Deeper Than Blood

Well, I know there's a reason to change

Yeah, and I know there's a time for us

I think about the good things

But you live with all the bad

You can feel it in the air

Feeling right this time of year

- "This Time of Year" by Better Than Ezra

Damnable Comity

Chapter Six

Ginny lay stomach-down on her bed, chin propped up on her elbows as she pondered what to write next. An unrolled parchment lay in front of her with only the salutations written as of yet. "Why is writing letters always so hard?" she asked Liz Abends, who was sitting at her desk, going over her notes with something called a highlighter. Meg Detooki was on the other bed, which belonged to Ginny's roommate Mandy Brocklehurst.

Meg shrugged. "I never really had a problem with them," she commented, looking up from her own notes. "You write down a greeting, tell them you're having a wonderful time, mention a couple of things that you learned, ask them how they are, and tell them that you can't wait to see them. Simple, really." She flicked a strand of red out of her eyes and scratched something out of her notes.

Liz looked over at Ginny, amusement written on her tanned features. "Did you take notes on that lecture?" she queried innocently, and ducked the pillow that Meg threw at her head. She stuck her tongue out at Meg and threw the pillow back, but Meg did not find it within herself to retaliate. The three settled into an easy silence as each worked on her own project.

After staring at the parchment for a few minutes, Ginny wondered if she should mention that this wasn't an ordinary letter. This was an answer to the orders given her by "Bumblebee" or Albus Dumbledore. Ginny had been a member of the Order of Phoenix, a society formed with the purpose of defeating Voldemort, since she was fourteen. It seemed that Tiamat, her code name, was used more than her first name. Why Fawkes had chosen to name her after the Babylonian mythological dragon that had supposedly created the universe, she was not entirely certain.

Fawkes, and only Fawkes knew why he did what he did.

"Bumblebee," Ginny finally forced herself to write. "Greetings! Yes, the American sunshine is wonderful--I can already feel the most delightful sunburn coming on!" She smiled at her sarcasm. "Both Jormungand and I have received your messages. I dare say that you really need to talk to that phoenix of yours! He landed on Jormungand's shoulder--right in the middle of a busy street. We spent ages telling everybody that he was just a puppet, and if you receive any invitations to see a puppet show at `the Fabulous Fox,' don't be too surprised."

Professor Dumbledore had written to tell her of Draco's new position within the Order of Phoenix. She was one of only four that knew his true motives within Voldemort's ranks. For once, it made her feel included in something important.

"In answer to your questions, I have been learning a great many things at this summer academy. The lectures here are fascinating, and the people are wonderful. I'll be sure to pick up some of the candies I've seen around here for you. Yours truly, Tiamat." Ginny signed her code name with a flourish and capped her pen, enjoying the rather novel feeling of not having to cap the ink bottle, or let the quill drip-dry. These Muggle pens were so much easier to use than quills!

Ginny folded the parchment carefully, glad that she did not have to wait for the ink to dry. She then placed it rather innocuously against her hand, where her signet ring could be seen on her smallest finger. With that in her pocket, she turned to the other letters she had picked up from the mailbox outside her dorm room. Because owls could not maintain the long flight overseas, the letters were sent over a very complicated Floo Network and then delivered by a series of carriers through the portals linked about the United States. Liz, the resident expert on the differences between European and American customs, had explained all about the couriers and other things Americans used. She and Meg had been absolutely astounded that European wizards still used owls.

"That's so quaint!" Meg had exclaimed with a laugh.

There was a short letter in Ron's untidy scrawl attached to yet another letter from home (Ginny had so far received five such letters), a letter in Hermione's neat print (she squealed and saved that letter for last, because Hermione's letters were always long), and, surprisingly, a letter in tiny, neat script that she barely recognised as Harry's. This brought a contemplative frown to her face; why would Harry, of all people, send her a letter?

"What's the catch?" Liz asked, looking up from her binder to see the return addresses. "Hermione Granger? Who's that? Harry--Harry Potter? Harry Potter wrote you a letter? You know Harry Potter?"

Even Meg looked up curiously as Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we're friends--sort of," she replied. "He's my older brother's best friend, and he's a bit thick when it comes to the female gender. Is he popular in America, too?" She had avoided mentioning Harry in any conversations with Meg and Liz. This was, after all, her vacation. She didn't want to think of why she was angry with her brother and his rather pigheaded best friend. Hermione had tried to explain why they were acting like they were before she had left Ottery St. Catchpole, but it hadn't tided over well. Ginny was still hurt that they could be so callused.

Because Liz was the type of person who thought about what to say before she said anything at all, it took her a minute to answer. "We know of him, so we get excited whenever he's mentioned because it's something we recognise. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Ginny did, actually. It was, she believed, why her insane crush on Harry had started in the first place. "Yeah. Well, don't get your hopes up too high. He's not the noble hero all of those books say he is. He's just another guy, trying to figure things out. And he doesn't want the fame at all." She dropped her head to end the conversation and did not see the look that passed between Meg and Liz. They both had eyebrows lifted, wondering what exactly Ginny had against Harry Potter.

