Clockwise

Luminously the cells of Azkaban surrounded him. They glowed--not with light, and most assuredly not with hope--but with life. Human life. Foggy shapes drifted past his cell at varied times--he assumed they were Dementors. The soul-suckers themselves.

He hadn't lost his sanity yet. Or at least not entirely. He didn't mutter uncontrollably under his breath, or expect someone to release him any day. Acceptance of his sentence had been easily grasped.

"What kind of barking-mad nutter," the judge had said, "tries to steal from Gringotts?"

He had slowly raised his shaking hand as far as he could, with the cuffs round it. The courtroom had been rather solemn and silent--the Death Eaters lurked to attack at any moment and free him. But he refused to tell them to do so. He had done the crime and now accepted the time in response.

But he didn't care much for Azkaban.

He didn't hear voices crying out in the night; he wasn't reminded of past nightmares. He just felt an empty, hollow sort of feeling whenever a Dementor passed through. He timed their arrival at the beginning, only to find that they came whenever they felt like it, which was as unpredictable as the rain.

He wasn't innocent. He had merely walked up to a goblin and asked to make a deposit. The goblin had escorted him safely down to his vault, and upon returning to the cart he had cast a wandless spell to pin the goblin down. It was harmless, really; no lasting effects involved. That was why he picked it--he didn't want attempted murder on his accused-of list. He knew he would be caught.

It was his choice; he controlled it. He had released the breaks to the cart with more wandless magic, then jumped out at the first opportunity. Already magical warnings had sounded and he just walked over to the vault he'd stopped at and blasted it off its hinges.

It had been slightly disappointing to find it empty. Goblins had surrounded him shortly after and taken him to the Ministry of Magic office without much trouble. He hadn't struggled. He hadn't done anything to suggest that he was a killer.

This contributed to his wondering why he earned himself a life sentence.

It didn't matter anymore. He accepted that he would be in Azkaban for the rest of his life.

"Malfoy, Draco--that you, lad?"

His grey eyes flashed dully as he nodded. "I've been sent to fetch you, then. Minister of Magic himself wants a word."

Confusion flooded Draco's mind as reality sank into him for the first time in years. How long had it been? he wondered distractedly. He had lost count of the days long ago.

"Cornelius Fudge?" he muttered as he rose from the floor. His cell was quite plain--a bed to the left, a small, magically reinforced window, and hay spread across the ground. A drain was in the center of the room; his bathroom.

The jailer laughed.

"Did I say something funny?" snapped Draco crossly. He felt grumpy and was unsure of how he would handle facing the man who had jailed him.

"Cornelius Fudge is dead, lad," the jailer explained, although he had sobered quickly. "At least that's what the 'official reports' say. I'm with those who think he joined the Death Eaters."

Draco sniffed. That sounded like Fudge's courageous-self. "Who's the Minister now?"

"Arthur Weasley."

Damn.

"He hates me," he said musingly, "wonder what he wants?"

The jailer shrugged. "He wouldn't say."

Great, thought Draco, in the presence of my enemy. I thought I was nothing to that bastard. Just a number.

As they reached the large oak doors that marked the Gateway to Hell on Earth, Draco noted that it was raining outside. Droplets spattered him; he followed the jailor until they reached a blue Mercedes. The door opened on its own and hesitantly he stepped in.

"Mr. Malfoy," said a calm voice, "how are you feeling today?"

Arthur Weasley turned round in the driver's seat, smiling somewhat forcibly. Draco fought back a sneer and instead opted to reply, very tartly, "How would you feel if you'd been in Hell for years and were suddenly taken away to speak to an incompetent Minister of Magic whom, I'm sure, hasn't done very much to improve life's conditions since I left?"

"You should be thankful," retorted Weasley. "I have a special mission for you."

There was a pause. Rain continued to splatter down all round the car.

"What's in it for me?" Draco asked.

"Grandeur. Glory. And bail."

"What good is bail when I'd just be going back to a fucked-up world?"

Arthur Weasley was rendered speechless. Satisfied, Draco continued, "D'you really think I'm stupid enough to rob Gringotts without any ulterior motivation? I did it on purpose. I knew I'd get caught. I'm safer in Azkaban than in England--or anywhere else for that matter." He leaned close to the Minister, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Even as we sit here, I'm being watched."

Now Weasley looked startled. "By whom?" he demanded.

