His Memories

His Memories

Chapter Five

Side Effects

Nothing comes to exist from something that did not exist
~ Nagarjuna

.~*~.

"It happened again."

"Are they going to close the school?"

"What's Dumbledore going to do about it?"

"My father said they should set a Dementor after the one responsible."

"I'm not going anywhere alone. I'm not Muggle-born, but I'm a half blood."

"What's wrong, Ginny? You have nothing to worry about; you're a pureblood. Ginny. Ginny. Are you all right? You look like you've just had a run-in with You-Know-Who."

"Oh," Ginny squeaked, "I--er--I'm fine, a--a bit knackered."

The frightened eleven-year-old, still disoriented, walked heavy-footed up to the first year dormitory, almost tripping on the last step. Her room was empty, leaving her alone with Riddle in her head.

Always in her head.

She couldn't decide what was worse, Riddle, or hearing other students talk about something that he was forcing her to do.

"What have you done, Tom? What have I done?" she whispered to the crimson bed hangings as she cried herself to sleep.

.~*~.

...For the fourth time, Ginny was pulled out of her restless sleep; glad to end another dream about her first year at Hogwarts, but not that it was the pain from an intensifying migraine that had woken her this time. The first had been the high-pitched screeching of a tree branch against the window when the wind picked up; the second had been when Draco climbed into bed; the third was when he began snoring; and now this. With the sun almost up, there was no way she'd be getting back to sleep.

Staring blankly up at the midnight blue velvet bed curtains (much more pleasant than the ancient green ones they replaced) through half-open eyes she tried to clear the dream from her mind, and gather up the energy to get out of bed to fetch a pain-killing potion. When that plan failed miserably, she reached for her wand on the night table. "Accio Magexcedrine," she whispered and a few seconds later a bottle of viscous pale blue liquid (safe for consumption by pregnant witches) flew into her hand.

She took one dose and set the bottle next to her wand, noticing now that the diary was laying on the table too. Staring at it, she wondered why she'd carelessly left it lying about. Her brain didn't need to search long for the reason and suddenly her migraine, which had already started to go away, renewed its intensity. She picked up the potion and took another drink, gripping the bottle as though someone might try to take it from her. Memories from the night before came flying at her like bludgers, and she had nothing to repel them with.

...my name...

She loosened her grip on the bottle of pain-killing potion enough to where she could set it on the table.

...bright yellow light...

She reached for the diary and held it tightly as her patchy memories streamed by.

...hit me...

But it wasn't just her memories that were flooding her brain.

...You knew I'm a -- a wizard...

She loosened her grip on the book and it fell into her lap.

"Did I really black out?"she whispered, rubbing her forehead trying to sort out the new thoughts--Harry's memories. There were only a few, and she would realize later that more memories would come to her each time she wrote in the diary.

Her hand brushed across the black zig-zag and her full, hyphenated name below it, looking like it had been written there all along. There was no mistaking that she had taken the final step toward unlocking the diary.

Did I do the right thing? she asked herself several times. What would Draco say, when--if--she told him? All she had to do was wake the sleeping form at her left and show him the diary. Would he tell her she should have waited until the baby is born, would he just say be careful, or would he be repulsed that his wife had the memories of his late enemy?

Perhaps I should have waited. No, I'm not having second thoughts, I'm just wondering what will happen next.

She closed the book and once again held it tightly, letting this new feeling rush over her. It was strange, it was a connection, it was a feeling that she was...protected? She had not been expecting these immediate effects, and all the times she asked Harry about what his mother did to protect him, she finally understood. Harry grew up with this ancient magic and never thought of how it felt. Now this magic encompassed her like a warm blanket.

Riddle had drawn her into a false sense of security that eventually lead to nightmares. Only after a couple of years and constant reminders that the diary was truly gone was she able shove the horrible memories of a sixteen-year-old dark wizard to the back of her mind.

Unbidden, they returned. Not because he still exerted some control over her, but because no matter how many times she told herself that Harry's diary was different, she remembered how easy it was the first time to be taken in by that manipulative wizard...

She hoped she was doing the right thing; placing her trust in the memories of Harry Potter. After several minutes of staring at the cover as though it held the mysteries of the world (perhaps it really did), she stowed it away in her night table and turned her attention to her sleeping husband.