*

For a long moment as he sat at his desk, Draco did nothing but stare at the tube Fawkes had delivered to him. It was lightweight, but that did not necessarily mean that it was merely parchment. In fact, Draco highly doubted it was. Professor Dumbledore had more tricks up his sleeve than he had years. As he turned the tube over in his hands, it struck Draco how similar and how very strikingly different it was to the orders Lord Voldemort had sent him. The parchment containing the names of the people he was supposed to be in contact with on Lord Voldemort's behalf was burning a hole in his pocket, but he ignored this. Slim fingers broke a purple seal stamped with the mark of a phoenix's feather.

There was no salutation; Dumbledore just plunged directly into the body of the letter.

I hope Fawkes finds you in good condition and sound health. I fear that it was necessary for Fawkes to aid in delivering the letter--just this morning, my informant filled me in about your late acceptance into St. Lawrence's Summer Academy. Unfortunately, an owl can not cover such a great distance so quickly, and the messages Fawkes brings to both you and your companion (her Order name will be disclosed later on in this letter) are quite important. I have advised Fawkes not to approach you in mixed company, but he has a mind of his own.

Draco paused in reading the letter to look up at Fawkes, who was perched on the back of his desk chair. The phoenix had been intent on ignoring him for the length of the afternoon, although he had refused to leave Draco's presence. It was an exasperated Draco that bade farewell to Ginny and her friends (such odd people, even though Draco found them to be nice), and headed alone to Trenton Hall, stopping every few feet to assure Muggles that the bird on his shoulder was a puppet. Thankfully, Fawkes had held still enough, otherwise Draco really would have had some explaining to do.

Firstly, I would like to thank you for joining the Order of Phoenix. Somebody will be in contact with you soon to discuss what exactly the Order of Phoenix is, for it is not wise to write such a thing on paper. I dare say that Tiamat will have something to say. Papers can always be read, Mr. Malfoy, but minds cannot. Perhaps the greatest magic we have is the magic of our minds.

Secondly, and on a more personal note, I have included several things with this message that I feel would be beneficial to your knowledge. Unlike some of your professors, I am not selectively blind to the situation at your home. Your position is a tough one to be in, and every operative needs an escape route. These are guarded with spells to make them appear like average potions textbooks, but do not be fooled by the titles. I assure you that each of these books is of great importance.

Fawkes has selected your operative name to be "Jormungand." Perhaps you will do some reading up on this mythological serpent; the tale is quite a fascinating read. Severus assures me that it is also ironic pertaining to the role you will be forced to play in Voldemort's circle. Also ironically, your companion goes by Tiamat within the order circles.

Draco frowned; even Professor Snape knew more about his situation than he did. The whole thing was going to drive him mad, he was positive. The dreams that were really memories, his father's sudden lack of interest in the proceedings of his only son, Voldemort's cryptic orders, and now Dumbledore's hinting at grandeur. He was going to be a lunatic by the time he left St. Lawrence's.

Keep your eyes open and your back clear, Jormungand. May good luck bless your footsteps.

Fondest Regards,

Bumblebee

PS - With the materials sent to you regarding an escape route, you will also find a ring. This is charmed to be inconspicuous, and only messages sealed with that ring will be accepted by the Order.

PPS - Good luck at St. Lawrence's.

Draco was not surprised to see that Professor Dumbledore's parchment crumbled to dust the instant he had read the last word. In the parchment's place, however, a pile of three books sprang up--and something shiny shot straight at his head. One fist darted up and captured a spinning ring, bringing it close to his eyes to examine it.

His signet seal was a rather ornate dragon's claw, clutching what looked to be two peace lilies. This caused his mouth to twist into a sardonic smirk. Narcissa kept a vase of these inside of her personal bathroom, where Lucius would never find them.

Since he had his headmaster's assurances that the ring was safe, Draco slipped this easily onto the ring finger of his right hand, where he had always imagined signet rings would go. He turned his fascination onto the books Professor Dumbledore had included. How could books provide him with an escape? Were they portkeys? For a moment, Draco eyed them, debating on whether or not Albus Dumbledore would drop to such a level of trickery. He decided that transporting an unsuspecting student off to some foreign place was just not something Professor Dumbledore would do, and drew the first book closer to him. His body stayed in the desk chair, thankfully.

"`Potions for Everyday Life,'" he read aloud, eyebrows arching up.

Fawkes's affirming trill made him jump, and Draco glared for a moment before thumbing the book open. Inside, he found, to his utmost surprise--"Math problems?" Draco blinked, but the equations did not go away. Instead, they lay there, trigonometry mixed with algebra and geometry and all of the confusing math-related names. "Why on earth would Dumbledore send me a book of Muggle math problems?" Draco wondered aloud, and pushed the book away from him. He reached for a second one and read, "`Potions for Everyday Life, II.'"

Luckily, there were no math problems in this book. However, Draco had to blink several times before he would believe that his eyes were really reading, "`Collected Works of William Shakespeare.'"

He had read some Shakespearean writing before--every wizard or witch had. Shakespeare was as Muggle as they came, but his works had such a hold on the language used by Muggles and wizards alike that at least one of his plays was included in the wizarding schools below Hogwarts. Draco had been rather impartial to the superfluous sonnets and prose presented him in his old schoolbooks, but now he found himself curious as to what Shakespeare actually had to say. Had Professor Dumbledore actually sent him clues through each of the books? Did he need to work out the problems in the math book to help him understand? Were there little hints buried in the Shakespearean sentences? Deep in speculation, Draco reached for the third book and flipped that open.

This contained neither plays nor math equations. Draco frowned at the first page, which was utterly blank. Not even an inkblot marred the white surface. He thumbed through, but the entire book was empty.

