Going Home

Going Home

Hogwarts was in ruins. The once-glorious castle was nothing more than pile of rubble, though it was a large pile. Remnants of towers and school supplies scattered throughout the mess eluded to the former grandness of the structure. The grounds around the school were in similar condition. The edge of the Forbidden Forest was burnt, leaving only charred tree stumps and burnt rubble. The Quidditch pitch was destroyed. Nothing remained of it. The greenhouses, though still standing, contained broken glasses and ruined plants. Hagrid's hut had been demolished, leaving a few stones from the foundation. The lake, once lush and pleasant, was an ugly green with stagnant water.

Harry stood at the edge of the school grounds next to the still Womping Willow, which would always be still. He, alone, looked around the deserted grounds. His old home was unrecognizable. He sighed and moved closer to the school. He looked closely for any signs of life. The Healers at St. Mungo's had sent him back to Hogwarts to look for anyone else. Though Harry was glad to get out of the hospital, he was not too excited about going back to the school. With every step he took, he was reminded of the events of the past few weeks. He did not want to remember. He wanted to crawl into his temporary bed at St. Mungo's and hide under the covers, never to emerge. But he knew that he couldn't. Instead, he plowed ahead, calling his voice for any survivors.

In all honesty, Harry thought that his excursion was a waste of time. He did not know how anyone could have survived. The final battle itself was dangerous and terrifying, but surviving afterwards would have been impossible. He did not see how anyone could have made it in Hogwarts without immediate medical attention. Harry himself had been whisked to St. Mungo's not moments after the battle was over.

Harry sighed again, remembering his time at St. Mungo's. Of all the Order members, Harry had been hurt the least, even though he was the one who had been in the middle of it. It had been Harry Potter who finally killed Voldemort, using his own magical concoction to destroy the powerful wizard. All Harry had to show for the battle was a few scars, normal scars, not like the one that still remained on his forehead, and a broken arm, which had been easily repaired. His companions, however, hadn't been so lucky. Most of them were still bed-ridden at St. Mungo's.

Harry shook his head, forcing such thoughts from his mind and tried to focus on the task at hand. There might be survivors who needed rescuing.

****

Hermione Granger loved her job. She had been working at St. Mungo's Hospital for three months, ever since she graduated from finishing school. Though she hoped to eventually open her own private clinic eventually, she thought that St. Mungo's was a great place to start.

She finished checking on her new patient who had rushed to the hospital that morning with an extra arm and went into the sanctuary of her office. Though Hermione had only just started working at St. Mungo's, she had already decorated her office. Though the office was small, hardly larger than a broom closet, really, she had forced a nice oak desk into the room along with a comfortable leather chair. Her diplomas and certificates hung proudly on the wall. Hermione sighed and disposed of her white hospital robes, hanging them on her coat rack. She pulled her brown hair from its tie and let it fall down her back, a large mess that she had long given up trying to tame. Hermione glanced at her watch and smiled. It was time for lunch.

She hurried out of her office and headed down the hall to the Apparation point. Due to the hospital's wards, Hermione, and all other witches and wizards, were only able to Apparate from a certain room within the building. Unfortunately, several other employees were taking their lunch break at the same time and the small room was rather crowded. Hermione squeezed in behind an angry witch. After a few moments, it was finally Hermione's turn. A sullen witch in a St. Mungo's uniform shoved a clipboard at her. Hermione grabbed it and signed her name and the time. She gave the clipboard back to the witch, took out her wand, and was gone with a *pop.*

****

Hermione opened her eyes and she was in the alley next to Flamel's, a nice little restaurant where witches had lunch. They were generally the type of witches who sat on the boards of several charities and foundations. They were generally the type of witches who eventually married money and spent too much time worrying about who was wearing what with their noses stuck in the air. Flamel's was also her best friend's favorite restaurant and Hermione had decided where they would lunch yesterday, so Hermione was stuck with Flamel's.

Hermione entered the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. Flamel's was the only restaurant on the street. The rest of the buildings were taken up by boutiques, beauty parlors, and a quaint cafe. The pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk Hermione joined were mainly women. Hermione quickly entered the restaurant. As always when she entered Flamel's, Hermione reminded of Professor Trelawney's classroom. The restaurant was filled with small tables covered in lace. There were a few small chairs at each table. Everything was white. Candles lit the room. Everything was done in white and pink. Everything was so....girlie. The restaurant smelled strongly of expensive perfume with a hint of the actual food. Hermione did a quick survey of the room before the hostess could attack her. Finding the red hair she was looking for, Hermione hurried over to her friend's table.

Ginny Weasley was sitting at one of the nicest tables in the restaurant. The table was sitting in a private corner of the store, far away from the kitchen and bathrooms with little traffic. A large bay window, charmed so that the pedestrians on the outside could not see in, gave a nice view of Diagon Alley's nicer side. It was the table that Ginny Weasley always got whenever she was at Flamel's. Hermione sat next to her friend and Ginny turned from the window and smiled at her. Hermione looked her friend over closely. At twenty-seven, Ginny was all grown up. She was wearing original Emmy Kelly robes in a wonderful shade of blue. She let her red hair flow down her back. She wore a limited amount of jewelry, but what she did wear was gorgeous: pale blue diamond studs in her ears and a simple but elegant silver bracelet. As always with Ginny, Hermione felt self-conscious about what she was wearing: new, but ordinary robes she had gotten at a department store, her h! air a mess, and no jewelry to speak of.

"You look nice," Hermione said honestly.

"You are late. And your hair. I thought I gave you those charms to fix it," Ginny said, sighing.

"I know. The Apparation area was crowded at the hospital. And you know that those charms won't work on me," she replied, leaning back in her comfortable seat.

"Excuses, excuses," Ginny said, but she was smiling. "I have already ordered."

"We come here enough they should know our order by heart."

"The waiter said they would bring out your usual salad," she said sheepishly.

"We should go somewhere else next time."

"Today is my day. Tomorrow you can pick our restaurant."

"But this place is so... silly," Hermione protested, looking at the table next to her where two women were having a heated discussion about which shade of pink was more appropriate for their friends third wedding.

"I think it's nice," Ginny said. "I have something to show you!"

"What?" Hermione asked with apprehension. Her friend had an excited look on her face that sometimes frightened her.

"Wedding magazines!" she exclaimed, pulling a few magazines out of her purse. Hermione saw the smiling brides on the cover and winced. Ginny was too into the entire wedding process. "I love this dress. And this one," she said, flipping through one of the magazines. "And I think that this hair style is perfect. Look at this hair piece. Wouldn't it be perfect?!"
"You do know that this is not your wedding?" Hermione interrupted. Ginny stopped suddenly, a shadow passing over her face. Hermione regretted her harsh words. "Ginny, I appreciate your help, but until your boyfriend finally gets around to proposing....this is my wedding."

"Fine, fine," she said haughtily, putting the magazines away. "I will no longer be offering my advice. Despite the fact that you have already been engaged for two months. Despite the fact that you have not even set a date yet. Despite the fact-"

"Ginny," Hermione interrupted again. "Stop. Give me the magazines."

"No. You don't want them," Ginny said, her nose in the air.
"Yes I do. Give them to me."

"No."

"Yes," Hermione said sternly. They would have continued for some time in that manner, but the waiter appeared with their food. Hermione was grateful. She grabbed the magazines from Ginny and sat them out of her reach on the empty chair next to her. Ginny sighed and focused on her salad. Hermione smiled. She and Ginny had never been close during Hogwarts, but during the war they had become good friends. They had had to. When the war broke out, Hermione had just begun her Healer training. Ginny, only in her sixth year at Hogwarts, was still unsure about what she would do after school. She was taking a few Healer classes to check out her options. As the war progressed, few witches and wizards were available with their knowledge. Though Ginny had possessed a knack for Healing, Hermione excelled. The two had worked side-by-side during most of the war, doing what they could in the Hogwarts infirmary and later at St. Mungo's. Most of the time, they were the only pe! ople they could talk to. There just weren't any other people around their age. So many had gone off to fight the war. Some had died.

Because of their excellent work during the war, St. Mungo's had offered them both jobs after they finished graduate school. Hermione had considered it. Ginny had paled at the idea. Apparently, her work during the war only proved to her that she did not want to be a Healer. Though Hermione was disappointed and knew that her friend could have been great, she thought that her chosen profession suited her. Ginny worked at Witch Vogue. She had obtained a journalism degree at Oxford University for Witches and Wizards after college and then went straight to work for Vogue. Though Ginny had only been at the magazine a few years, she was already section editor along with columnist and reporter. Hermione knew that she would only rise in her job. After all, Vogue was fashion and Ginny Weasley knew fashion. As if reading her mind, Ginny, interrupting Hermione's thoughts, began criticizing what the women next to them were wearing.