A smirk played across her lips as she noticed the silvery-blonde hair tousled over his face. The only time his hair was in this much disarray was when he slept. She lay back down and spooned against him, her body matching the contours of his as she wrapped her right arm around his waist and kissed his bare shoulder. He was awake now.

"Draco," she whispered.

"Mmph."

"Where were you last night?" Her hand was exploring his chest and she could feel his muscles tighten when she spoke. He responded with another "mmph" and tried to pull away from her. The result was that now she was almost on top of him and her right arm was firmly around his waist. He shifted again, moving his pinned left arm, which was pinned between his chest and the bed. When he did, his inner forearm brushed against the back of her hand.

"Ow," they both said.

Ginny withdrew her arm and let Draco roll onto his back. Although her hand didn't look any different, it felt like it had been splashed with boiling water. She stared at her hand for a few moments before returning her attention to Draco again. He had dark circles under his eyes, but the rest of his face looked like he was in pain.

"What is it?" asked Ginny with a hint of concern in her voice as she watched Draco cradle his arm like a sack of Galleons. He was hiding something, and she knew what it was. He had received a Dark Mark, something he was destined for whether or not he still believed in Voldemort's cause.

"It's nothing," he replied idly, trying to hide the fact that he was hiding his arm. Like she would just forget the mark was there if he refused to let her see it.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Of course it's nothing," she sighed. "That's why you won't let me see it."

"There's nothing to see," he tried to say as Ginny reached across his body. He didn't struggle to keep her from grabbing his arm, though, and she thought this was odd seeing as how he'd been hiding something moments before. Quickly putting that thought out of her head, she twisted his arm around, bringing the ugly black skull with a snake protruding from its mouth into view. Though only the size of a sickle, his Dark Mark was all she could focus on; everything else around her was a blur.

Draco was completely still as she held his arm and brushed her thumb across it. The serpent seemed to be hissing but she quickly realized it was a faint sizzling sound -- right where she was touching the mark.

Draco jerked his arm away and sat up. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I--I don't know?" she lied, and rather poorly. Though still clearly in pain, he narrowed his eyes.

"You know why it burns when you touch my arm, don't you?" he said coolly.

"I--maybe it's because I'm pregnant."

"My father would have warned me if that was the case. Try again," he persisted.

Quickly becoming annoyed with her husband's tone, Ginny straightened up, trying to think of a lie that would silence him. "Then maybe it's because I'm disappointed in you," she began softly then elevating her voice as Draco opened his mouth to speak. "Disappointed that you didn't trust me enough to tell me what you were doing last night." She could feel the blood rush into her cheeks, and the remnants of her migraine beginning to gain strength.

"And what would you have done if I told you? Would you have tried to stop me?"

Ginny ducked her head and focused on the duvet. Draco's hand reached for her chin and lifted her head to look at him again, but she closed her eyes.

"What's got into you?" he asked sincerely.

"Nothing," Ginny muttered quickly and without conviction, wishing she could take back what she said to her husband.

Of course, she knew exactly what "got into her," but simply felt that it was necessary to keep it from him now that he bore the mark of a Death Eater. A part of her even wished he didn't know about the diary because that part didn't think he could be trusted. Overpowering all of that was a guilty feeling for actually believing Draco had gone through with his initiation because he truly believed it was the right thing to do. She knew all along that he would eventually join the Death Eaters but never stopped to think about what it would mean once he did. Likewise, she was certain he felt the same way about her and the diary.

Draco threw the covers back in exasperation and pulled himself out of bed, hastily throwing on his dressing gown as he left the room.

"Draco, wait!" she yelled, but he didn't come back. Ginny threw herself down on the mattress with such force that a few down feathers that had worked themselves out of her pillow flew up into the air.

What have I done?

.~*~.

In the three months since she unlocked the diary, the question "What have I done?" played in the back of her mind each time she wrote in it, which was only once or twice a week since she didn't want to take her chance that it would weaken her while she was pregnant. In just two more months, when the baby was born, she would write every day until Harry was strong enough within her. For some unknown reason, she never asked what exactly she would have to do, or when she would have to do it.

Ginny resigned to just trusting that Dumbledore, the diary, or both would tell her when the time came, after accepting that she there was only one way to take back what she'd done--her death--and that was something she refused to even think about even when the side-effects began to manifest themselves.