Fawkes pecked him on the shoulder twice, earning a "Hey, you filthy bird, stop that!" and a nasty look from Draco. The phoenix was not swayed, however, and hopped onto Draco's shoulder, his long neck leaning down along Draco's forearm. Ignoring the look Draco was shooting at him, Fawkes swooped down and plucked up Draco's "Head Boy" pen in his long beak. He dropped this into Draco's hand and pecked the book once. Even a dimwit like Potter would have guessed what Fawkes wanted him to do. "You'd better be right about this," Draco warned, and touched the tip to the paper.

At first, nothing happened.

Draco was in the process of bestowing Fawkes with a triumphant look when plain script appeared along the centre of the page. "Code name, please."

Fawkes bobbed his head, and Draco swore that the phoenix was laughing at him. Inwardly, he grumbled; why couldn't Professor Dumbledore have sent a much nicer, less smug animal? Perhaps a friendly gofer, or maybe a dove. Not a temperamental, opinionated phoenix, anyway.

On the page, he wrote, "Jormungand." The word was still unfamiliar, and he hoped that he hadn't bungled up the spelling.

Another pause, this time slightly longer as though the book were double-checking to make sure that Jormungand was really a code name, and then, "Seal, please."

Lifting an eyebrow at the bird on his shoulder, Draco twisted his signet ring so that the seal was facing his palm, and pressed his hand flat against the paper. The page lit up with a blue colour for the briefest of moments, and then plain script rolled easily across the surface. "Thank you, Jormungand. You are now permitted to use this book--to your discretion. Everything you need for your escape, you will find either in here, or the other two books presented you. Be nice to Fawkes, for I have requested that he stay with you for the entire week you are at St. Lawrence's. Thanks again--Bumblebee."

You've got to be kidding me! Draco's mind protested as he read and reread the script before him. He stared at Fawkes, who seemed to give him the phoenix version of a smug grin. There is no way that I am spending a week around this--this bird!

Fawkes gave him a smug chirp and pecked the book once again.

Resigned to his fate, Draco turned the page. His look turned to bewilderment when he realised that this wasn't actually a book as it had been moments before. No, instead it was merely a shell containing a myriad of different papers. He picked up the first paper and brought it closer to his eyes.

It was some kind of plastic card, with the words "Illinois Driver's License" written at the top. The rest of the card seemed to have information concerned a Theodore Marcus Windsor. There was a square box to one side that read "Picture to be added later." Wondering if this was anything related to an Apparition license, Draco set it aside and moved through the papers. He picked up a card reading "Mastercard," and examined it before pushing it away, puzzled. There seemed to be a birth certificate, hunting license, High School Diploma, and various other objects, all for this Theodore Windsor fellow. There was even a manual on how to drive an automobile. Draco thumbed through the bank paperwork and discovered through the statements that this Windsor fellow was a pretty well off guy.

It was only when he picked up a letter with a heading reading "Notre Dame University," that he realised that Professor Dumbledore had actually set up a second identity for him as Theodore Windsor. An American Muggle--what an ingenious idea! While Draco didn't actually favour the idea of becoming a Muggle (an American one, nonetheless), this would be the last place Voldemort or his father would search for him.

Once he had gone through the entire "book," Draco painstakingly replaced everything in the order he had found it in. Fawkes warbled his approval. Draco carefully shut the cover on all of the papers. Immediately, the blank page he had seen earlier reappeared. Except now it wasn't blank. The plain script now read, "I hope you found everything you needed to see, Jormungand. Please remember that you aren't alone in your quests. Sometimes friends are all that we need."

The text disappeared, leaving Draco to a whirlwind of confusing thoughts. He did not have long to muse over all that he had learned, however, for there was a knock on the door. Fawkes let out a squawk as Draco stood up, but he ignored the bird and crossed to the door, unthinkingly leaving his wand on the desk.

*

Ginny--

Sorry I don't have long to write. The Dursleys have been making me do menial work all summer, and it's pretty boring. But at least it passes the time.

I've put a lot of thought into some of the things that I said to you at the end of the semester. Hey, I admit it. I was a prat. A complete, utter, royal prat. A git, even. Sometimes I forget that you're fifteen--nearly sixteen--and that I'm not really your brother. I just wanted to write you and say I'm sorry. Can we be friends again? Even if...

Here, Harry crossed something out rather vigorously. Ginny stared at the parchment, half-tempted to do a revealing charm on it, but decided that she really didn't want to know what he was saying anyway. It might just open a whole new avenue of pain. Let Harry keep his own secrets--the trio was certainly good at that.

Anyway, I just wanted to apologise. I would have much rather done this in person, but I'm not seventeen yet, and it doesn't look I'll be making it to the Burrow for at least another month and a half.

So, what do you say? Friends?

Write back--I have to go prune the roses.

Harry

A bit puzzled, Ginny pushed that letter to the side. Harry Potter finally realising his mistakes and begging her for forgiveness? She never would have thought that could happen. At times, it seemed like Harry was completely oblivious to the fact that she was something more than Ron Weasley's little sister. She turned to the next letter--Ron's--with a frown on her face.

Hey, Ginny!

I hope you're having a great time in St. Whatsits! (Sorry, I can't ever remember that name. St. Lingo's? St. Lorelei's?)

