Call to Destiny

Chapter 27

Merry Little Christmas

~

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas.

It may be your last.

Next year we may all be living in the past."

~

The doors to the Malfoy's library flew open with a bang as Bellatrix Lestrange strode in, robes billowing around her skeletal frame. Her eyes blazed, searching the room for her nephew.

"You," she hissed, spotting him seated in front of the fire, flipping idly through a book.

"Aunt Bella," Draco acknowledged her presence with a nod, his eyes still on the yellowing pages.

Bellatrix snatched the book from him. Draco looked up, annoyance flashing on his face.

"Do you mind?" he asked, and held out his hand for the book.

The book flew into the wall and fell to the floor, its ancient pages bent at angles that would later make them unreadable. Draco frowned. "That was unnecessary."

Bellatrix laughed.

"It is not your place to decide what is necessary and what is not, Draco." She spoke to him as one would to a child. "The Dark Lord will be here soon and it is your job as lord to welcome him."

Her lips peeled away from her teeth in a smile, revealing the rot that lay behind them. Draco felt revulsion pooling in his stomach.

"I am well aware of this, Aunt Bella," he said, his tone as condescending as her own. He got to his feet, giving himself the advantage of height. He was much taller than his aunt, and much stronger, her body frail from malnourishment and mania.

"And you're not...frightened?"

Draco ground his teeth.

"I don't know if I would be as calm in your place," she continued, smiling her rotting smile. "Particularly after the events of last spring."

Draco's eyes flashed.

"The Dark Lord himself forgave my actions," Draco reminded his aunt.

"Yes," she said. "Forgave. But hardly forgotten."

"In which case," Draco continued. "I must now do everything in my power to redeem myself."

"The Dark Lord does not forgive failures easily, Draco," Bellatrix warned. "If you fail him again, your father is...no longer in a position to protect you."

"I am aware of that, considering that I finalized the last of the funeral arrangements today."

"And as for your mother..." Bellatrix let her voice trail off ominously, her silence full of secrets.

Rage boiled under Draco's skin. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white with the effort of keeping his temper under control. He could see his hands wrapping around the bitch's throat, squeezing until her bones cracked.

"It will not come to that," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Bellatrix's lips twitched. "For her sake, I do hope that's true."

She turned on her heel and began to make her way out of the library, her worn boots clicking on the polished floor, leaving black streaks where she stepped. A crack snaked through Draco's calm.

"She is your sister," he hissed. "And you would do nothing to save her?"

Bellatrix stopped several feet from the door. She looked over her shoulder.

"Cissa is weak, Draco, a trait you seem to have inherited," she sneered, looking him up and down. "She won't survive. Regardless, the Cause comes before family. Do well to remember that, nephew."

The doors slammed shut behind the dark witch just as several busts depicting ancient Malfoys spontaneously combusted.

~

Ginny put her head back, letting the shower's spray sting her face. She frowned and straightened, turning up the water temperature again. Tendrils of steam curled around the corners of the bathroom and around her feet, but the shower was still not hot enough.

She had spent a lot of time in the shower since Draco's departure the week before. She couldn't sate the gnawing in her stomach or stop the feeling of a giant drill digging into her sternum every time she thought of him, which was unhealthily often, but at least the wonderful feeling of being clean was one she could replicate over and over again. There was just something about the hot water rhythmically hitting her back that calmed her. She turned the temperature up another notch.

Draco had been gone a week. She had not heard from him since she'd accidentally told him that she loved him, not that she had expected to hear from him. Oddly enough, her untimely declaration of love was not troubling her as much as she would have expected. The events of the past two weeks had had a numbing effect on her emotions. Ginny wondered if it was her subconscious's way of mentally readying her for the War.

Her Phoenix self was unbothered by the Dragon's absence. Their separation was something the two beings had seemingly become accustomed to. But the spear of pain in her breastbone when she thought of Draco went too deeply, and Ginny wondered if perhaps the Phoenix was mourning his absence as much as she was.

The thought made her sigh, and she leaned against the cool wall of the shower. It made a nice contrast to the shower's now scorching warmth. She could too easily imagine the Phoenix and Dragon's meetings from one lifetime to the next, only to be separated for another unknown length of time. For some reason, Ginny doubted they were together in the intervening time.

She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. The bathroom was filled with steam, so that when she opened the door, the tendrils of steam followed her into the room, curling like snakes in the cooler air.