"That neckline is all wrong for that skirt. It just does not go with the shoes. Throws the entire ensemble off balance. And would you look at her jewelry. Doesn't she know that no one has worn those charms since March?" Ginny demanded in hushed tones.

"It's May," Hermione replied. She personally thought that the witches looked fine.

"So what do you think?" Ginny asked gently, nodding to the magazines Hermione had stolen from her.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said, smiling and picking up the magazines. She leafed through one of them. Hermione sighed at all the pretty woman in their beautiful gowns. "None of these are for me."

"Nonsense. You can't tell from those pictures, anyway. You have to try on the dresses for yourself. You can't properly pick out an outfit for such an important even without seeing it on. Clothes always look different when worn than on the rack," Ginny said matter-of-factly.

"I don't think I can pull off a dress like these. Maybe I should just wear a sack," she said glumly. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Please, Hermione, you could be really beautiful if you tried. Wore presentable clothing. Did something with that hair. Considered make-up."

"Are you saying I'm ugly?"

"No. You know what I mean. It doesn't matter anyway, Hermione. He's going to think that you're gorgeous no matter what, even if you wear a sack," Ginny said. Hermione laughed.

"I don't see any reason in picking out dresses now. We don't even have a date set yet."

"Then set a date," Ginny exclaimed, exasperated.

"I don't see what the rush is."

"The rush? You've been dating since the beginning of time. The entire wizarding community thinks that you should have gotten married years ago. And now that you're finally engaged, I will make it my personal mission to make sure that you two do not get stuck in this engagement phase. You are going to get married. And soon," Ginny said, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest defiantly.

"We haven't been together that long," Hermione said simply, not wanting to have this conversation. She only had an hour for lunch and did not want to waste it discussing her marriage plans with Ginny Weasley.

"Since seventh year. That's almost twelve years, Hermione. It'll be twelve years in October. That is a very long time," she said.

"Don't be such a hypocrite," Hermione shot back, hating defending her relationship. "You and yours have been living together for how long? I don't see any ring on your finger."

Ginny's determination left her eyes, replaced by something that Hermione did not recognize. Instantly, she regretted her words. Ginny's eyes went to Hermione's own ring, a small but perfect diamond on a simple gold band. "No ring yet, but I don't think he's that kind of guy," Ginny said quietly.

"He could be. I mean, you two have been together for nearly seven years. It just takes time," Hermione said, unknowingly using the same tone she had used with Ron and Harry during Hogwarts when she rattled off some magical fact.

"We don't live together," Ginny said, smiling, the shadow leaving her face. "We have separate residences."

"Right. You just spend practically every night at his house."

"No, occasionally we spend a few nights at my flat. A few memorable nights, actually," the red head said, smiling and getting a dreamy look in her eye. Hermione shook her head.

"I don't want to know what you are talking about," she warned sternly.

"No. Of course not. How was work?" she said instead and Hermione knew that the subject was closed. As if a truce, the two girls would not talk about each other's love lives for the rest of lunch.

****

The Malfoy Manor was always cold. The stone walls and floors seemed to give off a chill that creeped into the very souls of all those who inhabited the Manor. The dim lighting provided by a few candles made the mansion seem all the colder. Each room was sparsely decorated. The lack of furnishings gave the place an empty feeling.

That Christmas Eve, Draco Malfoy thought that the Manor was especially cold. He crawled back into bed long before sunset, burying himself in green and silver covers. He pulled the covers over his head so that only one eye looked beyond the comforts of his warm bed. Through the cover, he saw the fireplace in the corner of his bedroom, roaring with orange flames that did little to warm the expansive room. He saw blank stone walls beyond that, everything painted green and trimmed in silver.

Draco sighed and pulled the cover further over himself, so that all he saw was darkness. He wanted to go to sleep, wake up Christmas morning. He did not want to go through the motions of Christmas Eve.

Draco had only been back from school a few days. He had originally planned to spend the entire holiday at Hogwarts. After all, it was his final year. He wanted to spend all the time he could tormenting Potter and Company. Despite the ill-bred morons who matriculated to Hogwarts, Draco had come to like the school. He was not ready to leave it. Also, he would graduate in June. He knew that certain things were expected of him. He did not know if he could live up to expectations.

Draco stayed under the covers for a long time. He heard the large grandfather clock in the hallway strike. The sound echoed throughout the house, filling Draco's room and his ears, ringing. It was midnight, officially Christmas Day. Draco pulled the covers tighter, knowing what would come soon.

Only moments after the clock was again silent, there was a knock on Draco's door. Instead of answering, Draco remained under his covers. After a few seconds, the door opened and he heard footsteps as someone entered his room. The footsteps were light and precise. His mother.

"It's time," she said simply, her voice cold, reminding him of the Manor itself. He heard her turn and leave his room, not waiting for him. Sighing, he threw the covers off himself and pulled himself out of bed. He was wearing a black sweater and black slacks. He had shiny black boots and black socks. Everything was black. He looked in the mirror. He slicked his hair back, his hair and skin a light among all the black. He quickly looked away from the mirror and grabbed the robes thrown over the single chair in the room. He put the heavy black robes on quickly, not looking in the mirror. He pulled the hood over his head, hiding his face. Then he hurried after his mother, who was already half-way up the hallway.

As they made their way down to the dungeons, Draco's mother refused to look at him. She held her head high and sauntered, perfect posture. Draco struggled to keep up with her. He wished that she would look at him, acknowledge what was happening.

They arrived at a large black door in the hallways of the Malfoy Manor dungeons. The door itself looked simple, innocent. Draco knew better. He knew what lie beyond that door. They stopped at the door. Narcissa knocked once, then turned and left the way they had come, leaving her son alone in the dark hallway. After a few moments, the door opened. Draco entered. The room beyond the door was also dark, made of stone. There were fewer lights in the room and Draco blinked several times, trying to adjust his eyes.

The room was large. Like the rest of the house, it was in shades of gray, black, and silver. Though Draco and his father had made several trips to the room, Draco had never seen it as it was that night. Draco had always seen the room empty. That morning, he and Lucius had went into the room, discussing the night's ceremonies. They had gone over everything. Draco had grown even more accustomed to the room. He thought that he was ready. Upon entering the room that early Christmas morning, he realized that he was not ready.

He had never seen the room with anyone else in it but him and his father. That night, the room was full. As his father had explained, everyone was gather around the center of the room in a circle. They were all wearing identical black robes with the hoods up. Draco could not tell who was who, even though he knew that several of the people in the circle had been a part of his life since his childhood. Draco could not even distinguish his father.

As he entered the room, everyone turned to look at him. He gulped and walked slowly and carefully to the center of the circle. He stood there, looking around at the others. He could not see their faces, which only increased his anxiety.

"Mr. Malfoy," a voice to his right said. Draco jumped and turned, facing the speaker. The voice was raspy, dark. He recognized it immediately-Lord Voldemort. The other man's hood fell back a bit, revealing red, snakelike eyes. Draco shuddered involuntarily. "Lucius tells me you are ready."

"Yes, master," he said. "I am ready." Draco tried to appear calm. He did not want to embarrass himself, or his father, who was somewhere in the circle. He looked quickly around the circle as he noticed movement among the crowd. The men in the circle were rolling up the sleeves of their robes, revealing a mark on their upper left arm. Draco's mouth went dry as he saw the Dark Mark reveal itself on every left arm in the room except his own. He looked around at the Death Eaters. He felt himself sweat and felt disgusted. Malfoys never sweated.

"It is time," the Dark Lord said gravely. As he spoke the words, the mark on every Death Eater glowed, a silver glow that seemed to come from Voldemort himself. Draco tried to breathe properly, but found his lungs constricted. Voldemort began approaching him slowly. Draco searched the hooded figures, suddenly desperate to see his father. He wanted to see his father, wanted some assurance. He did not see his face. Voldemort reached Draco and held out his hand. Draco held out his left arm, trying not to flinch. Voldemort grabbed Draco's left wrist in his hand and held tightly. Draco braced himself for the pain that he knew would come. Voldemort brought his right hand to Draco's bare arm and muttered a few words. The other Death Eater's marks were glowing very brightly.

Nothing could have prepared Draco for the pain that then cursed through his body, setting his blood on fire. He clenched his teeth, suddenly drenched in sweat. He refused to scream out. Voldemort kept his hand firmly clamped to Draco's, not breaking their contact. The pain increased. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, red spots dancing in front of him. He began to moan, wondering how anyone could endure such a pain.