Dad's got tickets to the next Chudley Cannons game in two weeks! Can you believe it?! Charlie's coming home to take us, cos Dad's got to work. But it's gonna be me, you, and Charlie! And the Cannons actually won a game the other day!!!! Stop laughing--which I know you are at the moment--and celebrate with me! And Dad says that he got some pretty good tickets, either way! Isn't it great having a dad in the Ministry?

Write back, okay?

Love,

Ron

Ron's clueless ability to make life revolve around nothing but the Chudley Cannons was quite a change from the scholarly air of St. Lawrence's. She was just glad that she had not been home when the Cannons had won--Ron was going to be hard enough to deal with as it was. Still, his enthusiasm might be a welcome change from the past summers, when he did nothing but sit around and mope about Hermione and worry about Harry. Ginny placed that letter on top of Harry's and turned to the letter from her mum.

Ginny, dear!

How are you? How is St. Lawrence's? Next summer, you really will have to pick an academy that's much closer. The United States are so terribly far away, and you know how I worry about all you children!

Oh, I should stop that. You're not much of a child anymore, are you? I always forget that you're sixteen now--it seems only yesterday you and Ron were toddlers...

Rolling her eyes like a normal sixteen-year-old girl, Ginny skimmed down the page until Molly stopped reminiscing about how cute she and Ron had looked as babies. Her family had a problem with eyesight, she was sure; none of them seemed to realise that she had indeed hit puberty, that she had indeed made her way up the Hogwarts scale, and that she really had grown up in more ways than one. Ginny was convinced that she would be forty before Ron would stop beating off guys that so much as even looked at her in the hallways. At least Fred and George had a sense of humour about it--Ron could be downright mean about it.

You'll never believe it--Bill and Charlie came here for dinner last night, just to catch up. With Ron always out on Order business (I swear, I'm going to have to talk to Professor Dumbledore about letting him get his Apparation license early), and Percy having his own flat, there's not really any need to cook any more big dinners. But both were here last night, and pass on their well wishes. Charlie's about to head off to Romania for a few days, but he'll be back in time for that match Ron's always talking about.

Bill says that you're welcome to stay at his flat in London when you get back in from St. Lawrence's. Just for a couple of days, mind you, because America is so terribly far away. I miss having my baby girl around the house!

Percy's got all the paperwork finalised on the new flat, so we've seen even less of him, if you can believe that's possible. He passes on his love, and hopes that you're learning a lot about proper things at St. Lawrence's. To be quite honest, I think he's jealous, dear. Still, he would never have time for a thing like St. Lawrence's. I sometimes wonder how he makes any time for Penelope at all!

The twins pass on their love as well. They wanted to send you some of their pranks to try on some of your American friends, but I downright refused to let them. They're being awfully secretive about something lately and never home anymore. Sales at the shop are going well, Fred says. He wonders if you'll be able to help out later this summer?

Ginny had been pegged into helping out at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in their little shop outside of Knockturn Alley. She had managed to walk away from that incident with a lot fortunately than Ron had, because her own hair turned from blue only two days after. Ron had walked around for the first month of Hogwarts, waiting for the blue hair dye to grow out.

Either way, that's the update on the family dealings. Bill and Charlie seem unwilling to tell me about their girlfriends, so I can't really fill you in on that at all. Fred is still seeing that Angelina Johnson--what a nice girl. She was just around the house the other day, and we had afternoon tea with Penelope. Such fine young women your brothers have picked! I'm almost afraid that there's no hope for George.

Molly had never been more wrong, Ginny smiled to herself as she skimmed down over the details about afternoon tea with her future sisters-in-law. She'd just received post from George the other day, filling her in quite secretly about his own relationship with a girl he'd just run into one day at Diagon Alley. Although Ginny was quite curious to see who this mystery girl was, George refused point-blank to say.

I do hope they're feeding you properly at St. Lawrence's. All of that rumour about American junk food has me worried. Be sure to remember to eat your vegetables, and don't do anything you wouldn't want to tell me about. Have fun, and pay attention in your lectures! And do write back!

Love,

Mum

Ginny pushed that letter away, smiling as she opened the package that had accompanied it. "Mum's sent cookies," she told Meg and Liz. "And my brothers are all still alive, would you believe it?"

Meg looked up from her project, her interest piqued. "You never did say if they were cute," she observed, and snatched one of the cookies from Ginny. The beds were close enough together that she only had to roll over once to reach the tin Ginny held out to her.

From the desk, Liz laughed and plucked up a couple of cookies. "Meg, let me ask you: is your brother cute?" She had evidently abandoned highlighting her notes, for there was no highlighter in sight and there were notes in all of the margins that hadn't been there before.

"Yuck, no!" Meg said, screwing her face up. "He's my brother--I'm not supposed to think about him like that!" She looked scandalously disgusted, which only made Ginny muffle her snickers with the back of her hand.

"No further questions, your Honour," Liz said to the imaginary judge sitting in the corner of Ginny's room. While this phrase had thrown Ginny the first time Liz had used it, Meg had explained that in the American Wizardry Courts, this was used to signal the end of an interrogation. It was also Liz's favourite phrase, so Ginny always imagined that there was a silent judge that she was talking to.