Cassie was waiting for her in their common room, flipping through the Prophet, her trunk propped up against the couch. They were going home for the winter holidays and Ginny honestly didn't know if she'd rather forget herself in her family or curl up and sleep in her dormitory bed for the next two weeks.

The American witch looked up and smiled at the redhead's entrance.

"Have a nice boil?" Cassie asked.

"Very," Ginny answered with a small smile. Cassie had been wonderful to her the past week. She seemed to know exactly when Ginny needed to talk and when she wanted to be left alone. Ginny had gotten suspicious enough to ask her if she was a Legilimens. Cassie had laughed herself silly.

"Anything in the paper?"

Cassie shook her head. "No. There...there is an announcement about Lucius Malfoy's funeral. Since there's no legal proof against him, he's getting a normal burial."

Ginny snorted at the bit about legal proof and Cassie rolled her eyes in agreement. While she had fallen for the younger Malfoy, Ginny had no warm feelings towards Malfoy senior. The diary was a dark piece of her past she kept hidden at the depths of her mind, but the residual shadows the ordeal had cast on her life were unforgivable.

Cassie handed her the paper and Ginny's eyes scanned the announcement. The burial would take place on Christmas Eve, at the Malfoy's private cemetery. It was a closed ceremony. Due to certain traditions, wizarding burials took place much later after the person died than muggle burials. Ginny sighed and handed Cassie the paper.

"I wish I could..." the redhead searched for words and failed to find any she deemed adequate.

"Be there for him?" Cassie supplied.

Ginny nodded.

"He's a big boy, Gin," Cassie said, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder. "He'll be okay."

"I hope," Ginny sighed again. "The only person I've ever known that's died was Sirius Black. That was awful and I didn't really even know him that well. But I saw what it did to Harry. And I can't imagine what Draco..."

She trailed off and sank into the armchair across from Cassie. She needed to get a grip. Cassie was right. Draco was a big boy, with his own plans, and she trusted him. And, morbid as it was, the knowledge that neither of them would survive the War was oddly comforting. She'd be with him again someday, just not as Ginny Weasley.

"Sirius Black?" Cassie asked, breaking through Ginny's thoughts. "The murderer?"

Ginny nodded. "He wasn't a murderer, but you've probably read the stories."

Cassie nodded. "Yeah, I did. What- what was he like?"

Ginny's eyebrows went up at the odd question.

"My mom used to know him," Cassie explained.

"Oh," Ginny frowned. "Well, like I said, I never really knew him well. What I know of him I know mostly from Harry. Sirius and Harry's dad were best friends. They were pranksters when they were at Hogwarts, kind of like Fred and George, from what I've figured."

The thought of her brothers sobered her. The twins were still in St. Mungo's, though they were both awake now. She shook her head.

"I don't really know, Cassie," she said. "I do wish we, especially Harry, had gotten to known what kind of man Sirius had been before Azkaban."

"Yeah," Cassie said softly. "My mom said he was a cool guy."

Ginny tilted her head to the side, wondering what had made her friend so uncharacteristically serious. Cassie stood, shaking herself off.

"We should go," she said, grabbing her trunk.

Ginny followed suit and the two girls made their way to the Entrance Hall in thoughtful silence.

~

Christmas dawned at the Burrow, bright and snowy. Ginny made her way downstairs for breakfast in her pajamas and a bathrobe, her hair in a haphazard ponytail. She met Harry on the stairs, mid-yawn.

"Happy Christmas, Gin," he greeted her with a smile.

Feeling loving, Ginny wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He returned it, squeezing her tightly, just like Charlie always did.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," she said, smiling at him. "Let's go see what my mum's cooked up for breakfast."

The elder Weasleys, Bill, Fleur, and Charlie were already seated at the breakfast table. Bill and Charlie raised their eyebrows at Ginny and Harry's simultaneous entrance and the two in question rolled their eyes. No one in Ginny's family had yet given up hope that one day she and Harry would see the error of their ways and fall madly in love.

"Morning all," she greeted and began to fill her plate with pancakes.

Ron staggered into the room not much later, his hair looking like something had tried to nest in it overnight.

"Food," Ron breathed reverently. "Excellent."

Ginny exchanged an amused glance with Harry and rolled her eyes.

Surprisingly, being home had been exactly what Ginny had needed. Being around her family had reminded her of everything their side was trying to protect: the way of life in which she had grown up, surrounded by love, care, and understanding. Ginny had gotten heaping amounts of all three, never straying far from any one member of her family at a time (not that it was a very difficult thing to do). She had even had a pleasant conversation with Phlegm. The half-Veela had become surprisingly more agreeable in pregnancy.