There was the continual flood of memories, high points and low points in Harry's life, his feelings toward certain people, including Draco--Malfoy. This was the most difficult feeling for her because she was completely in love with Draco and all his idiosyncrasies, but Harry never trusted Draco and now she was beginning to doubt her husband. She tried hard not to let this feeling affect their relationship, but sometimes Draco would get under her skin...

"It was a simple question, don't get angry with me," Ginny snapped, intensifying her scowl. She was standing, but Draco remained seated, lazily examining his remaining piece of toast. That was exactly why he would irritate her. Not because he'd say something sarcastic but that he could say it at though he'd just made an idle observation about the weather. Why she failed to notice this before, was--well, she knew exactly why. He was Draco, and that was one of the traits she loved about him. Unfortunately, it was also a trait that Harry couldn't stand.

"I said it was a letter from my father, the contents of which are private."

"What covert mission does he have planned for you this time? Will you at least be home in time for tea?"

Draco met her eyes with a sneer--a calm, collected sneer--telling her she'd guessed right about the covert mission. As she looked closely at his face, peeling off his facade, she could see that he was nervous about something. No one else, save maybe his father, would know what to look for, but it was there. Beneath the translucent skin of his right temple was a greenish blue vein that became darker when he was feeling apprehensive about something.

It took a great deal of discipline for her not to continue prying, and it must have looked like she was preparing to ask him another question because he slowly pushed his chair away from the table, the sound of the legs scraping across the floor echoed in her ears as he stood up. He still bore a sneer, but his eyes were not focused on her, but at a point just above her. As he moved closer, she realized he was looking directly at her forehead. It took a few moments for her to process this, and when she did, her hand flew up to cover her forehead. Draco pulled her arm away.

"What is that?" he asked, temporarily exchanging his sneer for a quizzical look.

"Bathroom door. Ran into it." Suddenly she wanted to return the conversation to the topic of his father's letter. It seemed like a more pleasant topic at the moment.

"Interesting shape. How many times did you run into it?"

Ginny was speechless. She just stood there gawping as though she was trying to say something but never did as Draco wheeled around and left the room muttering, "Have a nice day."

.~*~.

Draco Apparated away from the house knowing perfectly well that the argument was his fault -- but he wouldn't admit it. There was no simple way to explain the contents of his father's letter; even he wasn't sure what was going on. He only knew to meet his father at half nine in the narrow alley next to Borgin and Burkes. If not for the plethora of dark magical artifacts and lack of Ministry officials, he would never understand why his father frequented a place so riddled with filth.

The morning was overcast, making Knockturn Alley even more dank than usual, and generally unpleasant. It used to be a mysterious and exciting place to him when he was younger, but recently he'd come to associate it with the questionable activities his father was involved in...

"It's not 'dodgy,' Draco, as you so eloquently put it," Lucius would remind him with an elegantly arched eyebrow that dared him to challange what he was saying.

"Of course not," Draco would reply in mock-agreement. "It's lucrative, right?"

...It was both, and it really amazed him how much his father actually got away with: illegally importing dragon's blood, cursed daggers, Chimera eggs, and once an invisible flying carpet made of Demiguise hair (Though he wasn't sure if it was actually in the box, it did catch a fair price). Of course, Lucius Malfoy never had his name on any of these items and threatened to curse anyone of his brokers if they ever mentioned his name.

So there Draco stood with his arms crossed and leaning against a cold brick wall in Knockturn Alley, waiting for his father, who told him there was something of 'particular importance' he needed Draco to take care of--whatever that meant.

Through the eerily muffled background noises, he picked out the familiar sound of his father's footsteps approaching. Draco was still leaning against the wall and didn't bother to lift his head up when he said, "Good morning, father."

"Draco," Lucius replied sharply as he came to a stop, pulled down his hood, and smoothed out his hair. "We have a problem."

Draco looked up.

"Or should I say, you have a problem."

Draco stepped away from the wall and stood up straightened, arms still crossed. "Is that so?"

"Do you recognize this? I'm sure you do." He nonchalantly tossed a small red book in Draco's direction. Draco caught it and nodded, feigning interest. He knew it was a fake version of the diary Virginia periodically wrote in. The same one he used two years ago to make his father believe had been erased of the memories of Harry Potter.