Finally, it was too much. He had to have a release. He opened his mouth and yelled, a deep inhuman sound as the pain reached its peak, then left. Draco was filled with a sense of emptiness. He shrank to floor, laying his head against the cool stone, for once grateful for the lack of warmth. He closed his eyes, traces of the pain still in his body. His arm felt as if it were on fire. He did not want to open his eyes, for he knew that he would see the Dark Mark there. He kept his eyes closed, not listening to the voices around him. After a few moments, he heard the Death Eaters leaving. He slowly opened his eyes. At first he thought that he was alone, then he saw the other man, standing in the corner, his hood still hiding him. He stepped forward into the circle, toward the door. Draco assumed he was joining his peers. Draco gulped. They were his very own peers now. He was officially a Death Eater. Draco blinked, realizing that he was crying. He could ! not remember the last time he had cried. His pride, however, told him that he was crying because of the pain, not the sudden loss of his innocence. Draco knew that on Christmas day he would be expected to kill his first Muggle. It was all part of becoming a Death Eater. Draco hoped that he would be up to it.

He thought longingly of his warm bed. It was so soft and comfortable. He did not want to leave it, ever again. He was so lost in his thoughts and pain that he did not notice the other man finally approach him. From Draco's position on the floor, he was able to see underneath the man's hood. Underneath it, he finally saw his father's face, looking down at him with a strange smile. Draco saw a happiness he had never seen in his father's face before. He also saw pride.

****

Draco Malfoy was angry. He looked at his watch again. They were three minutes late. They had kept him waiting. Sighing, he got up from his comfortable leather office chair and began to pace his office, waiting. Draco hated to wait.

Draco's office itself was rather large and decorated nicely. Everything was decorated in greens and silvers. Even though Hogwarts was long behind him, he was still partial to his old house colors. There was a large bookcase along once long wall, filled with different volumes. The large oak desk stood alone on the adjacent wall, piled with papers. Two leather chairs sat across from his desk. He had a lounging area where he held private meetings, made up of a few comfortable arm chairs and a large sofa. His personal favorite aspect of the room was the large window on one side. The one wall was nearly all window. It looked out on Diagon Alley, but was charmed to show whatever Draco wanted. Generally, he chose a nice beach view. However, when having a meeting, he preferred the simple Diagon Alley.

Draco stopped pacing and looked out his window, which was looking out on Diagon Alley. His office was in the nicer part of town. He was one of the few offices in the area, though his building was the largest, and, in his own opinion, the nicest. He was able to see the entrance to Flamel's from his office. He saw that Hermione Granger was heading off to lunch. He smiled to himself.

"Sir?" came a shaky voice from behind him. Draco scowled and turned to face Paul Cross, his secretary of about three months. Three months was a long time for a secretary of Draco's, but the young man was still terrified of his boss. Draco stared at Paul, who weakened under his gaze and searched the room, desperate for something else to look for.

"The Weasleys are here," he said quickly, his voice cracking.

"Which one Paul? There are several," Draco replied, going back to his office chair.

"The t-twins," Paul stuttered.

"It is about time. Send them in.." Paul nodded quickly and left in a rush. Seconds later, the Weasley twins Fred and George entered. Both boys looked less than happy. They were wearing nice dark Weslayan robes, their hair manageable. Though Draco was impressed, he thought that their choices paled next to his own personal Armani suits that he preferred. Also, Draco believed that their improvements in their wardrobe were due entirely to their two wives, Angelina and Alicia.

Draco looked up angrily at the twins as they sat down wordlessly in the chairs across from him. "You're late," he said by way of greeting. George and Fred looked at each other, then at the clock on Draco's desk, then at their own watches, and then back to one another.

"Our watches are not synchronized," George said simply.

"You made me wait for you. I hate waiting. Especially on you two."

"Sorry, Malfoy, but we were busy this morning. If you don't know, we have a business to run," Fred said, suddenly serious. Draco thought that their attempt at professionalism was funny. He tried not to laugh.

"Right. Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. Which is why you're here, right?" he said, relaxing. This was his favorite part of the job. After the war, Draco had come into his full inheritance. Aside from his parents, several other family members and friends had died, or had went to Azkaban, and Draco was suddenly in control of money. Lots of money. Instead of spending it, he invested it. A few men began coming to him for money, money to start a business with, money to start a new life after the war, money to rebuild a building. Draco, to his own surprise, loaned them the money, but with high interest, of course. He began loaning more and more money until he found himself doing it professionally. He became the silent partner in several different business ventures. He enjoyed his job, watching his own money grow. Still, his favorite part of the job was to watch people beg for money.

"3W is doing well," Fred began slowly.

"But there is room for growth," George continued.

"We want to go international," Fred said. Draco made no comment, no reaction. He had heard all this before. He had known what the Weasleys were going to present to him long before they arrived.

"A few hundred thousand Galleons. Five hundred thousand tops. You've seen our profile, Malfoy. You know how well we're doing," George said.

"Yes, I have," Draco said slowly. After years of work, he knew just how to speak and act so that he did not betray his decision until the final moment, that final moment when he either gave a person their dream or stole it away, crushing it forever. "Your profile is impressive. The numbers are good. Still, five hundred thousand..."

"Tops," George repeated. He and Fred unconsciously moved forward in their seats. They were sweating. Draco smiled.

"What would I get in return?"

"Twenty-five percent of all profits from international trade," Fred said, not missing a beat.

"No," Draco replied just as quickly.

"Malfoy-" George began. Draco cut him off.

"I wouldn't have agreed to see you if I had known you weren't going to take it seriously," Draco said coldly. "I don't even speak with clients for twenty-five percent. You know that."

"We shouldn't have come here," Fred muttered to his brother. Draco said nothing, but looked closely at them. Though Fred appeared to have given up, his eyes told a different story. Draco knew that this meant a lot to the two of them. They would see it through.

"Thirty percent," George offered after a few moments of silence. Draco did not reply.

"Forty," Fred said. George shot him a quick glance, but looked back at the blonde to see what he would say.

"Forty-five," Draco replied after a few moments of contemplation. Fred and George looked at each other, communicating in some twin-telepathy that annoyed Draco. Finally, they turned back to the man behind the desk.

"We'll do it," they said in unison, their faces lighting up. Draco smiled.

"Good. I'll have my lawyer draw up the contracts this afternoon. The money will be in your possession once I have the signed contracts. Understand? Good. We've worked together before." Draco stood up and the twins did the same. They shook hands briefly before the twins parted, not looking back. Draco wandered back over to the window, still smiling. He loved his job. He knew from previous business ventures with Fred and George that 3W was a sure thing. The wizard public loved the Weasley twins. They bought anything they put out. Draco knew that several other wizard communities throughout the world would embrace them. He also knew that he would make his five hundred thousand Galleons back within a few days of international trade.

He was looking out the window, dreaming about his new fortune, when a sharp pain shot through his arm. He gasped in surprise, grabbing his arm. He pulled up his sleeve, wondering if maybe he somehow injured himself without knowing it. As he looked down at his unclothed arm he remembered that his left arm bore a mark, a mark that he seldom thought about any more. The mark was the source of his brief pain. He stared down in shock at the Dark Mark. It was glowing.

****

Ron Weasley woke up Christmas morning, smiling. He was home, at the Burrow. Though he had hoped to spend his final Christmas at Hogwarts actually at Hogwarts, he was glad his parents had asked him to spend Christmas with them. Upon arriving home with his sister a few days ago, he had been surprised. Bill, Charlie, the twins, and even Percy were there, waiting for Ginny and Ron. The entire family had not been together for Christmas in ages. They had spent several hours Christmas Eve playing Quidditch in the snow. Then they had played games in the living room, trying to keep warm, huddled by the fire. The entire family had stayed up well past midnight and into Christmas itself.

Because of his late night, Ron was tired when he woke up Christmas morning, but he didn't care. Though he missed his friends, he was looking forward to time with his siblings. Hermione had gone with her own family for Christmas. Harry had stayed at Hogwarts, working with Dumbledore and Snape on some secret mission for the Order. Ron did not mind that he was not included. So far, it had been a long school year. Ron did not want the extra work. He was doing plenty for the Order already.

Honestly, Ron did not see why everyone in the Order was working so hard. Voldemort and his gang had not done anything for awhile. After Lucius Malfoy had finally gotten out of Azkaban the summer between Ron's sixth and seventh year, the Death Eaters and their leader had laid low. Even Malfoy was not the presence in the wizarding community that he had been before his capture. No one had heard anything from Voldemort. There were rumors, though, that he and his followers had escaped to Canada to regroup and strengthen. While Ron did not believe such rumors, he did not see Voldemort as the threat that he had earlier.