"His supporters." Pause. Silence. "Death Eaters."

"Mr. Malfoy, Death Eaters are the least of our concerns."

Draco directed his narrow gaze from the window back on the Minister. "What the hell are you on about?"

"Voldemort is no longer top-dog," the other explained. "There's a new guy. He runs the show now; he's got people everywhere. If you thought the Magical Senate was corrupt before, then you're in for a shocker now. It's a billion times worse. You trust no one. Not even your friends."

"Who is this guy?" asked Draco after a moment.

"You know him," said Weasley, "you two went to school together. You weren't exactly friends starting off, but towards the end you got sort of close. You both chased my daughter." Recognition began blossoming in Draco's dull eyes. "Calls himself... Potter." The last word was almost an inaudible whisper.

"Harry?"

"Yes."

Draco leaned back in the seat, heaving a sigh. His breath appeared in a cloud before him, and he realized suddenly how cold it was. "What year is it?" he asked at length.

"You've been there for fifteen years."

"What season?"

"Early fall... You must understand that we are desperate." The Minister's gaze met Draco's equally. "You're the only one sane enough to help us."

"I'm not—"

"You just proved you're sane by recognizing Harry's name. Don't argue with me."

Draco pondered for a moment, then plunged in, "What d'you want me to do?"

"I'll explain later. You have to agree now."

Again he took a moment before answering, firmly, "I'll do it." The car immediately started and shot off the island. "What the hell is this shit?" muttered Draco, catching an earful of the noise coming from the radio.

"That's what Muggles are listening to now," said Weasley, blushing slightly. "It's called nap or flap or something."

"Sounds like shit."

The Minister gave him an appraising glance in the mirror. "You could do to improve your grammar. And your attitude."

Draco leaned closer, muttering, "Go spend fifteen years in hell, come back and talk to me. Then we'll see where the real attitude problem lies." He glanced out the window. "Why's it raining so bloody much?"

Weasley looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Potter's gained control of the weather, ultimately. He likes the rain."

"Damn rainy days," grumbled Draco. "So what am I supposed to do? You still haven't said anything."

But the Minister clamped his mouth shut and refused to speak at all until they arrived at Surrey. "Something wrong with London now?" shot Draco smugly.

"Voldemort is there."

"Marvelous."

Draco busied himself with touching buttons and flipping switches while the car zoomed through the air, finally perching quaintly down on the roof of a flat. Draco's door magically opened and he stepped out. The rain still poured down everywhere.

"I've got a new name for Britain," he announced cheerfully; "the Land of Eternal Rain."

Weasley flashed him a tight smile. Draco shrugged casually as the Minister said, "Follow me."

"What's all this following shit today?" he sniped. "I'm tired of being on a leash. Damn it," he added when Weasley didn’t take any notice of his comment. The Minister looked vaguely shocked.

"I'd hate to arrest you on violation of parole."

"Damn you."

The Minister smiled again. "Thank you very much. Please follow me."

Grudgingly Draco complied. Weasley led him to a small, circular platform which promptly dropped from the roof and into a brilliantly bright white room. Draco flinched and snapped his eyes shut.

"Thanks for blinding me on my day out," he said sarcastically. "I just love what you've done with the color."

He chanced opening his eyes again, only to find that they had adjusted to the light. The room was painted all white, with three chairs in the center--white chairs--and no other decor. Draco scratched the back of his head in bewilderment. This is Surrey? he wondered.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy--"

Draco wheeled on the old, crippled-looking man who had risen from his seat, growling, "Why does everyone call me that today, damn it? Call me Malfoy."

The man looked clearly miffed.

"Well then, Malfoy," he tried again, forcing a smile, "how are you?"

"The sky's bright, the sun's shining, and I'm loving the world."

"Please refrain from use of sarcasm."

"Confuse you, does it?"

"Hardly, I would merely prefer if you didn't--"

The Minister pointedly stepped between the pair. "Enough of this bickering," he snapped. "Malfoy, hold your tongue. Albus, give the boy a break."

"I'm not a boy--"

"I realize that, Draco," said Weasley softly. "Please be seated."

Draco slowly sat down in the comfortable white chair across from the man—Albus. The name struck a small chord in his mind, but he shoved the thought aside. Instead he faced the two older men. "What am I doing here?"

"You have been paroled," began Albus, "to undertake a dangerous and risky task."

"What else is new?" drawled Draco. "That's just corny."