He flipped through the pages, noting that on one page Harry's name was still written three times in his wife's handwriting, confirming that it was the fake diary. He raised his eyebrows at his father, expecting him to say something clever.

"Tell me," Lucius' eyes narrowed. "How long did you think it would take before the Dark Lord figured out that this was not Potter's diary?"

Draco swallowed hard; his calm feeling vanished and beads of sweat formed on his brow as he tried to formulate a response. "I--I don't know what you mean, father." Pathetic, but still a response.

"Don't lie to me. This diary is no more magical than that Muggle I dealt with yesterday." At that, Lucius smirked as if remembering an amusing joke.

"Of course it isn't now," Draco said nervously.

"I mean," his father seethed, "that this never was enchanted. Does your wife still write in the real diary?"

After several deep breaths Draco started to calm down. He'd almost fell for his father's trap before he realized he was bluffing. Draco knew there was no way to tell the difference between the two books.

"What do you want me to say? I've told you what I know about this book. Virginia does have a diary, but it's just a normal one I gave her after I--after that day in the Dark Forest." He wasn't lying, he did give her one with her own name on it, but to his knowledge, she'd never used it.

Lucius glanced suspiciously at his son, waiting for him to give in, but Draco didn't.

"Is this the only reason I'm here?"

"No," said Lucius pulling the diary out of Draco's hands and shoving it in the pocket of his cloak.

Right then, Justin Baddock Apparated before them.

"You're late," Lucius snapped at the lanky dark-haired young man who looked like he'd just woken up.

"I um--my wife," he stuttered, "just had her baby."

"Well then, you'll want to get this over with so you can get back to your..."

"Son," Justin announced proudly, "William Tho--"

"Now then," Lucius cut him off as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Draco gave Justin a congratulatory nod then looked at his father. "This is where you'll be going." Lucius handed the two young Death Eaters rolls of parchment. Draco unrolled his blank parchment and looked up at his father.

"It's enchanted," said Lucius, slightly agitated. "How many times must I remind you?"

Draco gritted his teeth, reminding himself that this was only the second time he'd been asked to do something for the Dark Lord, and the first time there was no parchment. Draco took out his wand and touched it to the page, saying his name. Two names and an address appeared.

"Do be quick about this, and don't make a mess," said Lucius, dispassionately and, with a pop! that made Justin jump slightly, Lucius Disapparated.

Draco stared hard at the disintegrating brick wall opposite him. He was holding the roll of now crumpled parchment tightly in his hand.

After a few minutes of silence, Justin finally spoke up. "Do you know if they're Muggles or wizards?"

"I'm not sure. Does it really matter though?"

"Of course it does," Justin said with more feeling. "Doesn't it bother you that we were not even told why we have to do this?"

"You've been a Death Eater for two years now," said Draco swiftly. "Since when did you gain a conscience?"

To this, Justin had no reply.

Not that Draco was paying attention if he had. It had suddenly dawned on Draco that even he was bothered about being asked to "take care of" two people for the Dark Lord, and that if he didn't do it, he'd be dealt with and not in a pleasant way. Self-sacrifice was the one thing the Malfoy fortune could never buy.

"I don't suppose 'unquestioning loyalty' means anything to you?" Draco asked finally, recalling words his father had uttered countless times, the very same words the Dark Lord used the night he vowed to serve him. Even as he spoke those words, they lost some of their meaning.

Justin began staring at the roll of parchment Lucius had given him. "What do I tell my son?" Justin sighed, running his hand through his hair. Draco took note that Justin was shaking slightly.

"He's only an hour old, you don't tell him anything."

"I mean when he's older. How do I teach him right from wrong when I'm involved in this." Justin waved his arms at nothing in an attempt to be dramatic.

"You tell him what your father told you," Draco said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Justin shook his head before Draco could finish. "He was killed almost fifteen years ago. I don't know if he ever was a Death Eater."

Draco looked sideways at him.

"Then why are you here if your father didn't pressure you into this? And don't try to tell me it's because every Slytherin is destined for this fate. Why are you really here?"

"I just--" Justin's mood was beginning to change from sincere and contemplative to confrontational. "I'd rather not talk about it. I suppose you have no problem raising a son with that philosophy."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You'll be a father soon. Don't tell me you never thought about this. And if you haven't, then you'll know when your son is born," Justin said as he hurriedly brushed past Draco.