Ron just hoped that the Order would not interrupt the Weasley Christmas. Over the summer, Voldemort was supposedly spotted in Romania. The Order found out about it on Harry's birthday and the all the adults left in the middle of Harry's very first birthday party. It had ruined the entire occasion, though Harry refused to admit it. Ron's thoughts were stopped as he crawled out of bed and saw the presents waiting for him at the foot of his bed. He grinned and tore into them.

A few hours later, after breakfast, everyone crowded into the living room. For Christmas that day, it was just the Weasleys. Bill's girlfriend had stayed with her own family. Charlie's significant other had stayed at home.

In the living room, Ron and Charlie were playing Chess. The twins were testing a few new joke shop items on Percy and their poor mother. Bill was helping his father set up the new, Muggle television set he had gotten. Ginny was reading a magazine. Ron looked around the room as Charlie contemplated his next move. Though Ron complained about his large family, he loved them, especially when they were all together. He did not know how he would get along without them after graduating. Of course he would still see them, but he would no longer be living at the Burrow.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Molly and Arthur looked at each other from across the room, raising their eyebrows together. "Are we expecting anyone?" Arthur the room of red heads. He went to the door and opened it. There was no one on the other side. Arthur opened the door wider and stepped outside. There was no one or thing. "Funny," he mumbled, shutting the door. He joined his family again. They continued on, forgetting the knock on the door.

Ginny was the first person to see the man standing in the corner. He was wearing dark robes, a hood hiding his face. He was standing in the corner next to the front door, his body hidden in the shadows. She gasped and dropped her magazine. Ron looked at her, worried, but then he saw the man standing in the corner. He looked on in shock and terror as the man stepped forward, pulling his hood back as he did so. Lucius Malfoy was standing in their living room.

Quickly, everyone else saw what the Ginny and Ron already had. "Lucius!" Arthur exclaimed, standing between the intruder and his family.

"Hello, Weasley," Lucius muttered. He stepped further into the room. Ron saw the Invisibility Cloak lying in the corner. Malfoy had sneaked into their home. "Merry Christmas," he said, sneering.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur demanded, involuntarily backing up.

"I've been waiting a long time for this, Arthur. We all have," he said, coming closer.

"We?" Molly muttered, standing next to her husband. All the Weasley children were behind their parents, though the twins were glaring at Mr. Malfoy threateningly.

"My friends and I," Lucius replied. With a flick of his wand, the front door opened. This time, the doorstep was not empty. Nearly a dozen Death Eaters were on the other side, waiting. They all had their wands at the ready.

Ron felt his heart pounding against his chest as the others entered their house. He pictured his wand, laying on his night stand next to his bed. Ron knew that his family was thinking similar thoughts. No one brought their wand to a family gathering.

Suddenly, one of the Death Eaters pointed his wand at Ron. He gasped. "Crucio!" the man screamed. Arthur tried to shield his younger son, but was too late. Ron screamed as the curse ripped through him, pain filling his body. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. Ron was thankful when he passed out a few moments later, the pain leaving only in sleep.

****

Ron Weasley did not want to go to the Burrow. He had had a long day of Quidditch practice. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to his mother. Even though Ginny had long since moved out, she was still suffering from Empty Nest Syndrome. Every time on of her children ventured home, she would be estatic. She would rush around the house, fixing far too much food. She would be cheery and energetic for about an hour, then the Syndrome would hit. She would collapse in the nearest chair and break into tears. She missed having a full house. Of course, she only did this when it was just her and one of her children. Therefore, the children tended to visit in pairs or in Arthur's presence to avoid the tears.

That day, however, it was unavoidable. He promised his mother that he would visit her after practice. He was going to ask Ginny to go with him, but she had to work. He thought about visiting his mother with Ginny over their lunch break, but she always had lunch with Hermione. Percy was busy with his Ministry job. Charlie and his wife were off studying dragons in South America. Bill was on another treasure-hunting expedition. The twins were busy with the shop. Arthur was busy with his Ministry job. After all, the Minister of Magic was a taxing position.

Ron would have to visit his mother alone. After practice, he Apparated to his old home. The home at changed dramatically over the years. After the Death Eater attack to their house, the first floor of the Burrow had been ruined. Using magic and lots of help from friends, the Weasleys had managed to repair their home. Ron actually thought that the new bottom floor was nicer, more modern, but would never tell his parents. His mother would begin to cry and worry that he was a Death Eater, then ask him when he and his wife were going to have children.

Several new rooms had also been added to the house. Though the Weasley children no longer lived there, they did visit often and usually all at once. Molly liked for her children to have a room to stay in while visiting. However, with wives, girlfriends, and boyfriend (Ginny's), sharing a room between siblings was impossible. Each child had to have a room of their own. Also, there were the grandchildren. Bill, Percy, and Charlie had all extended the Weasley family line. Therefore, the Burrow was even larger than it had been, more crooked than ever. Even Ron did not know how the building stayed together, upright.

Ron entered his old home with trepidation. He listened closely for sounds of his mother, who was nowhere to be seen. "Ron? That you?" she called from the kitchen. Ron sighed. There was no turning back now.

"Yes, Mum, it's me," he said, entering the kitchen. His mother was fixing something at the stove.

"Hungry?" she asked, smiling up at him. Ron had towered over his mother's small frame since his third year.

"No, Mum. I already ate," Ron said truthfully. He was a long way from hungry.

"Nonsense. You'll eat," she said. He nodded, knowing resistance was futile. "How was practice?"

"Fine, fine. Mum, I can't stay long. Wish I could, but you know how it is," he said quickly after seeing the crushed look on her face. Molly brightened a bit.

"Of course I understand dear. How is that wife of yours?"

"Lavender is fine, Mum," Ron said, sighing inwardly, knowing what was coming next.

"That's good. You've been married for a few years now Ron. I would hope that Lavender is well," Molly said, smiling wistfully. Her son knew that look and quickly stopped her.

"She is not pregnant."

"Well, not now," Molly agreed, still smiling.

"Is this why you had me come over?" he demanded, trying not to get angry.

"No, no. I wanted you to give Lavender these books I found. They're the books that I got right after your father and I got married," Molly said, digging a few books out of the pile on the kitchen table. She handed them over to Ron. He looked them over. Magic in the Kitchen. A Witches Guide to Making a Good Wife. Ron read no further.

"These aren't Lavender's kind of books, Mum," Ron said. His wife worked long hours at Gringotts, but she loved her job. She was not the type of witch who stayed at home, raising babies and cooking large meals. She was not his mother. At home, it was just Ron and Lavender. Though they planned on having children, they wanted to wait a few more years. They both liked their privacy.

"Still, you should give them to her. Or maybe I should give them to Hermione," his mother said thoughtfully. "At her bridal shower. Has she set a date yet?"

"No, Mum. Hermione isn't that kind of a woman, either," he said, frustrated.

"Don't be silly, Ron. Hermione isn't married yet. Things changed after marriage," she said, almost happily. Ron sighed and decided to drop it. A lot of things had changed since his mother was young. Society had changed. Also, Lavender and Hermione certainly were not his mother.

"Fine. I'll take the books. I'll see you later," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek, hoping to get out before the Empty Nest Syndrome struck.

"Are you sure?" she asked, still smiling.

"Yes," he said. He thought that Lavender might get a laugh out of them.

"Are you coming this Saturday?" she asked, turning back to her cooking.

"Saturday?" Ron searched his brain for what Saturday meant.

"Saturday," his mother replied, sighing. "Dinner. The entire family will be here."

"The entire family?"

"Yes. Even Bill and Charlie are going to be able to make it. I expect you there, Ronald Weasley."

"Of course. Right. Lav and I will be there," he said, making his way to the front door.

"I'm looking forward to it. The house is always so quiet no, so empty," she said, her voice wavering. Ron reached the door, pretending not to hear her.

"See you then, Mum," he yelled from the doorway and then Disapparated. He ended up on his own doorstep. He lived in a nice house in a wizard neighborhood in London. The house was properly structured and did not resemble the Burrow at all, though it had its own charm. He and Lavender had lived at the house since they got married and they both loved it. Ron entered his house. Lavender was not home and she wouldn't be for a few hours. Ron went through the large foyer with its wooden staircase and went into the kitchen, where everything was sleek, black and white. On the wall next to the stove was a calendar. He looked at it closely. That Saturday, the Weasley family dinner was marked. He sighed. If it was marked, then it was official. They would have to go.