Seeing Meg's somewhat disappointed look, Ginny offered, "I've pictures of them, if you wish to see..." Very shortly, she found herself digging through her suitcase for the photo album Molly had insisted she bring. One of the benefits of inviting Colin to one of her family dinners had been all of the pictures of her brothers that he'd sent back. Of course, Colin had known better than send pictures of Ginny if he wanted to keep them from suffering the fate of spontaneous combustion. He had sent those directly to Molly, much to Ginny's displeasure.

Because Ginny very rarely threw things away, the album had been enlarged over the years to hold a variety of things, most of them pictures of the Weasley family and home. Ginny flipped through the pages of her grandparents and other Weasley generations, finally landing on the pages of her brothers' biggest achievements. The first was seventeen-year-old, gawky Bill standing on the platform of King's Cross only hours after leaving Hogwarts as a newly qualified wizard. He had one arm around Charlie and the other around Molly, and was waving at the person behind the camera, probably Arthur. Meg "ooohed" and flipped the page. "Bit of a geek, wasn't he?" Liz asked over her head, smiling at Ginny.

"Head Boy. Wait until you see the most recent picture of him, though," Ginny promised, her grin conniving.

Meg quickly made her way through the black-and-white photographs on that page, with comments thrown in by Liz occasionally. They both paused to stare at the latest picture of Bill, hardly believing that he was the "geek." On the next page was the photo Colin had taken of the trio, and Ginny frowned at it now, remembering that she had yet to read Hermione's letter. "So you not only get letters from the famous Harry Potter, but you have a picture of him in your family photo album?" Liz demanded.

"Well, if you consider that he's kind of like a seventh brother, you wouldn't be that surprised," Ginny pointed out. She slid the book in Meg's direction. "Here, have a ball. I've got a letter I still need to read from Hermione--she's the girl in that picture."

Ginny! Hey!

How are things in America? Things in Romania are wonderful, so fascinating! I've already completed my summer course-work despite everything Professor Lupin has been teaching me. I hope Professor McGonagall won't mind that I threw in another roll on some of the advanced Transfiguration all of the fellows in Romania have been teaching me here! It's just so intriguing.

Despite living in an abandoned warehouse with twenty undercover Ministry workers, a patient of lycanthropy, and who knew how many convicts, Hermione still managed to beat all of them by bundles on her schoolwork. Ginny wordlessly shook her head, smiling at Hermione's diligence for schoolwork.

Professor Lupin really is an astounding teacher. He insists that I call him Remus, but old habits die hard, I am afraid. Everyday is a new adventure here, I swear! Just yesterday, Smidley, Remus and I were pulled from our beds to deal with a Kappa problem! And the Red Caps here are absolutely terrible--we spent a whole day just getting rid of those for some very grateful villages. You should meet Smidley sometime. He's easily the funniest man I know, and he's been in this business of working against Dark Creatures for ten years. Every time he gets bitten, he says, "Got another one up on Moody, I do!"

Professor Lupin tells him he's mad--he's striving to become more scarred than Professor Moody.

There are only a couple of other women here, but after years of Harry and Ron, I'm fending for myself quite nicely. The food's not really anything to write home about, and sometimes Professor Lupin and I are so busy on the road that we skip meals entirely. I went a day without eating and didn't even notice. Don't tell Ron or Harry. Those two could pack down an antelope between the two of them, and I don't think we'd want to revive them from dead faints when they realise that, yes, you can go for two whole hours without food.

Boys. Honestly.

"What're you grinning about?" Liz's voice broke through Ginny's concentration. When Ginny gave her a confused look, she explained, "You're grinning like a mad-woman."

Ginny drew a deep breath to let her friends know the situation about Hermione. "One of my brother's friends is in Romania for a month and a half with one of our old professors, studying abroad so that she won't have to go to a Muggle safe-house with her parents. She's just sent me a letter."

Meg had pushed the photo album to the side in favour of working on her essay on enchanted diaries. She had evidently harvested enough from her notes to make a passable swipe at the essay. "Safe-house?" she asked, her eyebrows hunkering low over her brown eyes. "Why would her parents be in a safe-house? She hasn't broken the law, has she?"

"Voldemort," Ginny said, and jumped as neither of her companions flinched. Voldemort obviously didn't have that big of a stronghold over the United States after all. "She's Muggle-born."

Obviously not sure how to carry such an unwieldy conversation, the three girls fell into a silence and each returned to her own project.

I'm afraid that I won't have much time to write in the two weeks coming up, for Professor Lupin has been very secretive about something. I'm not quite sure as to what it could be--after all, there are so many possibilities--but everybody's been whispering about vampires. It's quite an exciting topic--we studied them in third-year! Hush, though. I'm not supposed to know about the plans beforehand, for, as Professor Lupin says, "I'm the teacher, and I know all. Now hush-up and be a good little student." Really, he's just teasing.

Professor Lupin had always been Ginny's favourite professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, which was probably a good thing. In the past year, he had made several visits to the Weasley household while Ron and Ginny were supposed to be in bed. Being the insomniac that she was, Ginny had been awake for quite a few of Remus Lupin's mysterious visits. Any fear that she had of his disease had faded quickly in the earnestness he carried with him. She smiled, imagining talkative, clever Hermione with their laid-back professor.

You really must write back and tell me all about St. Lawrence's. I'm afraid that Smidley's little dragonlet accidentally scorched the first letter you sent me. Really, he swears that thing is a Komodo Dragon, but I'll bet my last Sickle that it's really a baby dragon in disguise.

