice how handsome the git was up close. Luckily, he had all the charm of an agitated scorpion, so she would never be at risk of making an utter fool of herself as she had all those years with Harry.

"Is the room alright, Malfoy?" Ginny asked cautiously, not able to help herself from admiring the

cold, clear perfection of his beautiful face because she had never been so close to him before, and when the blonde looked at her with blank gray eyes, his mouth curled slightly as if he knew what she was thinking.

"No," he said in an arrogant, hostile, voice. "It is as I expected."

Furious and humiliated, Ginny resumed her own meal and set about ignoring the older boy, but when Molly drifted off to get ready, the silence became unbearable. If she was going to be forced to sit in uncomfortable silence at every meal, she'd rather starve! She opened her mouth to speak, when a sudden thumping of feet pounded on the rickety stairs.

"Ma! When are we going to get me a new -"

Rounding the corner, Ron stopped dead when he saw Draco, and his fists clenched. He avoided Ginny's gaze and instead settled on glaring at the blonde, who merely arched

a pale brow. The red-haired boy seemed disheartened by Draco's composure, and after a moment he stepped more fully into the room and grabbed a plate. Keeping a wary eye on the intruder, Ron scooped hash browns and syrup onto his plate and poured himself a tall glass of juice. He clumped towards the table, and Ginny saw that he wore Bill's shabby hand-me-down boots.

"Morning, Gin," he said sullenly, and sat beside her. He proceeded to eat heartily, blatantly ignoring the other boy, who was now watching them as if waiting to strike, and when Ron finished eating he turned to his sister.

"I'm sending a letter to Harry and 'Mione later, want me to pen a note? Just make sure it's not

too long else that ruddy pipsqueak won't be able to take it."

Smiling, Ginny nodded. "Tell Hermione I can't wait to see her, and to Harry...Say hello."

She bit her tongue and expected a scathing insult to lash out at her from Draco's mouth, and she was not disappointed.

"The little Weasel has not yet given up on Potter? One would think that after his having sought out companionship beneath any and every girl's robes in Hogwarts but your own, one would take a hint."

Ginny's mouth fell open, hurt and humiliation so evident in her brown eyes that it gave Draco the hysterical urge to laugh. Ron stood furiously, hand fumbling for a wand that still lay halfway beneath his bed, and cursed.

"You ferret-faced bastard! My father takes you in, and you turn around and - and..."

"Keep thinking, Weasley," Draco scoffed. "I'm sure the monosyllables will come to you."

The lummox was about to lunge at him, and Draco felt a momentary surge of fear when he remembered that they were not at Hogwarts, and Crabbe and Goyle were not there to flank

him, when the little mouse with too many freckles and too much red hair threw herself forward

and half lay across the table to block her brother. A salt shaker dug painfully into her ribs, and

she winced when a pitcher of milk spilled down the table, nearly staining Malfoy's pants. He stood up and away swiftly, smirking at Ron who was staring wide-eyed at his sister.

"Ron!" she hissed, pulling back and gingerly touching her bruised midriff.

"Gin!"

Merlin, they call themselves purebloods? Even their names are common, Draco sneered.

She shook her head, eyes dark and face hot with embarrassment when Molly returned wearing her best green cloak and carrying her shopping basket over her arm. She waved to Ginny, hurrying her along, and Ginny slipped her shoes on at the door, avoiding any eyes upon her.

"Draco, try to get more rest, dear. Ron, show Draco around and get to know each other

better." Menacingly, she shook her finger beneath her son's nose. "And if I hear about one

fight... Clean up that spill, Ron. Really, what a waste of good milk!"

She shut the door behind her, and Ron turned back to Draco with a squeamish frown on his

face as he swallowed his anger and unclenched his fists.

--------

When Ginny could speak again, it was shaky and weak sounding.

"Mama, it wasn't wise to leave those two alone."

"They have to sort out their rivalries between themselves, dear. If Arthur comes home to more squabbles he's bound to go mad!"