****

Harry Potter had been working as an Unspeakable for the Ministry ever since graduating from Hogwarts. Though he liked his job, the hours were generally arbitrary. He had told his boss several days ago that he had an important meeting. He would need off at a decent time. Harry sat at his desk, going through the paperwork that had to be finished before he could leave for the day. The paperwork that his boss had given him only an hour ago. Harry sighed and looked at the clock hanging on the wall opposite his desk. It was almost seven. He was meeting Draco Malfoy at seven o'clock for dinner and "business." He could not be late. Draco hated waiting on people, especially Harry. A glance to the pile of papers told Harry that the task was nowhere near completion. He looked at the clock again. The minute-hand was inching toward the twelve. He only had a few minutes to get to the restaurant. Harry knew that Draco would be there at seven o'clock exactly, not a moment ! sooner. The pile of paper seemed to be growing.

Giving up, he grabbed the papers and left his office, locking the door behind him. He would complete the papers at home. He rounded the corner at the end of the hall and ran right into his boss, Percy Weasley. "Hey Percy," he said, feigning a smile. Percy did not smile back.

"What are you doing with those?" he demanded.

"Taking them home to go through them. I don't have time tonight."

"But you have to finish them here. They cannot leave the building."

"Then I'll do them first thing tomorrow."

"I need them tonight."

"I can't Percy, I told you that I have to meet Malfoy at seven," Harry said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He glanced at his watch. It was seven o'clock.

"Your personal life-"
"Percy!" Harry exclaimed, his anger getting the best of him. "I have to go." With that, he shoved the papers into Percy's arms and Apparated, leaving Percy to look after him in shock.

Harry Apparated to the wrong place, as he usually did when he was upset. Instead of Apparating to Bludger's, he had Apparated to the Snitch, a much less sophisticated restaurant than Bludger's. Harry sighed, disgusted with himself. He counted to ten, trying to calm down, and gave the Apparation another try. This time, he did end up in front of Bludger's. Bludger's was in wizard London, not far from Diagon Alley. It was a fairly large building. Everything inside was done in blacks and blues, but managed not to look like a large bruise. Harry entered the restaurant. Harry entered the restaurant and found himself in a lounge area. The room was small and cubicle. There was no way to see beyond the restaurant itself. The room was closed off. The walls were a dark blue color with black chairs and tables scattered throughout the room. Several witches and wizards were sitting at the tables, waiting to get into the restaurant. In the middle of the small room stood a! black podium, behind it the hostess. The hostess was a tall witch, her black hair pulled back tightly. She was wearing designer robes and held her head high. Harry approached her with hesitation. She looked down her nose at him as he approached.

"Harry Potter," he muttered weakly. She said nothing but looked down at her list of reservations.

"Mr. Malfoy is waiting," she said in a chastising voice. Harry felt like he had done something wrong. Wordlessly, he followed her past the waiting area into the restaurant itself. The restaurant was large, spacious, with tables spread out and plenty of room. Each table had a dark blue tablecloth with black trim. The walls were painted with blue and black designs. The room was dimly lit by candles at each table. A bar ran along one wall, displaying expensive wines and alcohol. Waiters and waitresses hustled about the room in a refined manner, carrying large platters. They were all dressed in black slacks and crisp black shirts.

The restaurant was filled with customers. There was not an available table. They were all chatting quietly among themselves, keeping the noise level low. The restaurant had a sense of privacy that the rich loved. As Harry followed his hostess to his table, no one looked up as he passed. At Bludger's, everyone was aware of who was dining at the restaurant, but not one acted like it. Bludger's was a popular spot for celebrities and the rich. Gossip columns often featured the restaurant. Everyone who dined there made a mental list of who else was there. However, it was an unspoken rule to act nonchalant about the other diners.

By the time Harry made it through all the other tables to his own, it was nearly half-past seven. The table was at the back of the restaurant in a private corner. It was easily the best seat in the place, offering a nice view of the rest of the tables but offered unbeatable privacy. Draco Malfoy was already there, sitting at the table. He was wearing an Armani suit that Harry didn't recognize, probably because Malfoy had never worn it before. Malfoy did not like to wear the same outfit twice. Malfoy was also wearing a very annoyed and angry expression. It was half-past seven, after all. Harry sat down across from him and the hostess left as wordlessly as she had come.

"You're late," Draco said. "This is the second time today that I have waited. I don't like to wait."

"Don't be so melodramatic. I know," Harry replied, trying to be nonchalant. He wanted Malfoy in a good mood. Instead of replying, Malfoy took a sip of his wine. "Where's the waiter? I'm starving."

"How elegant, Potter. 'I'm starving.' Spectacular," he muttered.

"I'm still hungry," Harry said, trying to be light.

"The waiter already has my order. I was here on time." As if on cue, their waiter appeared, carrying plates with Malfoy's dinner. The waiter set them down in front of him.

"Anything else, sir?" the waiter asked, looking at Malfoy only.

"He's starving," he replied, pointing at Harry. The waiter turned to Harry.

"What can I get you?" he asked without pause.

"Give me a minute," Harry replied, opening the menu in front of him. The waiter nodded and left. Malfoy rolled his eyes and began eating. "Aren't you going to wait for me?"
"What do you want Potter? My time is precious and you've already wasted enough of it."

"I need your help."

"Of course you do. I had to loan Fred and George money this afternoon. My generosity is at an all-time low right now. Maybe another time."

"I don't need money," Harry said. Draco looked up from his plate in surprise.

"What then?"

"It's about the wedding." Draco scowled, disappointed. He had expected something more exciting from Harry.

"What about it? She hasn't even set a date yet."

"I know." Harry paused, not sure if he wanted to go on. Malfoy sighed.

"Get on with it Potter. I would like to go home. I have work to do. Unlike you, some people-"

"Oh, shut it Malfoy. I'm sure you want to get home, but it certainly isn't so that you can do work."

"What do you want Potter?"

"Your house."

"What?" Malfoy demanded, clearly surprised.

"I've always thought that you have a beautiful house. The gardens surrounding it would be perfect for the wedding. We could have the reception outside, under the stars. If it rains, we could have it in the ballroom. With all your magical security charms, no outsiders will get in, especially not the media. It would be a completely private wedding."

"What?" he repeated, still surprised. "Are you talking about Malfoy Manor?"

"No, you moron, your house," Harry said. Narcissa, widowed since the war, lived in Malfoy Manor with a few house-elves. The manor was as cold and lonely as ever. It was not beautiful. It was dark and forbidding. The gardens surrounding it were dead. Inside, the few house-elves were not able to keep the house properly. Everything was covered in dust, everything was breaking. Malfoy, however, lived in a new mansion not far from Malfoy Manor. He had bought it years ago when his business took off. It was a large mansion and, in structure, it was much like Malfoy Manor. Draco, however, had taken a different approach to decoration. While Harry doubted that a Malfoy could ever be warm, the house was not cold. It was almost inviting. Almost. Malfoy's house was surprisingly modern, decorated in shades of green, silver, and black. He had bought several colorful pieces of art and covered the walls with them, mainly to show off his wealth but they also served t! he purpose they were created for: beauty and art. Harry was almost comfortable whenever he gathered enough courage to actually enter Draco's house.

But Harry's favorite part was the outside of the new Malfoy estate. Draco owned several acres surrounding the house, including the ground that his old home, Malfoy Manor, stood on. The house was surrounded by beautiful gardens, arranged perfectly by several house-elves. There were a few fantastic fountains throughout the gardens. To put aside visual splendor, Harry's favorite part of the grounds was the Quidditch pitch. Draco had built himself his very own pitch, the exact same size as the one used in the Quidditch World Cup, in his backyard. Even though Harry usually did not socialize with Malfoy, the two men got together quite often to play Quidditch. Harry still won.

"Have you told the bride about this yet?" Malfoy said, snapping Harry out of his reverie.

"Hermione'll love the idea, but I thought that it was best that I had your permission before I went to her."

"I'm flattered Potter," he muttered. Their waiter returned.

"Are you ready to order, sir?" the boy asked, looking at Harry.

"Um, no," Harry muttered lamely. He hadn't even considered the menu.

"I'm finished," Malfoy said suddenly, wiping his mouth on a black cloth napkin. The waiter nodded and took away his plates, the food hardly touched. "Put it on my tab. And Potter's too."

"Yes, certainly, sir," the waiter said, disappearing again.

"So can we use the house? For the most important day in our life?" Harry asked hopefully.

"What am I going to get out of this?" Draco said lazily, looking around the restaurant.

"You want money?" Harry asked incredulously. He knew that he and Draco weren't best friends, but still...it was his wedding.

"Bloody moron," Draco muttered. "No. I don't want money. How shallow do you think I am?" Harry decided it was best not to comment.

"Then what do you want?"
"Your confidence," Draco said, sighing, his expression darkening. Harry did not recognize the Draco Malfoy in front of him. This Draco Malfoy was uncomfortable, unsure of himself. He also seemed worried. The Malfoy that Harry knew was cocky, confident, and concerned about nothing except his hair and his money.