Albus frowned. "You will be working alongside Ginny Weasley. She is on a special-ops mission."

"Where do I come in?"

"Protection," said the Minister; "you will be protecting her."

Draco looked from face to face. They both seemed terribly downcast.

"What's her job?" he asked at length.

"That information is private," said Albus stiffly. "And I beg you not to question anyone further on it."

"What's in this deal for me?"

Albus and the Minister exchanged a brief glance. "Life-long parole, for one," said Albus.

"Money?"

Another pause and the other two glanced at each other once more. "Two hundred thousand Galleons."

Draco smiled a wide smile. "That will suffice nicely, I think."

"You are to escort Ms. Weasley wherever she goes," said Weasley. "You have been granted a permit--you may use any means necessary to protect her. But if you're caught doing anything illegal—and we will monitor you--then you're going straight to--"

Albus placed a hand on the Minister's arm to silence him. They whispered to each other furiously, until Albus cleared his throat and said, very clearly, "Go to Dover. She will be there."

"Where?"

"She will find you."

"Great, another cryptic assignment... Hogwarts all over again."

Albus's eyes twinkled and Draco's narrowed as he tried again to place the other. "Who are you?" he asked finally, swallowing his pride.

"The name is Dumbledore."

Draco's mouth formed an "O" but no sound came out. He closed his mouth quickly, then nodded. "Do I have permission to Apparate? And where's my wand?"

"Permission to Apparate is granted," said the Minister. He handed Draco several Galleons. "Money to buy a new wand."

"Thank you," he said, then with a pop! Apparated away.

Albus Dumbledore's gaze flickered over to the Minister's. He gave a slight shake of his head, as if puzzled, then stood up and walked away.

***

Dover had never been a favorite city of his. Draco looked about curiously as the world spun into view round him. "This is mad," he said aloud. "She won't find me."

He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted her to. Ginny Weasley was the source of many intense emotions for Draco Malfoy, none of which were altogether pleasant. For years he had pursued the young lady, up until the point where he'd given up and gone to prison.

She had fallen for Harry Potter. Draco had been mates with him for three years before that. Then Ginny had confessed to Draco that Harry was a much nicer bloke. Draco had blown several doors off their hinges in response. That had landed him a healthy cache of detentions from Professor McGonagall.

The sky overhead was a periwinkle hue in the few spots that weren’t covered with clouds. The rain continued to spatter down all about him, and Draco suddenly found himself missing Azkaban. At least it didn’t rain on me in there, he thought irritably. He glanced round again. He had Apparated onto the middle of a street—but no cars were zipping by.

Scratching his head curiously, he wandered down the road. It was a populated area; quaint little houses popped up on either side of the street. He knew that Muggles dominated this area and wondered why he hadn’t seen any of them.

"Damn that girl, she’ll never find me," he muttered. He was considering taking a run for it when a soft but deadly voice spoke from behind—

"I won’t, will I?"

Draco slowly revolved on the spot, splashing a bit of water, to see Ginny Weasley’s petite form there. She hadn’t inherited the Weasley height, however much her hair glowed with tradition. The auburn curls were tamed for once by means of a ponytail at the back of her head. Her brown eyes had in fifteen years lost their sparkle.

"Hello, Ms Weasley," said Draco equably. "I was sent to escort you."

"Yes, I was told," said Ginny, seeming a bit aloof. "How have you been over the years?"

Draco tilted his head, realizing he hadn’t moved very much since she’d appeared. "Not very well," he said quietly, "but then, Azkaban’s like that, right?"

For some reason he had never been able to rifle off effective comebacks around Ginny Weasley. It had always been a bother until fifth year at Hogwarts, when the white flags had flown. They had all become friends, although Draco’s smart mouth had already placed itself firmly in the deal.

But Ginny, she was different…

"Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t be very lovely." Ginny’s eyes roved over to Draco’s. "Your eyes are more blue now than silver," she pointed out.

"I always figured they’d grown more gray," he fired back.

"We’re going to Bristol. There’s a Death Eater meeting there."

She turned on her heel and purposely strode off, leaving Draco mouthing soundlessly. "And just what the bleeding hell are we going to do at a Death Eater meeting?" he snapped.

Ginny stopped and pulled her right sleeve back, revealing the grisly tattoo of the Death Eaters—a snake poking out of a skeleton’s mouth. Draco himself had one, but seeing it on someone like Ginny—

"What the hell have you done with your life?"