"Slow down!" said Draco wheeling around and catching the sleeve of Justin's cloak. He almost pulled Draco over as he marched down Knockturn Alley.

"No, let's just get this over with," said the young man who had now reverted to the determined young Death Eater who had a tendency to be a bit more violent than necessary. Draco paused, thoughtfully fingering the parchment he'd shoved in his pocket. A feeling of doubt was starting to overwhelm him. He wasn't doubtful that he could perform the necessary curse to kill someone, he was doubtful that he would have the nerve to go through with it.

.~*~.

"Agnes, if it's all right with you, I need to leave early today," said Ginny as she carefully measured and divided twenty grams of dehydrated and powdered toad spleen into a glass vial. She had been engaged in the same mundane task all morning in anticipation of the barrage of owls from Hogwarts students who would soon be ordering refills for their potion making kits as end of year exams approached.

"Are you feeling all right, dear? You do seem a bit--" Agnes momentarily looked up from her inventory list and squinted behind her miniscule wire-framed spectacles. "--a bit out of sorts today."

"I'll be fine once I get away from this smell for a while. It never used to bother me, but now that I'm pregnant... I swear, it's become worse the last month."

The old woman continued her survey of the box of newly arrived reptile parts. "I see," she said finally.

The old woman's tone caused Ginny to look up.

"What?" Ginny asked.

"I thought you might have had a headache, is all. I don't see a bruise, but you've a scar on your forehead. That couldn't have felt good."

Instinctively, Ginny reached her hand up to her forehead. Damn, I thought I covered that up. Apparently not.

She'd tried every charm she could think, and some she shouldn't have to get rid of the scar that had gradually appeared on her forehead. Her last resort was Muggle make-up which she'd planned on buying after work anyway. Draco pointed it out that morning and now that Agnes, with her cataracts, noticed it, she realized just how important it was to cover up the scar that looked identical to Harry's. It was a side effect both Harry and Dumbledore failed to mention to her, and not the easiest thing to keep hidden.

"It's nothing, really," she said, pouring toad spleen into the scale. In her haste, she overshot the tray and spilled some of the powder on the work table. She pulled out her wand to clean up the powder and managed to knock over a small bottle of infused flobberworm mucus, which when combined with powdered toad spleen produced a putrid yellow cloud over the table. She was normally very meticulous in her work, but with Agnes pointing out the scar, and Harry's tendency to rush things when he was nervous, she was having difficulty concentrating. Then there was the smell of the shop, made worse by her impromptu potion making.

Ginny grimaced at her uncharacteristic clumsiness, and Agnes simply smiled and cleaned the mess with her wand before returning to the reptile parts.

The rest of her day passed without incident, although she had to step outside every hour or so to get away from the smell. Finally the end of her abbreviated work day arrived and she left the apothecary, charming the smell of lilacs into her robes.

Muggle London, at least the part of it near Diagon Alley, was a familiar place to Ginny. In the year she had lived over the apothecary shop, she learned to make herself less conspicuous in London. She had clothes that could pass for Muggle clothes, although unfortunately none of them would fit her at seven months pregnant, not that it mattered since she forgot she wasn't dressed like a Muggle to begin with.

She exited the Leaky Cauldron, and was almost plowed over by an out of breath middle-aged wizard. She wouldn't have given it a second thought, but when she passed a second and a third, one witch and one wizard, also out of breath and headed directly for the Leaky Cauldron, she became curious. Just ahead she could see two Muggle police cars, and three policemen blocking a crowd of people forming near the entrance to a corner bookshop. All of them dressed as Muggles, and all of them talking loud and fast.

"Right mess, this," she heard one woman comment as she stood up on her toes, looking over the taller blonde man standing in front of her.

"Green light, did you say?"

"Screamin', they were. You see 'em?"

Ginny hadn't been paying attention when a young woman asked her a question. She was trying to see inside.

"Dressed like you," she observed as if to accuse Ginny of something. "And talkin' 'bout marbles or mibbles or--" Muggles, Ginny silently corrected.