"What's wrong Malfoy?" Harry asked quietly, wondering maybe he was dying. Or maybe there had been a large crash in the Muggle stock market. He knew that Draco secretly invested in Muggle stocks, though he would rather die than admit it.

"I don't want to tell you here," he said, looking about the room quickly, as if a spy was hidden.

"Come on, Malfoy. This is one of the most private restaurants in Great Britain."
"But I somehow end up on the front page of Star Wizard every time I come here," he protested.

"Only because you send the tabloid the pictures yourself."

"Whatever, Potter."

"Just tell me, Malfoy."

"Fine," he said, sighing. "Fine." Harry waited a few moments, but the blonde said nothing.

"Draco?" Instead of replying, Draco pulled off his Armani jacket, revealing a long-sleeved silk shirt underneath, black, of course. He wordlessly pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing his Dark Mark, which Harry had seen several times. Harry did not think that he would ever forget the Dark Mark. However, in the dark restaurant, he could see clearly that the mark was glowing. It gave off a faint silver light. Harry absently rubbed his own mark, his scar on his forehead. Harry's scar had not bothered him for over a decade. His scar was silent. It certainly wasn't glowing. "Why?" he asked, though a hundred other questions were running through his mind.

"I don't know."

"That's not an answer," Harry said sharply.

"What do you know about my father's death?" Draco asked, avoiding Harry's gaze.

"What?" Harry asked, not expecting Draco's question.

"You heard me," he replied coldly. Harry racked his brain. Lucius Malfoy had been dead for over a decade. He had forgotten several details.

"Lupin wouldn't tell me much," he said, still trying to remember. "It had been towards the end of the war," he began. "Everyone was preparing for the big battle at Hogwarts. The Centaurs had warned us that Voldemort was gaining power and was getting tired of waiting. The Centaurs warned us that the Death Eaters would not be merciful.

Remus Lupin, a leading wizard in the Order, had agreed to leave the temporarily safe Hogwarts to travel to Rome to get supplies. By the end of the war, so many wizards had either been killed or went into hiding that most of wizard Europe was deserted. I know that Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade were totally shut down. Several people were staying at Hogwarts, thinking it was safe. The wizard village near Rome was the closest venue that sold the potions and charms we needed. On Lupin's way, he ran into your father. Apparently, Rome was also the only place that Voldemort could get his dragon scales as well," Harry said, trying to be light. Harry had never talk to Draco about his father except for one evening not long after the war. Even that night, they had had several butterbeers before Draco would even allow Lucius's name to be spoken.

"Go on," was all Draco said, his face expressionless, revealing nothing. He looked into the candle, but his face was hidden in shadows. Harry continued.

"Lupin said that they Dueled. Lucius would not let him pass, so Lupin responded the only way he could. They fought. Eventually, someone had to win. Lupin did. He said that he didn't use the Killing Curse, that he couldn't use the Killing Curse. He said that it was something else that killed him. He brought his body back, though. Charmed it to fit in his bag. He said that you and Narcissa deserved a body." Harry finished and looked expectantly at Draco. His face revealed nothing. He continued to look into the candle light.

"You're wrong, Harry," Draco finally said after a long silence.

"What do you mean?"

"Lupin lied to you. He did not kill my father. You're right, he couldn't use the Killing Curse. There is no other magical way to kill a man, so Lupin did the next best thing," Draco said, telling his story in a monotone voice, nonchalant, as if he were reporting the weather. His face, what Harry could see of it in the shadows, remained blank. "Lupin stunned my father. He was unconscious. So, Lupin charmed him to fit in his bag. He brought it back to London, back to the Ministry. The Ministry was going to send Father off to Azkaban, but then reconsidered. By that point in the war, the Ministry was deep in debt. Fudge was still Minister and had put our country in financial ruin long before the war. He needed money. Badly. Malfoys have money. While Father was stunned, Fudge went to my mother. He told her the situation. He offered her my father's life in exchange for a few Galleons."

"A few Galleons?" Harry asked, taking in the information Draco was offering.

"Give or take a few," Draco replied. "Anyway, my mother and father were not the loving couple they seemed to be in public." Harry snorted. Lucius and Narcissa were anything but affectionate. Draco looked at him sharply. "My mother did not want to be married to Lucius any longer, but she did enjoy the benefits of being a Malfoy. So, she struck another deal with the Ministry. The Ministry would not be able to kill a man without a reason, and my father hadn't done anything that they could prove. He had covered himself well." Harry was not surprised to hear pride creeping into Malfoy's voice. He probably thought that his father was admirable. "Mother paid them a few Galleons to make Father legally dead. They gave him a death certificate, concocted Lupin's story, all while my father was stunned. Then, they modified my father's memory. They wiped him completely clean. When he awoke, he had no idea who he was. They sent him to some insane asylum in America. Cali! fornia, I think. He was given fake identification and all that. The wizards in California have no idea who they're dealing with."

"What does this have to do with your mark glowing?" Harry asked. Though he appreciated Draco's sudden willingness to share, he was starving and wanted to call the waiter back to order, especially if Draco was paying. Bludger's was expensive.

"It appears that the memory-modifying charm they used has worn off," Draco said impassively, pulling a letter of his pants pocket. Harry gasped and took the letter from Draco. It was folded several time, the creases worn. It had been read several times. Harry slowly opened the letter, afraid it would rip. The date at the top of the letter was only a few days ago. He wondered when Draco had received it. Though Harry had never seen the handwriting before, he knew instinctively that it belonged to Lucius Malfoy.

****

Ginny Weasley was getting bored. She had already proof-read her new article for the hundredth time. She glanced at her watch, wondering what was keeping him. He said that he had a dinner meeting, but they were usually over by eight. She looked up from the article and looked around her small flat, half-expecting him to appear at any moment. He did not appear.

Ginny lived in a small flat above a quaint little cafe in London. She had lived there for nearly three years. When Ginny had moved into the apartment, the neighbor had not been very nice. However, the are had changed dramatically. A few new stores had opened. Also, Ginny had gotten a few of her fellow writers to move into the neighborhood. In the last year, the area had become almost popular. Suddenly, the city was actually paying for the streets and sidewalks to be repaired and to build a new little park down the street. Witch Vogue had even taken to holding a few casual meetings there.

Ginny loved her flat. It was fairly small, but open, giving a feel of a much larger space. Her kitchen was in one corner, separated from her bedroom by walls and open to her living area. Her living room took up one side of the apartment. On the other side of her kitchen, separated from the living area by a curtain which was usually left open, was her bedroom. For a bedroom, she had thrown a large purple bed against the wall and a few bookshelves. Her closet ran behind her kitchen and was large, Ginny's favorite part of the flat. It had plenty of room for clothes. The closet was open on both ends, leading to her bedroom on one end and her bathroom on the other. Though it was small, it was home. While prices shot through the roof in the neighborhood, Ginny's flat remained reasonable due to a contract signed years ago, much to Ginny's pleasure.

While Ginny did love her own home, she had not been spending much time at it lately. She had been staying at her boyfriend's house. They had been dating for several years and often ended up staying the night at either her flat or his house. Even though they had never actually gotten around to moving in together, Ginny thought that they were close. In fact, he had recently given her her very own closet in his house. He had claimed he was only doing it because he was tired of seeing her things all over the place, but he had had a gleam in his eyes when he said it, making Ginny think that his gesture was something more than what he said.

Even if he asked Ginny to move in with him, she knew she would keep her own place. She did not want to be entirely dependent on him and their relationship. She knew that he was a busy man and did not have time to focus on their relationship. Of course, her own career was taking off and she certainly did not spend all her time daydreaming about him. Ginny had accepted the fact that their relationship might stay where it was. They might continue to date, spend the night, maybe even move in together eventually, but she doubted that they would ever get around to getting married. She didn't think that he was interested in that sort of thing and Ginny thought that she was fine with that. However, with Hermione and Harry's engagement and impending wedding, she felt a little left out. Ginny Weasley was not her mother. She had never wanted a big family with a dozen children, but that did not mean that she did not want children eventually. Lately, she had found herself th! inking about her own family in a way she never had before. Her parents had always loved each other and they had an amazing relationship. While growing up, Ginny had never thought much about it. As an adult, however, she found herself almost envious of them. She wanted someone to share her life with, like her own mother had Arthur. Ginny was also beginning to think of children. Of course, it could just be all her nieces and nephews getting to her, or maybe her biological clock. Ginny wanted to be happy with the relationship that she had because, while she loved him, it maybe the only relationship he was willing to offer.

However, as she looked down at her article, she began to doodle in the margins. Without thinking, she wrote Ginny Malfoy. She smiled to herself, thinking how good it sounded.