"I had no choice," she whispered, losing her defensive posture. "They were going to kill my family."

Draco nodded wordlessly. "But I can’t go back. They’ll kill me."

Ginny stiffened and her business-like demeanor returned like a phantom possessing her.

"That is a risk I’m willing to take."

She started to walk off again and Draco grabbed her arm, shaking her. "It’s not one I’m going to take, so you can find someone bloody else to escort you, ‘cause I’m not going—"

"You will follow my orders or go back to Azkaban," snapped Ginny. "Take your pick."

"I’m not following anyone’s orders," he returned angrily. "You can sod off if you think—"

"Shut up," she interrupted abruptly. "Hear that?"

Draco paused mid-rant and listened. All he heard was silence.

"No," he said, "what is it?"

"The sound of water running underground. That’s the path we’re taking to get to Bristol."

Draco sputtered as she briskly tramped over to a drainage pipe and jumped down. She put her hands on her hips, waiting for him. Draco kept her briefly to study her—the way she let her cloak flutter about her legs—the way her ponytail quivered in the breeze.

Muttering under his breath, he followed Ginny.

"You realize that it will take us forever—twice—to get to Bristol using this?" he fired contemptuously. "And it smells like rotting house elves in here."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I thought you were Pureblood?" Draco blanched. "Or does Azkaban remove the old stains?" she whispered, turning round to face him so suddenly that he bumped into her. "We’re using magic."

Draco stared stonily back.

"If that was supposed to be an insult, then you’re not up to your chalk."

Ginny laughed a dry laugh, resuming her course through the dank tunnel. Draco shook his head, trying to figure her out. The level of water had risen ever-so-slightly under his feet, and the smell had intensified. He sloshed lazily along, imagining what he would do with his reward.

"Seeing anyone?"

"Oh yes," Draco drawled sarcastically, "the raving-mad girl in the cell next to me invited me to go to Starbucks several times. What d’you bloody think?"

Ginny shrugged. "I’ve never been to Azkaban."

"I noticed that the routine checks stopped at some point."

"It’s because of him."

She stopped as their path dropped off into a waterfall of sewage. A small boat was docked on the lower level. Ginny made a sweeping gesture to it, smiling ironically.

"Our transportation, Malfoy."

"Marvelous." She started down the ladder and Draco followed. "And I thought the smell was bad on the outside of these tunnels…"

"Mind you don’t fall in," Ginny cautioned. "I’d hate to have to rescue you—"

"I can swim just fine," snarled Draco. "Sod off."

Ginny shrugged, clambering onto the boat. Draco foiled her grace by heaving a step onto the boat that almost threw them both off. She growled that he should mind his manners as well.

"I don’t see you queuing up in the ‘Be Nice to Former Prisoners of Azkaban’ line."

"To me, that’s all you are," Ginny said evenly. She turned her head away from him, tapping the boat with her wand. "Just prisoner scum."

"Ouch, Ginny. That hurt."

She wheeled on him again. "If your attitude is about what happened twenty years ago between you and me, then get the hell over it, because I am not going to tolerate you—"

"You don’t have a fucking clue," he said softly. "Like I told your dad, go burn in Hell for fifteen years, then tell me how you feel. Tell me your attitude is better than mine. And in the meantime, get the fucking hell off my back."

The rest of the trip to Bristol was traversed in silence. Draco glowered and scowled at Ginny’s back, imagining horrible things happening to her. They might monitor me, but they can’t control my thoughts. Soon the tunnel narrowed down and enclosed about their boat. He wondered vaguely what she would do if they ran out of space or found a dead end.

Draco often lost himself in thoughts. He assumed this was due to Azkaban, because that was when it hard started. Immersing oneself in one’s mind made the pain more bearable somehow. Of course, his cell mates’ screams would probably never cease to haunt his dreams at night…

After ages the tunnel began widening gradually, until it reached its former height and width. Draco glanced round. For a sewer, this seems quite populated, he thought incredulously. What seemed like a harbor had been constructed. People—dwarves, elves, and midgets too—were everywhere. Overhead a banner with the Dark Mark splashed across it was draped.

"What is this," he whispered to Ginny, "the National Death Eaters’ Convention?"

Ginny’s shoulders shook as if she was suppressing laughter, and Draco smiled in satisfaction. He leaned back, taking another good look. He didn’t recognize any of the beings all round him—had it really been so long that all the former Death Eaters had been replaced?