She stopped listening and directed her attention to the people walking toward them, unmistakably Aurors even though they were dressed as Muggles. At that point she was wishing she had gone back to Diagon Alley, but it was too late now. One of the Aurors, an older spindly man with graying hair and round wire-framed glasses walked over to her, looking her up and down then straight in the face.

"You must be Arthur's youngest," he said. She didn't recognize him, but that didn't mean anything. Being the only girl in a family as big as hers, a lot of people knew who she was.

Ginny nodded, smiling cordially.

"Did you see anything Miss Weasley?" he asked, surveying her once more.

Ginny shook her head. "Weasley-Malfoy," she corrected. "And no, I just came out of the Leaky Cauldron not ten minutes ago." The man nodded almost disapprovingly, and unprofessional for an Auror in her opinion.

There were two Muggles standing near by who looked at her strangely as she mentioned the Leaky Cauldron.

They stood there for a few minutes before the Auror finally spoke up.

"You best be off then. Don't want to be around when the Obliviators arrive."

The man didn't bother to say 'good day,' he just walked off toward the other Aurors who were talking to the policemen.

Halfway back to the Leaky Cauldron, she remembered why she was in Muggle London to begin with, and walked toward another shop to pick up the make-up. She was distracted as she walked though. "Green light," the woman said, and of course she knew what that meant--the killing curse. She just hoped that the lack of a Dark Mark above the shop meant it was just a senseless killing and not a Death Eater attack. (Not that either possibility was pleasant to think about.) Then she remembered Draco...

.~*~.

Orange-red flames flickered eratically in the sitting room fireplace as Pinny the house-elf, in her faded yellow tea towel, popped in to stoke the fire. Ginny, reclining on the overstuffed couch wrapped in her silk dressing gown, looked up at the creature scurrying around the room then returned to reading the latest issue of Pregnant Witch Monthly. She took a last sip of her tea, swirling the dregs thoughtfully, the events of that afternoon still on her mind. Her gaze fixed on the contents of her cup, and for some reason, she tipped it over into the saucer. She looked down curiously at the sodden pile of tealeaves wondering at what point she learned the proper way to begin a tealeaf reading. Having never taken Divination from Professor Trelawney, it was a mystery.

Then the voice spoke.

I took Divination and that's why you knew what to do.

Ever since the scar, identical in shape to Harry's, on her forehead began to appear, his voice inside her head became stronger. She could cover up the jagged scar (the Muggle make-up seemed to work well), but that didn't stop the voice in her head. It never said more than a few sentences, not enough to carry on a conversation, but she would find herself speaking to it, or answering back if it asked a question.

"Then why does it just look like a soggy brown wad?" she mumbled.

You have my memory of what to do with the tea dregs, but I never did learn what it all meant. Unless it was a Grim of course.

"What," she heard another voice from across the room, "is a 'soggy brown wad?'" It was Draco's, but it didn't seem like him. His typical drawl that grated on her nerves ever since she'd let Harry's memories into her head was missing. He strolled across the room and looked down at the saucer.

"I believe it means you need another cup of tea," he said, laceing his fingers through her hair. Ginny looked to see him smiling, the first genuine smile she'd seen from him in weeks, and a complete surprise considering the row that morning.

They had been distant with each other and for now Draco dismissed it as mood swings due to his wife's pregnancy. Ginny let him believe it, although she knew there was another reason for her behavior. She still loved him and wanted to grow old with him, but Harry's memories started to contaminate these feelings and she found it increasingly difficult to show the same affection for Draco that she had before unlocking the diary.

"Have you seen this?" Draco asked his wife, handing her the Evening Prophet with his free hand. The other was now resting on her shoulder. For a brief moment she thought he was showing her an article about an incident involving the killing curse near Diagon Alley earlier in the day.

"Your father is quoted in this article," he said pointing to the front page.

Ginny glanced at the headline: Ministry Cracks Down on Illegally Charmed Muggle Artifacts; Raids Continue.

"I know," said Ginny, handing the paper back to Draco and at the same time giving him a curious look. "Mum told me yesterday." Her eyes followed Draco as he walked over to the high-backed armchair next to the fireplace. He paused momentarily to gaze into the fire, then slowly sat down, holding the Evening Prophet out in front of him as though he was reading it, but it was obvious his eyes were focused elsewhere.

"Is your father concerned at all?" Ginny finally asked him.