****

Hermione woke up Saturday morning and decided she would make a casserole. After all, Molly had been nice enough to invite Harry and herself to the Weasley dinner, even though they were not technically part of the family. The least Hermione could do was make a casserole. She climbed out of bed early Saturday morning, leaving Harry to sleep beside her. She sneaked down to the kitchen and pulled out the recipe book her mother had given her. It was a Muggle book and Hermione decided she would use no magic in the making of the casserole.

Three hours later, she changed her mind. She would have to use magic. She sat down on a kitchen stool and looked around their lovely little kitchen. All the cabinets were made of a beautiful wood. The countertops were a lovely blue marble. The window over the sinks had a lovely view of the gardens. It was a perfect little kitchen that Hermione had succeeded in covering with food. Bits of vegetables and meat covered the countertops. There were a few pieces of...something...on the cabinets. Looking up at the ceiling, she wondered how she had managed to get food up there.

Sighing, she pulled her wand out of her pocket and quickly cleaned up the mess. She flicked her wand again and a perfect little casserole was suddenly sitting on the counter. Smiling, she went upstairs to get ready.

Upstairs, she found that Harry was already up and in the shower. She went ahead and changed clothes, waiting for use of their only bathroom.

"About time," she teased once he exited the bathroom, his hair dripping wet. He smiled at her, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked. Ever since their engagement, Harry had had a permanent smile on his face. He was happy. However, he had seemed preoccupied the past few days. He had been looking forward to the Weasley dinner, to seeing everyone again. She had thought that he would be more cheerful.

"Nothing, Hermione," he said, turning to head back to the bedroom. She grabbed his arm to stop him. She hated seeing him unhappy and hated him being dishonest with her even more.

"Harry," she said sternly, looking him in the eye. He winced under her gaze and looked to the floor.

"I can't tell you, Hermione. Not yet," he said, looking up and meeting her eyes. He looked determine, and almost anxious.

"Harry," she whispered, pleading him to share with her. She had not seen that look in his eyes for years, and it frightened her. Whatever was bothering him, she was sure it was important. Otherwise, he would not keep it from her.

"Draco and Ginny are going to be there today?" he asked suddenly. She was brought form her reverie, and looked at him, surprised. She nodded. He brightened. "Good."

"He's really going to let us use his house?" she asked, keeping her voice light. She wanted to keep Harry's sudden change in mood.

"Yep," Harry said, a grin breaking out over his face.

"I can't believe we're going to get married there. It'll be beautiful," she said, smiling at Harry's smile.

"It will be," he agreed. He leaned forward, bringing his mouth to hers. Hermione hesitated at first, still remembering his secrets. Finally, she gave in, deepening the kiss. She felt her knees go weak, as they always did when he kissed her. She brought her arms around him, pulling him closer.

"I have to get ready," she mumbled against his mouth, ending the kiss. He nodded and disentangled himself from her. He kissed her again briefly on the cheek before going to the bedroom. She looked after him, wondering what was going on.

****

Ginny Weasley was nervous. Draco was late, again. He said that he would be at her flat by ten o'clock, no later. They would then Apparate to the Burrow together. She had made him promise that he would go with her to the family gathering, no matter what. Over the years, Draco had gotten used to the Weasleys. The family and her boyfriend managed to co-exist peacefully. However, it did not help that several Weasleys owed Draco money. The twins were still a little defensive around Draco. Both Ron and the twins still referred to him as Malfoy, though they managed a weak "Draco" whenever Ginny persisted. Her older brothers, who had not gone to school with Draco, were more accepting. They referred to him by his first name and generally got along with him. Molly adored him and considered him another son. Arthur simply left him alone when he visited the Burrow. While at the Burrow, especially when the rest of the family was there, Draco usually sat off to the side an! d kept quiet, for which Ginny was grateful. When they had first started dating, her family had not welcomed Draco with open arms. It had taken several long talks, both with her family and with Draco, before they could finally get along.

However, they would not appreciate it if Draco was late. Ginny knew that Draco hated to wait and she wished he wasn't so hypocritical about some things. It was almost a quarter past ten. They should have already been at the Burrow.

She heard a familiar pop from the hallway. Draco had arrived. She crossed her arms over her chest and shot the angriest look she could muster at the doorway as Malfoy entered. He was dressed in black slacks and a light sweater. Even though she was wearing one of her favorite skirts with a nice blue top, she managed to feel under-dressed. Draco sometimes had that affect on her. Still, she managed to maintain her glare.

"What?" he asked.

"This is the second time this week I have waited on you. The second time," she repeated. He sighed.

"Right. Well I'm here now. The sooner we get there the sooner we can leave." She said nothing and continued to glare at him. "Ginny," he said, getting frustrated.

"You have to say the words, Draco," she replied, beginning to enjoy herself.

"Fine..." he said, looking down at his shoes. "I'm sorry."

"What? I didn't hear you."

"I'm sorry, Ginny. I will never be late again," he said, looking up into her eyes.

"That wasn't so hard. Was it?" she asked, smiling. He did not reply. "Okay. Let's go."

"Gin," he said, his voice suddenly serious.

"Yes?" she asked, taken aback.

"I need to talk to you tonight, after we get back from the dinner tonight, okay?"

"Yes," she said, searching his eyes for information. She wondered what was going on. Lately, he had seemed detached. He hadn't been his usual self. However, his gray eyes were closed off, unreadable. Over seven years, Ginny had gotten quite good at reading his expressions. She liked to think that she could almost read his mind by just looking into his eyes.

"Remind me, okay?" he said, his face blank.

"Remind you?" Draco did not forget things.

"Well, make sure I tell you, okay?" he said. Ginny nodded. He smiled. "Okay." He gave her a brief kiss, his mouth against hers for only a moment. "Let's go."

****

Ron wanted to know what was going on. The dinner was over. Everyone had went outside into the backyard. The grandchildren had started a game of Quidditch. However, Fred and George, along with their wives Angelina and Alicia, got into the game and it was no long child's play. Instead, it was a full game. Though Ron played Quidditch all the time and enjoyed the break, he ended up grabbing his broom and joining them. Lavender remained on the ground, talking with Hermione.

Ron had expected Harry and Draco to join them in the game. While Ron still was not Draco's friend, he forced himself to get along with the man whenever necessary. After all, he loved Ginny. Also, Ron had borrowed a few Galleons from Draco to buy his house and did not want Lavender to know it. She did not like the idea of owing a Malfoy money.

However, Harry and Draco had not joined the Quidditch game. Instead, the two men, who had been giving each other odd looks throughout the meal, had disappeared inside the house once the game started. As Ron played, he kept glancing back at the house, waiting for Harry and Draco to emerge. He wondered what was going on. Harry and Draco got along better than Ron and Draco, but he assumed that was because of the war. Draco had helped Harry a few times, given him information and different spells. He had even concocted a few potions Harry needed when Snape was detained. Also, Hermione and Ginny were good friends. It was inevitable that Harry and Draco would spend time together.

Still, it had always been Ron and Harry. The two had remained best friends. Ron had never felt excluded from Harry because of his relationship with Draco or his future marriage to Hermione. However, he suddenly found himself feeling a little angry and maybe even jealous. If something was happening, Harry would have told him. They could be discussing the wedding, since it had been announced that it would take place at Draco's house, but Hermione would have been included and they could have done that with the rest of the family. Ron wondered what had been so important they had to sneak off.

"Ron!" Angelina exclaimed as a Bludger headed for him. He gasped and swerved out of the way, narrowly avoiding the ball. "Are you all right?" she asked, pulling her broom even with his own. Though his sister-in-law sounded concerned, he recognized the gleam in her eye from her days as captain on the Gryffindor team. She wanted to win and she wouldn't win if he wasn't paying attention.

"I think I'll go inside for a bit," he said. "A bit dizzy up here. Too much flying."

"Good," she said, nodding. Ron flew down to the ground. He gave Lavender a reassuring smile and entered the house alone. He heard Harry and Draco talking in low tones in the dining room. He quickly followed their voices. He found them sitting across form each other at the table, a few pieces of paper between them. They seemed to be having a serious conversation, both listening intently to what the other was saying.

"What's going on?" Ron asked quietly after neither man acknowledged his presence. Both looked up, surprised to see Ron standing the doorway.

"Should we tell him?" Harry asked, looking back at Draco.

"No," he replied firmly.

"He'll find out eventually."

"Then let him wait. He can find out when everyone else does," Draco said, glancing at Ron with distaste. "I haven't even told Gin yet."

"Well I haven't told Hermione, either. We can tell Ron. Maybe he can help us," Harry said. Draco snorted.