Until the next time we see each other, keep yourself safe, all right? No foolish risks!

Love,

Hermione

Ginny scowled at the warning against foolish risks, knowing perfectly well to whom exactly Hermione was referring. Really, Hermione was doing her best to watch out for Ginny, as good friends are supposed to do, but sometimes her diplomatic warnings were a bit too much for even calm, placid Ginny.

"Hey, Gin?" Liz asked from the desk, her head still tilted downwards towards her notes. "Can you come help me out? You said you'd seen a Patronus before, and there are some things that just aren't making sense in my essay right now."

Half an hour later found Ginny regaling both of her friends with the tale of how Draco and his friends had sneaked onto the Quidditch pitch in her second year in order to masquerade as Dementors. Liz was frantically taking notes on all of the descriptions Ginny could think of for a proper Patronus, smiling as Ginny was able to reveal a wealth of information. "I've seen three people cast Patroni," Ginny reflected thoughtfully, ticking each caster off of her fingers.

By now, Meg was utterly fascinated as well. When Ginny had finished telling Liz of the time Harry had cast a Patronus at Draco and his friends, Meg jumped into the conversation. "Are we talking about the same Draco?" she asked, somewhere between amazement and amusement. "Prim, proper Draco?"

Ginny's grin turned mischievous. "He wasn't always that way. He used to have a mean streak wider than the English channel. Had it in for my brother and his friends."

As both Meg and Liz expressed disbelief that the gentlemanly Draco they had viewed earlier could be such a nasty kid, it struck Ginny that first impressions really did matter. The students at Hogwarts would have a terribly hard time believing Draco to be anything of a gentleman, yet the students at St. Lawrence's had a hard time accepting that Draco was anything but a gentleman. She grinned quietly at the irony and said, "Speaking of Draco, I should probably go get him. How far off do you think dinner is?"

"I dunno. I'm too lazy to put a seismograph on Meg's stomach and check," Liz said, and once again ducked the pillow Meg threw at her head. It bounced off of the wall and onto Liz's newly copied notes, earning Meg a look from Liz. Smiling at her friends' antics and quite confused as to what exactly a "seismograph" was, Ginny left the door open as she headed for Trenton Hall all the way on the other side of campus.

*

"What are you doing here?" Draco snarled, eyes growing wide at the sight of his visitor.

Before his visitor could react, he lunged out into the hallway and secured a fistful of robes, tugging hard and sending none other than Malcolm Baddock sprawling to the floor of his dorm room. The younger man landed with an "Oof!" but Draco did not care. Little more than a shred of decency was holding him back from delivering a swift kick to the prone young man's ribs. "You have ten seconds, Baddock, to explain why you are lying on the floor of my dorm room."

Baddock's first answer was a cough, eliciting a low, threatening growl from Draco. He nudged the fourteen-year-old none-too-gently with his foot.

"Let me up and I'll tell you why I'm here," he wheezed breathlessly. Reluctantly, Draco leaned down and hauled the younger man up, pushing him onto the bed before he could gain any sort of balance. "Thanks," Baddock snapped bitterly when Draco slammed the door behind him. "Trust me, I'm not here willingly."

Grey eyes narrowed into a steely gaze that most would have backed down from. "Just stop sulking and tell me why you're here," Draco snapped. "And hurry about it, I've little patience for young upstarts who really need to learn their place."

For an eternity, neither broke the strong-willed gaze that sprang between them like dangerous fire. They were polar opposites, with Baddock's shortened height accented by his sitting position on the bed. While Draco's hair was longish and just past his ears in an unkempt fashion, Baddock's was pulled into a tight, dark brown ponytail. Draco wore Muggle clothing; Baddock was clothed in some of the finest robes the wizarding world had to offer.

"Nobody's sulking here," Baddock replied in a dark tone that seemed to match his attire. "I've been sent here by your father, to deliver some things." From seemingly out of nowhere, he drew several red-tinted tubes of parchment and flung those on the ground at Draco's feet. "And I dare say you'll be needing this." A bit of cloth would have struck Draco in the chest had he not reached out with his Quidditch instincts and snatched it from the air. It whapped heavily against his palm; Baddock had all the strength of any professional Keeper.

Draco did not have to glance at the article to know what it was.

"Good. You've delivered your messages. Now abscond from my sight!"

Draco rightfully expected Baddock to scamper off, holding his tail between his legs and sending bitter looks back at the Quidditch captain. What he was not expecting Baddock to do at this was snigger.

"`Abscond?'" Baddock asked through a muffled snicker. Still, he was climbing to his feet, sniffing disdainfully at the cot Draco had been assigned at St. Lawrence's. Even as he headed to the door, he was still snickering. "What kind of freak uses words like that? You could have just said, `leave.'"

"A well-educated and mature freak," Draco replied with every bit of dignity he possessed. He eyed the younger boy rather sceptically and waved his hand at the door, reinforcing the lock with a bit of wandless magic. "As much as I want you gone, you didn't explain yourself fully. Why are you working for my father?"

Baddock sent him a look as though to say, "Does it really matter?" Only when Draco's scowl deepened did he even ponder answering. "My father owed your father some debts, if you really must know, so I'm employed as summer help at Malfoy Manor until I'm seventeen. Which means that you have to put with me for another three years yet." He smiled mirthlessly and jiggled the door handle. "What, you want to spend quality time with me now, or something?"