Ginny suddenly turned to him, her brown eyes wide.

"We have to go to the bathroom as soon as we land," she said, very quietly.

Draco smirked. "If you want me that bad—"

"You’re insufferable as ever, damn it! We need to give you the Polyjuice Potion so no one will want to fry you. Like a bounty hunter. There’s a price on your head, by the way. Two million Galleons."

"Thanks for your concern."

"Shut up."

They lapsed again into silence, drawing closer to the dock. Ginny flashed the Mark to the sentry, as did Draco. The masked sentry nodded at them, and Ginny drew her cloak’s hood round her face. Draco again followed in suit, not wanting in the least to suffer Voldemort’s fury.

Ginny led him down yet another stretched tunnel. As they passed a patch of shadows, Ginny turned round, shoved Draco down into the murk and jabbed a goblet towards him. He snatched and pocketed it.

"Sorry," said Ginny, loudly enough for any passers-by to hear, "let me help you."

She offered her hand, and Draco, for show more than anything, took it. He gave her a miffed look before they started off again. A small shaft of light glowed on down the tunnel; the end and daylight.

No, wait, rain. Right. Always rain.

"When are you going to brief me?" Draco asked into Ginny’s hood. She shook her head. "Sometime," came the muffled reply.

The tunnel came to an abrupt end and rain began smattering down again. "I think I preferred the sewer," he griped. "I dunno who I hate more; Voldemort or Potter."

Ginny gave him a wry look, and he realized that mentioning Harry Potter around Ginny Weasley was not a wise idea.

"We need to change these Galleons into Euros," she said, looking as if she was biting back a tart reply. She handed him a hefty bag. "You can take care of that while I—"

"Don’t you mean pounds?"

"No, Euros. Muggle Europe has one currency now. The Euro."

Draco shook his head. Muggles were strange. "What’s the point of that?"

"I don’t know, just exchange them, damn it."

Ginny stalked off. Draco stood in the middle of a road, for the first time glancing about. He immediately retracted his thought on Muggles being strange—Bristol glowed with a magic he’d never seen in a Muggle city.

He wandered through the sky-high buildings in awe, temporarily squashing his wizarding pride. The buildings were lit up with millions of pinpricks of lights. It didn’t take terribly long for him to find Aeres District 2, a rival bank of Gringotts.

Instead of goblins, an elf was the teller.

"How may I help you, sir?" the elf asked politely. "The name’s Bruno."

"Hullo Bruno," said Draco. "I need these Galleons changed into Euros."

"Sure thing, sir." Bruno took the bag and jangled it. "Two hundred Galleons," he tossed over his shoulder. "Converted to Euros… that’s one hundred fifty three."

He handed Draco a different bag, this one marked with a strange emblem. "Thanks, mate."

With that, he wheeled around and left the building. Ginny had neglected to give him a second task, so he plopped down on a bench in a local park. He grew more used to the rain as he pensively sat there. This new world wasn’t much better than Azkaban.

Ginny found him again after a few hours, shivering. She sat silently down next to him.

"You all right?" he queried.

"I’ll live. Nothing you haven’t endured over the years."

Draco bit his tongue to prevent himself from snipping at her again. This situation was more tender. Draco was not altogether ignorant on the subject of girls—he’d shagged quite a few while at Hogwarts, after all. But shagging any game girl was completely different from dealing with Ginny Weasley.

She was an enigma all her own. It confused him at the best of times.

"What’s our next stop?"

"Did you get the Euros?"

"’Course," he said, sounding defensive. "Don’t second-guess me."

Ginny sighed. "We’re going to get you a wand, then we’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron."

She stood and walked off, and Draco sputtered off after a moment, "I thought London was taken by him."

"The Leaky Cauldron was relocated at Surrey," she offered. "Along with most of London’s other wizarding establishments."

"We’re Apparating there, right? I have permission."

"I know that," she murmured. "But we had to travel on the Underground to get here. Voldemort prefers that of his servants."

"Then let’s Apparate."

"All right." She disappeared with a faint pop!

Draco blinked at where Ginny had just been, then Disapparated himself.

Surrey was very much like Bristol: the buildings loomed everywhere, and the wretched rain was still there. Draco didn’t go into an awestruck mode this time, however, and with mechanic precision continued to follow Ginny.