"Hardly. You know he wants nothing to do with Muggles. Why should he worry? And since when do you concern yourself with him?"

"You know that's just the excuse. They never look for Muggle artifacts, they look for Dark Magic artifacts." Ginny shifted and sat up, trying, though unsuccessfully, to find a comfortable position. The baby seemed to have the hiccups. "I should think your father would be concerned."

"He can take care of himself," he said indifferently, taking Ginny by surprise. Lately he spoke about his father with a certain degree of reverence, but tonight his tone seemed almost disrespectful.

Ginny went back to her reading: "10 simple steps to ease the discomforts of pregnancy." She was through step seven (Enchanted aromatherapy candles that sense your mood) and was seriously considering throwing the magazine in the fireplace, especially since the baby had moved on from hiccupping and started kicking. Always when I'm trying to relax, she thought.

After reading step ten, Nightly foot massages from your dear husband, and deciding Draco would never touch her feet, she stood up moved around, hoping the motion would calm the baby down.

After four laps across the room, Draco looked up, watching her as she paced back and forth. "Is something wrong?" he asked, surveying his wife's pacing.

"The baby is kicking again," she sighed, bracing her back with her arm.

"Kicking?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, kicking. It is alive, and likes to move whenever I'm trying to relax."

He raised both eyebrows. Ginny crossed the room to Draco and pulled his hand up to her belly where she last felt the baby kick. To her continued surprise he seemed interested and didn't take his hand away.

"I don't feel anything," he said. Ginny sat in his lap, crumpling up the Evening Prophet as she made herself comfortable. Draco groaned.

"Oh come on, I'm no more than ten stone," she said, slightly aggravated.

"It will start again once I get comfortable." Ginny shifted her weight. Draco groaned again, and relaxed his hand, leaning back in the chair with his wife still sitting in his lap. "Justin and Beth had a son today," he said quickly.

"You saw Justin today?"

"Yes," Draco choked.

Ginny was about to ask more, but thought the better of it, deciding it was a bad idea to revive the morning's argument. For once they were sharing a romantic moment by the fire (Step number 3 according to Pregnant Witch Monthly.); she felt calm, and as she leaned back, tilting her head to one site to rest against his, she could feel him relax too.

Five minutes passed in silence, a very comfortable silence, with only the faint crackling from the fireplace. Ginny would have preferred to stay there all night, but sure enough, once she had calmed down, the baby started moving.

"Was that--"

"A kick? Yes."

They sat for several more minutes, the baby happily kicking away, and Draco still mesmerized by it. His change in attitude was welcome, but peculiar.

"Draco," she said quietly, her finger tracing figure-eights on the back of his hand.

"Yes?"

Ginny took a deep breath. "What happened today?"

.~*~.

Two months later...

Ginny cupped her hands under the tap, filling them with water and splashing it on her face then running her moist hands over her forehead and through her hair. Moaning, she stretched her arms above her head.

"Dear, you do looked flushed today," the mirror observed. "Perhaps you need a lie-in." In the almost eight months she'd lived in the mansion, never once had the mirror said something pleasant to her. Always "Your cheeks are blotchy," "You should really do something about those freckles," or simply "Go back to bed."

Pretending not to hear the mirror, as she always did, she leaned forward and examined the dark circles under her eyes, the red in her cheeks, and of course, the scar. She was using Muggle make-up to cover it up, but it wasn't working anymore; the scar was too dark against her fair, freckled skin. Now she had fringe, which effectively hid the scar, but soon after her change in hair style, she was wishing for different method of cover-up. The hair always seemed to be in her eyes, and if she didn't charm curl into them, they would go off in the wrong direction.

"Oh, there you are. Didn't you hear me?" Draco appeared in the doorway, startling Ginny. She smoothed out her hair damp hair and turned to her husband.

"I thought you left already."

He leaned against the jamb and said nothing until Ginny spoke again.

"Did you need something?"

"You don't look well," he observed.

"For eight and a half months pregnant I'd say I look good." Moving slowly, she walked past her husband who turned to watch her walk over to the wardrobe. She wanted to take the mirrors advice and go back to bed, but she could no longer lay comfortably. When she would finally get to sleep, there were dreams, nightmares and memories, most of them Harry's, and all of them a barrier to some much needed rest.

"As I was saying," said Draco, still standing by the bathroom door. "I need to leave soon, and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. Will you be all right here alone?"