Draco's only answer was a snort as he waved at the door again. One blink, and Baddock was gone as quickly as though he had Apparated away.

As the door clicked shut, Draco collapsed back into the desk chair. Really, he thought as Fawkes emerged from under the bed, scolding him with high-pitched chirps, what irony gods had he upset? Was somebody upstairs laughing because he had see Malcolm Baddock everyday of his life for the next year--summer or otherwise?

Irony was so unfair.

*

Draco was still sitting at his desk, looking over the orders that had been delivered to him, when Ginny found him an hour later. She entered quietly, not bothering to knock, and petted Fawkes until Draco realised she was there. "Oh!" he cried, slightly startled at the sight of her sitting on the edge of his bed. He'd been engrossed in A Midsummer Night's Dream, a comedy by Shakespeare. "Hullo--when'd you come in?"

"Just now," Ginny said, smiling at his perplexed expression. Glancing at the title of the book, she asked, "Reading up for Potions now, are you?"

It took Draco a long moment to realise that the Shakespearean book was still disguised as a normal Potions textbook. "Er," he said, trying to sound smooth but failing miserably. "Yes. It's my summer assignments, see. Professor Snape requested that I do a bit of extra work. Head Boy stuff, and all."

Thankfully, she bought his excuse. "Yes, I remember how Percy was always so busy the summer before his Head Boy term. Of course, I think he was secretly writing to his girlfriend, but..." She trailed off and wrinkled her nose at him, spurring him to grin despite himself. An unsettled silence fell over the pair, bursting at the edges with unvoiced questions. Finally, Ginny took the initiative and cleared her throat. "I didn't really get to talk to you earlier, so I desperately need to ask--what are you doing here?"

Her question was ensconced with such Gryffindor bluntness that it threw Draco out of his bemusement and into a sharp void of disbelief. He choked on nothing, and when he looked up, his eyes were wide chasms of grey. "Not intent on rolling out the welcome mat, were we?" he asked. Regaining his composure, he said in his most formal tone, "I am here for exactly the same reasons you are here, Miss Weasley. You will find that I have a full schedule of lectures to attend."

Ginny's answer to this foreign formality was a snort. "Right. And your father didn't have any underhanded motives for sending you here? For some strange reason, I find myself doubting that he just bent to your wishes to come here."

Draco was tempted to laugh at his father for the amount of times he had scorned the Weasleys for being stupid, foolish Mudblood-lovers. Ginny's rather unnatural perceptiveness definitely eradicated any chance of her being mistaken for a stupid fool. "You caught me," he admitted, smiling at the rampant irony. "This does not leave this room, do you hear me?"

"Why, I'm flattered that you're finally informing of things before the fact," Ginny replied at her most innocent.

"Quiet, you."

A few well-placed silencing charms had been set up in various points of Draco's room--mainly to stop people from hearing his screams from the nightmarish memories. He had worked it so that they activated at his will, and remained dormant otherwise. Always the cautious son of a Death Eater, Draco now activated these with a wave of his hand and waited for his lamp to glow blue. If there was any break in the network of spells, the lampshade would glow green. Once Ginny's fiery locks were lit with blue, Draco began explaining.

When he pulled the list of his contacts out of his pocket, Ginny arched an eyebrow. "There's Dark Activity in America?" she asked, her voice vaguely disbelieving. The people at St. Lawrence's just seemed so nice.

"Loads of it. Britain's great for your traditional sort of Dark Wizards, but America is brimming with freelance Dark Artists--Potions corridors, Dark Magic paraphernalia cartels, Dark Magic gangs. A lot of them deal in Muggle affairs--the pure-blooded influence holds no water over here, you see. There's a good market for Billywig stings for people our age, and a lot of the Dark Circles have bases here." When he was incredibly bored, Draco often chose to read up on the other societies of Dark Magic. It had always struck him as ironically amusing--he was looking out from his own world of pain and into other peoples'. It was a topic he could prattle on about for hours.

Ginny looked at him now, wide-eyed. She swallowed, trying to word her question properly. "Does Voldemort...does he hold power here?"

"You mean, does he have Death Eaters here?" Running one hand out of his hair to keep it out of his eyes, Draco stood up and crossed to the window, looking out at the slowly darkening twilight. "Not yet. America's a large area to canvass--and he'd be buried under all the big names here. Remember Scarface? Al Capone, legendary Muggle gangster. Muggle as they come, but he had cohorts in the wizarding world--lines that have still gone on. Muggle lines die--wizard lines live. America's a salient for Dark Arts."

"My father despises America, or he claims to. Really, I think he's afraid of the unkempt power roaming around. It's a different breed of evil here. Mobs, gangs, big names, they're all important. What Voldemort is striving for is mortality and purity of the wizarding world. I don't know why--maybe he thinks by beating down the Mud--Muggle-borns and half-bloods will help eradicate his problems. What he's after, no one can be entirely sure. That's why he's so terrible in England. He's unpredictable. " He saw two wizards below playing a game that involved a large orange ball and a basket of some sort. "In Europe, however, it's more concentrated, you get it?"

Slowly, Ginny nodded, obviously trying to swallow the unfiltered lump of information he had just thrust at her. "So Voldemort doesn't have supporters here?" she rephrased.