"This is getting boring," he announced as they walked through a sliding glass door. "I’m tired of following. I want to forge my own way."

"When you become a citizen again, then you can ‘forge your own way’," spat Ginny. She turned down a long hallway (everything was white—Draco wondered if all of Surrey was like this) and stopped when a sign labeled "Ollivander’s" was overhead.

"No way, this guy’ll know who I am," he protested. "I’m not going in there."

Ginny walked vehemently up to him, hissing, "It may surprise you, but over fifteen years I’ve been taught some very, very vile Dark magic. Don’t tempt me to test it on you."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I’m sure Voldemort’s given you plenty of test subjects already."

She turned away from him, ripping the door open without touching it physically. She lowered her head, but Draco kept his up to conceal his identity better.

"Malfoy needs a wand," she said bluntly to Mr. Ollivander.

Draco and the old man stared at her. She seemed nonplused and began wandered carelessly about the store. Draco lowered his head and offered a tight smile.

"I need a wand, like she said," he muttered. He directed a glare in Ginny’s direction. "I already had one, it was unicorn and—"

"That doesn’t matter," interrupted Mr. Ollivander. "You’ll have to be fitted all over again."

He looked rather miffed, and Draco assumed that forging wands couldn’t be very easy, and he’d already spent one in his lifetime.

"Try this." He handed Draco a wand. Draco shoved it back at him immediately. Another. Draco again pushed it aside. Several wands later, the two men were growing tired of each other, so the next wand that came to him, Draco took. "Does it work, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I’m not sure."

"Try it."

"Semper duco," said Draco under his breath. Suddenly Mr. Ollivander burst into song, rifling off a rough version of "A Hard Day’s Night."

Draco chortled merrily and tossed ten Galleons onto the counter. "That should do."

In his fun, he had missed when Ginny had left the store—he only discovered her absent upon turning round. Again fleeting thoughts of running flashed in his mind, but he squashed them. He knew he was being watched.

She turned up a few hours later, winded this time.

"Been for a jog?" he asked, scowling.

"Lousy job you’re doing of protecting me," she said with a glint in her eye.

"Well if your jogging job wasn’t interfering with my just job, then we’d all be jolly, wouldn’t we?"

Ginny opened her mouth, then closed it. She repeated this action several times, and Draco pointed out lazily that she looked like a goldfish.

"Where to next?"

She bit her lip, looking away. "Time to brief you, I think."

"How about debrief?" he smirked.

Ginny looked as if she was about to slap him, then composed herself briskly. "We have to rent the room at the Leaky Cauldron…"

"Two questions," murmured Draco as they trudged off through the rain. "One: We just changed all our Galleons into burrows or Euros or whatever; where d’we get the money this time? And two: room? As in only one?"

He tried to tone the incredulity in his voice to smugness. She turned and gave him a piercing stare. Draco recoiled, blanching; it felt eerily as if she was reading his thoughts.

"The answers are linked," said Ginny; "we don’t have enough money for two rooms. We have a very limited supply of Galleons; I only gave you two hundred."

Draco saw the logic in this and nodded once. "All right, then."

"You know, you haven’t changed much over the years," she said quietly when they neared the Leaky Cauldron. "You’ve still got that… attitude."

He made a face and answered, "Thanks a lot."

"See? That’s just what I mean. Any normal bloke would’ve told me to shut up or something, but you—you take it with graceful sarcasm."

"Oxymoron number two billion, twenty-four thousand, eighteen."

He gave another sarcastic smile. Ginny actually returned it.

They checked into the Leaky Cauldron. Tom, the old bar-tender, was gone. A young bloke named Tim had taken his place—and his accent wobbled just as badly.

"Thanks for the room, Tim," said Ginny with a grin. She nodded to him.

Their room had two beds and a couch. There was a shower in an adjoining room, and a screened-in verandah. "Damn," said Draco, inspecting the place. "This is nice. Pity the beds aren’t four-posters, but that’s all right… and is this their definition of a clean floor?"

Ginny giggled, then stopped herself, eyes wide. "I’m going to take a shower now."

Draco nodded, taken aback by her reaction. He walked lazily over to the bed by one of the two windows, glancing out at the starry sky. I’m really out, he thought idly. This alone made his mind scream out RUN!, but he pointedly ignored it.

"This life isn’t for me," he muttered aloud, and this thought he wholeheartedly agreed with.