Mother and daughter walked down the dirt road leading to the small village nearby, and the barely warm summer air breezed around them. It caught Ginny's curled crimson strands and

flicked them about her face, and she crossed her arms, wishing she had brought a cloak.

"It's going to be hard to get used to, though... Having Malfoy here, when at school all he did was tease Ron and insult us."

With a sigh, Molly nodded her head and switched the basket to her other arm.

"Children are a product of their environment, dear. Lucius was a very prejudiced, very arrogant

man. Even in our school days he was a blatant practitioner of the Dark Arts. But Narcissa loved him so dearly, and he never hurt her as far as I could tell. She was always the very soul of happiness, even if a bit swotty..." Molly sighed sadly, before mentally brushing off her sorrow.

"What I'm trying to say, Ginny, is that though Draco may share his father's views, he was loved,

and his loss is going to be more important to him now than insulting our family."

"He was taught that we're beneath him, Mama." Ginny laughed wryly, remembering Malfoy's

attitude less then ten minutes before. Molly cast a sidelong glance at her only daughter, noting

how the chilly air brought out rosy color in her cheeks, and made her beautiful face sparkle.

"And you were taught that everyone deserves a second chance."

--------

Ron could only stare blankly for a moment at the tilted silver head, arrogant still even in his current state. Angrily, he snatched a tattered quill and a scrap of parchment from the rickety desk his father did the bills on and sat down to write a letter to his friends. But all he could write were few lines to the effect of 'hello, we had an unexpected surprise. See you soon. Ginny says hello.' before tossing aside the quill and focusing back on Draco. He sat with arms crossed, looking arrogant and superior and utterly bored, and for a minute Ron felt sorrow bubble up inside him. After all, he still had his whole family, and now a person that had always struck him as untouchable was alone and lost in a world he'd never known.

"Malfoy." He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. Draco merely looked at him, eyes seemingly looking through him.

"Sod off, Weasel."

The boy's voice still held the same revulsion, as if they were back at Hogwarts and he was leading a horde of Slytherins, not sitting in the Weasleys' kitchen in last night's

robes with his parents not a day in their graves. His silver eyes reflected nothing. Disbelievingly, Ron looked at the pale young man before him.

"Are you still going to be an arrogant prat, despite all that's happened to you?"

"What else could I be?" Draco said snidely, disbelieving that Weasel had the sheer audacity to question him.

"An insufferable prat? A backstabbing Slytherin? It looks like we're all stuck together in this mess, so the least you could do would be to keep acting like a bloody git so I know where we

stand!"

"We stand where we always stood. Weasleys hate Malfoys. And Malfoys hate Weasleys."

The same sneering voice answered him, and Ron swallowed. He wished he had kept

his gob shut instead of mouthing off and poking his nose where it didn't belong.

"Look, Malfoy. I'm sorry. I shouldn't - "

"We stand where we always stood, Weasley," Draco repeated listlessly, and he stood, carefully walking back up the stairs with his spine straight and his head high. "And I am not about to sit and have a heart to heart chat with a blood traitor who clearly does not know his place."

Anger burned his veins, and the stockier boy curled his hands behind his back to stop from strangling the worthless snake.

He can't be so evil. He can't be so heartless. He's a person and he must feel something.

After a moment, Ron heard Percy's door shut.

--------

Arthur returned that night with two huge trunks and three suitcases emblazoned with the Malfoy crest. The trunks alone were worth more than all Ginny's belongings, and she stared, wide-eyed, as they were unshrunk on Percy's floor.

"Here you are, Draco. This was all we could take from your room, as well as some things," his eyes dimmed, "from your parents' room."

Draco sneered, and as Arthur turned to leave, he glanced once at his mystified daughter, before

turning back to the boy.

"Is it alright if Ginny helps you unpack, Draco? It will take you all night if you have to do it

yourself."