Draco's smirk was empty, a reflexive ghost. "He doesn't have Death Eaters here," he said, and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. "No, but he does have support." At Ginny's perplexed expression, he managed a consoling smile and, "The thing is, Voldemort needs funds. Every big movement does. He's not stupid--he knows that people with the sort of power to provide him with the support his progression won't bind themselves to him with a Dark Mark. So Death Eaters are the servants," and Draco spit the word out like a vomit-flavoured Bertie Bott's bean, "that carry his Mark. He's got backers everywhere, but mostly they're away from the Ministry's prying eyes. And America is the perfect place to find backers, isn't it?"

"So what do you have to do with this?"

Now Draco crossed to the desk and selected four red-tinted tubes of parchment, pushing those in Ginny's direction. A bit confused, she took them, and opened the first one. He talked while she skimmed over the contents. "I'm to meet with four different couples that support Lord Voldemort financially as a sort of poster boy for the Death Eating side, if you get that. Allay any doubts they might have, plead for more money, look mature. I'm supposed to meet two of my contacts for a drink and lunch tomorrow, a trip to a country club (whatever that is) on Wednesday, and a respectable restaurant for dinner on Thursday night."

Ginny closed the parchment tube, her eyebrows nearly covering her eyes. "Rub elbows with them, play the good son of a Death Eater, that sort of thing?" she asked sceptically. "Sounds less messy than what I imagine a normal Death Eater's job to be."

"Are you kidding? These people are dogs--they'll eat me alive!" Draco's hair was sticking up in clumps as he pushed it out of his eyes once again. "We have to pretend to be Muggles, and there's certain things you don't do in situations like this." He sighed rather ruefully. "I bet my father's just laughing at me right now, being stuck with such a contemptible job."

"Watch your back," Ginny offered. "You're playing in the grown-ups' region now." Fawkes, whose presence had been forgotten in the low-pitched conversation, chirped an affirmative, fluttering up to land on Ginny's shoulder. She smiled up at the effervescent bird, who seemed to cluck scolding notes at the scroll in her hand. Clearly amused, Ginny passed that up to the bird, who bit them in half.

"No!" Draco protested as bits of parchment fell to the floor. "Those were my assignments!"

"Like you don't memorise everything you read anyway," Ginny told him, smiling at him for the first time. Finally remembering why she had sought Draco out in the first place, she climbed off of the bed and dusted herself off. "The other girls sent me to see if you wanted to come eat dinner with us. From what I gathered, they took well to you--heaven knows why!"

Draco pretended indignation. "Why, my charming wit and stunning good looks of course," he admonished. "After all, isn't that why you befriended me in the first place?"

Although her smile was a bit off, Ginny laughed and said, "Er, sure, something like that. Don't know why..." Still, despite her teasing, she waited for Draco to deactivate the silencing wards and took the arm he offered her. Fawkes warbled a farewell to the pair as they set off for Raleigh Hall.

"So how are you getting on here?" Draco asked conversationally as they hit the last of the St. Louis sunlight. "You seem...I don't know. Different than you are at Hogwarts."

Chewing on her bottom lip like she did whenever there was a problem to be solved, Ginny contemplated "I've got friends here, maybe? I mean, I talk to Jamie Marx and Colin's a great friend, but it's different with Meg and Liz."

They chatted comfortably like old friends as they made their way across the sun-warmed sidewalks outlining the St. Lawrence's campus. A few people were flinging a frisbee on the great lawns, laughing at jokes that neither of the pair could quite hear. Ginny had to bite back a wistful sigh; the young men and women playing frisbee on the lawn looked so carefree and young. None of her friends had ever looked that young or untroubled. It was a past life, a mere ghost that she longed for, but knew it would always remain just out of reach or stay intangible and cold on her fingertips.

They moved up to the third floor of Raleigh hall where both Liz and Ginny lived, still talking easily, as though the history between their families and themselves did not exist. For one moment as they trudged the stairs together, there existed nothing but an amicable intimacy that can only be achieved between friends with nothing and everything to lose to friendship. Quite reluctant to break up the moment, Draco slowed as they neared Ginny's door. Without thinking, he grabbed her arm. "Hey, I had a question."

"I may have an answer," Ginny answered evasively, her eyes uncertain.

He had been plotting to ask this question from the second they left his dorm room, so he was quite surprised when an intense wave of nervousness struck him hard on the spot. Shifting his feet from the sudden attack, he worked up the strength to look her in the eye. "Uh, my contact list requires that I have a date for Thursday evening. Er, I was possibly wondering if, uh, I mean, er, would you consider going with me?" The last bit came out in a rush.

For an excruciatingly long moment, Ginny just looked at him with her eyebrows raised. It seemed like an eternity to the perspiring Draco before Ginny asked, in a careful voice, "Draco Malfoy, are you asking me out?"

"No!--Well, uh...yes. Yes, I am." Draco swallowed, but his throat remained impossibly dry. "Look, I know our circumstances are difficult, but can't we try at least one date? The thing is, ever since I met you, there's been something about you...well, I can't put my finger on it, but I've really, really liked you from the beginning. If it doesn't work, we can just go back to being friends and--"

"Yes," Ginny interrupted, and Draco now could see that she was fighting back a smile at his inarticulateness. "I think that'd be rather fun." And before Draco could even so much as rejoice, she disappeared into her bedroom.

Draco grinned rather dazedly at the empty hallway. For once, he did not care the least bit about what he looked like. Appearances were immaterial in the face of such joyous news.

Something was finally going his way.