"Where will you be if I need to reach you?" she asked, selecting a wool maroon jumper courtesy of her mum, and one of the only pairs of trousers she had that still fit around her waist.

"The Manor."

"Do I need to ask why?"

"I would prefer it if you didn't."

His comment piqued her curiosity so she turned around, dropping her clothes on the chair next to the wardrobe. Draco took this as his signal to become defensive although she had no intention of starting a confrontation. He stood up straightened as she approached and narrowed his cool gray eyes.

Ginny leaned into Draco (as much as she could under the circumstances) and kissed him on the cheek. It was brief, but enough to soften the features of Draco's face. His hands were gently stroking her arms as he gazed back at her, the corners of his mouth twisting into smile. Then, almost as quickly as he smiled, he tightened his lips into a line and released her.

Confused, Ginny tried to ask what was bothering him, but as he quickly swept out of the room, Disapparating with a pop! from the corridor, her stomach lurched. She braced herself against the door jamb, the realization suddenly dawning on her that the back pain and indigestion she'd been feeling all morning was the beginning of labor. Perfect, she thought, just as he leaves.

After a minute, she shuffled over to the fireplace. With great effort, she knelt and tossed in a handful powder saying: "The Burrow," then sticking her head into the green flames. A somewhat nauseating swirl later, she was peering into the kitchen at the Burrow.

"Hello Ginny, dear," Molly said cheerfully when she noticed her daughter's head in the fire.

Ginny didn't waste any time. "I think I'm having a baby now, mum."

It took a few moments for the news to register in her mother's face. "Are you sure? Isn't it a bit early?"

"It is, but Draco is gone until tomorrow. It's just me here for the now, well, and the house elf."

Molly briefly turned her attention beyond the kitchen to the sitting room then focused on her daughter again.

"Mum, who else is there?"

"Your brother," she said hastily. Before Ginny could remind her mother that she had more than one, she was out of the kitchen mumbling something like "Be there in twenty minutes, dear." She pulled her head out of the fire, hoping that the twenty minute comment was directed at her.

A short contraction hit, and that's when Ginny decided to have seat on the bed. When it was over, she took out the diary to occupy her time until her mother arrived.

.

~ Contractions started.

Oh, okay, push, breath, don't worry it will all be over soon.

~ Thanks, I'll remember that.

So if they started why are you writing to me?

~ I'm waiting for my mum to arrive.

Where's Draco?

~ The Manor, I think.

I won't ask.

~ Good, because I just told you everything I know on that subject.

I'd offer my hand to squeeze, but under the circumstances...

~ This book is indestructible.

Let's not test that right now.

~ There's something I've been meaning to ask you. Don't ask why I'm only now bringing it up, because I've had ample opportunity. I don't quite know how to ask it. I don't want to offend you, not that a diary could be offended but

What is it?

~ Okay. Your mum loved you very much. It was because of that that you were spared from You-Know-Who's curse. I know it was an ancient magic, and I've felt it inside me ever since I let you into my head. Why is it so important?

I didn't understand it myself until we made the diary. Dumbledore always told me a little about it each time I had an encounter with Voldemort. I bit irritating if you ask me. I would have preferred to hear it all at once, but no, Dumbledore took his time. I'm rambling, sorry. It's important because it's a magic that Voldemort could never master. Oh, he tried, and only once was he able to make a piece of it work for him.

~ What happened?

I died.

~ Oh.

What my mum did was purely unintentional, simply because she was unaware of it. It was something my father had given her after they were married. He told Sirius, and Sirius told Dumbledore about it, that's how I knew. He cast this ancient spell so my mother would always be protected. She died at Voldemort's hand because she passed it on to me without knowing it.

~ My mum loves me. Could she have done the same for me if I'd been in that situation?

If the spell had been cast on her, yes. But it's more complicated than that. It's not enough to just want to protect someone, you have to focus every part of yourself on it. From what Dumbledore told me, my dad wasn't even sure it would work, and that was after three years researching the spell. Contego meus dilectissimus, Ask me how it's done some time when you're not in labor.

.

"Ginny, dear, are you in your room?" her mother's voice called from the corridor.

.

~ I will, and thanks for telling me, Harry. My mum is here.

Good luck, Virginia.