"I'm sure Weasley is full of good ideas."

"Watch it, Malfoy," Ron shot back. Harry sighed.

"Not now. Ron, sit down," Harry said, giving Draco a warning look, daring him to object. Ron looked between them, uncertain. After some debate, he sat down next to Harry. He caught a glimpse of the papers on the table. They were letters.

"What's going on?" Ron asked Harry, ignoring Draco completely. Harry looked at Draco before continuing. The blonde boy folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window, saying nothing. Harry took his silence as his acceptance and continued.

"Lucius Malfoy is back in England," Harry said quickly. Ron laughed.

"Lucius Malfoy is dead," he said. He looked at Harry, waiting for him to laugh, too. It had to be a joke. "He's dead."

"Wrong, Weasley," Draco said, still looking out the window with a far-off look in his eyes. "Since the end of the war, my father has been in an institute in America. His memory had been modified. Apparently, the charm wore off and he escaped the institute. He's back in England now."

"How?" Ron demanded, his mind unwilling to accept the information. He looked at Harry, expecting him to look at Draco with the same shock he was feeling. Instead, Harry looked down at the table, clearing expecting Draco's speech.

"I don't know how, Weasley. His letters haven't been too informative," he replied. Ron looked down at the letters on the table with renewed interest.

"What is he doing?" Ron said, his voice almost a whisper.

"Voldemort is dead, but there are still several Death Eaters left. A few of them are in Azkaban, but several others are still free." Ron nodded as Draco spoke. After the war, a few claimed to be under the Imperius curse. Others had simply run away, vanished. The Ministry had believed that they were no longer a threat without Voldemort. Draco continued. "Father has rallied several of the Death Eaters together. About thirty or so. He has plans to free those in Azkaban."

"What does he want?" Ron asked, nodding to the letters.

"He knows that my loyalties changed. He knows that I have money now. He says that he will forgive me if I got to him and join his circle. He needs money."

"What is he going to do? Why is gathering the Death Eaters?" Ron demanded. Draco looked at him sharply.

"Why do you think? When Voldemort went into the second war, he knew that he might die. He did not fully understand the power that Harry possessed. He created a spell that would preserve some of his power. If he died he wanted someone to be able to take his power and accomplish what he had set out to do. Though gaining power was important to Voldemort, he still wanted to cleanse the wizarding world. He wanted to get rid of the Muggles and Muggle-borns. He thought that if one of his men reached the power that Voldemort had only dreamed of, Voldemort would have succeeded."

"Your father is trying to become Voldemort?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"Something like that. He thinks that he can overtake the Ministry now, without them expecting it."

"You have to tell my father! He'll know what to do?" Ron said quickly, nearly jumping in his seat. Harry remained still. Draco laughed.

"No, Ron," he said, suddenly very serious again. "We will not be going to anyone. My father has not seen me in years. He knows so little about me. He truly believes that I will just run back to him, begging his forgiveness. I will take care of this myself. I just need Harry's help. After this is finished, we can run to the Minister."

"What are you going to do?" Ron demanded. Draco shrugged.

"Go to him. Tell him that I want his forgiveness, that I want to become a Death Eater again. Then, I'll be able to destroy him. Even if he doesn't trust me completely, I can get to him. He's so over-confident, it will be easy. I just need help with a few spells. I need Harry to have a Plan B in case it doesn't work out."

"That may be the stupidest thing I have ever heard. You know, you're going to get yourself killed doing this. I bet Lucius just wants a little revenge. I bet he thinks that you tainted the Weasley name by doing what you did. By helping the Order. By dating a Weasley!" Ron exclaimed, looking at Draco with surprise.

"If I hadn't helped the Order, Weasley, you would be dead right now! Who is the person who told Dumbledore about Voldemort's plan? Who is the person who gave Harry that potion?" Draco said, his voice filled with malice.

"Don't," Harry said warningly, looking at both Draco and Ron. "Stop it. Draco will go to his father."

"How do you know Draco will help us? What if this entire thing is some elaborate scheme?" Ron said, looking at Draco with distrust. Draco rolled his eyes.

"You are a moron Weasley," he muttered.

"Ron," Harry said, ignoring Draco. "We have to trust him. He will go to his father and do what he can. If he fails, we will have to go to your father and get the Ministry's help. We have to stop Lucius before he becomes too powerful. Until then, don't tell anyone. Not Lavender. Not anyone. Draco's going to Lucius tonight."

"Tonight!" Ron exclaimed, turning to Draco. "And you haven't told Ginny yet?"

"No," Draco said, looking up in surprise. Ron watched the anger disappear from Draco's face at the mention of Ginny.

"You're just going to run off and get yourself killed without telling her? I may not like you Draco, but she loves you. She's my sister and I won't let you do this to her!"

"I'm going to discuss things with her tonight, Weasley. Calm down." Draco said.

"I can't believe this. You are both insane. And stupid," he said, standing up. "Well, thanks for letting me know. At least now I can prepare myself for your funeral, Malfoy. Maybe shop for a nice black outfit."

"I think we're finished here," Harry said, also standing. He looked at Draco. He nodded and stood.

"We're finished."

****

Ginny watched with growing horror as Draco packed a duffel bag. "You can't do this!" she exclaimed for the hundredth time. He ignored her and went into his bathroom, grabbing a few things. She sat down on his bed, watching him through the open door. His bed had wonderful Egyptian cotton sheets of a rich green color. She just wanted to curl up in his bed and go to sleep, with him next to her. Instead, he was getting ready to leave. "How long will you be gone?" she asked once he returned from the bathroom. Telling him he couldn't go wasn't working, so she decided to try a different tactic.

"I don't know. Not long. A few days. Maybe a week. Maybe a bit more," he said, not looking at her as he zipped up his bag.

"Stay the night. Leave in the morning," she pleaded, knowing she was on the verge of whining but not caring.

"No," he said sternly. He sat on the bed next to her. "I have to go tonight. He's expecting me."

"This whole thing is so stupid, Draco," she said.

"Do you know how much you sound like Ron?" he asked, an amused smile on his face. She sighed.

"What are you going to do whenever you get there?" she asked instead, slowly admitting defeat. He was leaving.

"I haven't decided yet. I have two options. I could tell him I'm sorry. I regret what I did and want to re-join his circle. Or I could burst into his hideout with my wand in the air, screaming Unforgivables. Whichever one better suits the moment."

"You aren't funny," she said.

"I know," he said quietly. "I should probably go now." She nodded, surprised to find tears in her eyes. He wiped her tears away with her thumb.

"Can you owl me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"No. I won't be gone long, Gin. I promise," he said. She looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was getting late.

"It's time to go," she said, looking into his eyes. Again, they were blank. She sighed, knowing he would be leaving her.

"I'll see you soon, Gin," he said, but she caught something in his gray eyes. He was lying to her. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him to her tightly. She buried her face in his shirt, no longer wanting to look into his eyes. He would not be coming back. He knew that, but she was not ready to accept it.

They stayed like that for a few minutes before he pulled away. He kissed her, one last time. Her lips melted under his own. She fell into the kiss, drowning in it. She did not know how long it lasted, only that she did not want it to end. Again, he was the one who ended it and pulled away. "It's time. I've got to go," he said. She was surprised to see his gray eyes shining with tears. They only made her feel worse. She nodded and stood up with him. He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He gave her a small kiss on the cheek. "Just a few days," he said.

"Right," she said, trying to believe it herself. He pulled out his wand, ready to Apparate.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I know," she replied, looking down at the floor. She heard a familiar pop and looked up. He was gone. The room suddenly felt cold and empty. Shivering, she went to the bed and crawled in it. She brought the covers around herself. Draco had told her to use his house while he was gone. She planned to take him up on that offer. Once he was gone, she had expected to cry. She was surprised to find that she did not want to cry. She just wanted to go to sleep, in Draco's bed. As she was drifting off to sleep among pillows that smelled of his cologne, she noticed something on the nightstand she had not noticed before. It was a small black box with a card next to it. The card had Ginny's name on it. Hesitating, she picked both up. She was sure that they had not been there when she had glanced at the clock earlier. Draco must have put them there right before he left.

She put the card aside, not ready to read it yet. She opened the small black box. Inside was a beautiful diamond ring. It was a fairly large diamond, perfect, with a slight pink hue. The band was silver with tiny diamonds in the setting. It was an engagement ring. Ginny gasped and took out the ring. She slid it on her finger. It fit perfectly. She picked up the card and opened it to find six words:

What do you think? Ginny Malfoy?

The note appeared to have been written quickly. Ginny smiled and looked at the ring on her finger. She put the card and the box back on the nightstand. As she fell asleep, she felt the ring's presence on her finger.