A look, as if to say You thought I would do this myself?, and Ginny was left behind closed doors with a young man she had no inkling of how to deal with. Draco rose languidly from his repose by the fire, his movements fluid, and knelt before a wide black trunk gilded with silver. He threw open the lid, and a flicker of emotion finally crossed his eyes. Stepping forward, she saw that the top layers of the chest was packed with fine clothing. Rich silks and sweaters, vests and robes were folded neatly, row by row.

Trust a Malfoy to worry about appearances at a time like this.

"I can put your clothes away, if you'd rather go through the more personal things." Ginny said gently, and Draco glanced at her with a disdainful sneer, somehow making her embarrassed that

she was still in his presence.

"Obviously," was all he spat, and he moved on to the other trunk.

The redhead went to work, separating the fine dress shirts from the slacks and the robes, hanging up what needed to be hung, folding what was to go into the dresser left by Percy. Reverently, she ran her hands along some of the fabrics she'd never even seen before, recognizing spun unicorn hairs from a fashion magazine she had seen before, and a pair of cufflinks made of mermaid scales. She glanced at Malfoy to make sure he hadn't seen her groping his clothes, realizing he probably would want them all washed for her having touched them anyhow.

She was nearing the bottom of the trunk, where she found dragon hide Quidditch boots and gloves, assorted belts and more personal garments, when a glimmer of silver caught her eyes. Dipping into the chest, she lifted up a finely wrought necklace where a dangling charm glittered. It was clearly feminine, the chain so delicate and thin she could easily let it slip through her fingers, and the charm was a small seashell.

Oh, how pretty! I've always wanted to see the ocean.

"Malfoy?" she asked quietly, and she glanced up to see him surrounded by a pile of books and

objects, merely staring at the havoc he had wreaked around him.

"What is it, Weasley?" he asked oddly, and his voice was harsh with something like irritation.

"I found this, and I wondered where you'd like me to put it."

When his silver eyes glanced up coldly, they fell on the necklace for a moment before turning

back to the clutter.

"I do not care," was his answer.

Ginny placed the delicate necklace on the bed, and moved to kneel beside the blonde, who quickly stood up and moved to lean indolently against the wall, surveying her progress. Trying to stave off the embarrassment of his obvious attempt to avoid touching her, she carefully picked up a thick blue book.

"We can put these on the shelf over there, if you'd like."

"Just do it," he said distantly, making no move himself.

Standing, irritation mounting, Ginny gathered some of the texts up herself and shelved them quietly. For a long while, there was no noise except for the gentle sound of his breathing behind her and she worked steadily, sorting through the mess of things while he merely sat, disinterested. There were photo albums and puzzles, a china tea set and velvet drapes for his bed. There was his Nimbus 2001 broom, as well as a newer version that she thought must be a prototype, a jade and marble chess set and a Sneakoscope. She found a set of raven feather quills tipped in bronze, and bottles of magical ink of silver and gold. There was a deck of cards and an Invisibility Cloak, a huge case of potion ingredients and a copper cauldron, five pairs of shoes and a small wooden box that contained a lock of fine blonde hair. An onyx box for his wand and a sheaf of letters were the last things she put away.

Ginny snuck a look at Draco, where he still sat, looking sour. She wondered if having his things brought here had finally caused the enormity of his situation to crash around him, and suddenly felt very awkward and intrusive. Turning, she looked around and found nothing else needed doing. The two trunks had been sorted through, while the suitcases sitting against the wall could wait for the morning.

"I'll help you with those in the morning, if you'd like me too..." she offered softly, and all she

heard was a distracted hiss of impatience. Exasperated and furious but unable to do anything

about it she stalked to the door and yanked it open.

I was only trying to help!

She tossed a last, angry glance at the blonde but stopped dead for a long, captured moment. He was bent forward slightly, fingering the hem of his torn robe with undisguised criticism, eyebrows lifted slightly as he examined the grime. The light hit the sharp tilt of his nose and the firm curve of his lips, leaving him striking and sinister and painfully handsome. She bit her lip, her fingers tightening on the door handle before she hurried away, unnerved.