Most importantly, she had firmly reminded herself that Draco was not the priority in her life. The people sitting around her came before anything else, even the boy she had somehow fallen in love with.

"Ginny, pass the syrup," Ron ordered, holding out one hand for the syrup, the other busy heaping more waffles onto his plate.

Ginny rested her chin on her hand and raised an eyebrow at her brother until he finally looked up at her.

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What?"

Ginny smiled slowly. "I believe you forgot something."

To her genuine amusement, Ron looked down at his attire. "No..."

"She means you forgot to say please, you oaf," Charlie explained.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Please pass the syrup, Ginny."

Ginny smirked, but made no move to do as he asked. She could see Ron growing more annoyed by the second.

"Ginny!" he finally exploded.

"Ginevra Molly," Molly Weasley scolded from the other side of the table. "Stop baiting your brother and give him the syrup."

"Yeah, the Malfoy impersonation was starting to get creepy," Fred commented, making his way into the kitchen on crutches. Molly immediately stood and tried to help her son to a chair, Fred swatting her away all the while. The twins had been allowed to come home the very day before, and Molly had tended to their every need, real and imagined, since then.

Ginny laughed delightedly and handed the syrup to a very irate Ron.

~

The Burrow was full of family, friends, and other various Order members, all invited for Christmas dinner. Only a fool would decline an invitation to Molly Weasley's Christmas feast. Fred and George were holding court in the living room, telling the story of the attack on their shop in dramatic detail. Tonks and Lupin sat on the battered old couch, laughing at George's mimicry. Bill, Charlie, and Kingsley Shaklebolt were righting the fallen tree, laden down with too many ornaments for its weak branches. Harry and Ron had been playing wizarding chess against Katie and Angelina until the girls had been called away by Molly to help in the kitchen. The girls had put up an impressive fight until then.

Ginny made her way into the kitchen, just as Hermione was coming out with a plate of candied yams. Mouth-watering scents were issuing from the kitchen, and Ginny's stomach rumbled audibly as she stepped inside.

Molly Weasley ran her kitchen the way a general runs an army. The assembled women each had an assigned task which was to be completed with the utmost precision and perfection and woe be unto the one who made a mistake. Molly had shooed every man out of the kitchen, deeming each one too incompetent to help with the actual preparation of the food. Tonks, too, had been shunned.

Molly stood at the stove, stirring the multitude of pots and pans, another dozen or so stirring themselves nearby. Ginny quietly sneaked up behind her mother and wrapped her in a hug from behind.

Molly didn't even start. "You've set out all the plates? Did you leave room for the dishes? What about the good wine glasses? Did Bill get those for you?"

"Yes, Mum," Ginny assured her. She was tall enough now to put her chin on her mother's shoulder. "Everything is set."

Molly moved so that Ginny was standing beside her, her non-wand arm around her daughter's shoulders.

"Do you see how the soup needs to be stirred frequently?" Molly pointed to a pot in the back left corner. "If not, it will boil over and burn. Once that happens, it's completely lost."

Ginny nodded. "What about the gravy?"

"As long as you follow the recipe exactly, you shouldn't have to worry about it."

Molly turned to her daughter, tucking a strand of Ginny's bright hair behind her ear.

"Are you alright, dear?" Molly asked. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sad. "You've been so...loving since you've come home for the holiday. It's almost like I have my little Gin-Gin back again. Did something...happen?"

Ginny shrugged, refusing to meet her mother's eyes. Molly Weasley had an unnatural ability to tell when one of her children was lying and Ginny didn't want her to see the secrets hidden in her eyes.

Actually, Mum, now that you mention it, something did happen. This summer I became a member of a mythical group of guardians. We're supposed to protect the Light, fight demons, all that rot. So, I killed a few demons and in the process became friends with Draco Malfoy. Oh, did I mention that we were roommates? Speaking of roommates, my new roommate at school is a Wicca, and I think she's hiding some other secret that I haven't quite figured out yet. Oh, and after fighting a group of demons with her and Draco Malfoy two weeks ago, I had sex with Draco Malfoy. And I seem to have fallen in love with him, too, but that really doesn't matter because both of us are certain to die in the War.

"I guess I've just missed you," she answered softly, daring a peek up.

Her mother was smiling, but her eyes were filling with tears.

"Mum..."

"Oh, Ginny," Molly whispered, cupping the side of Ginny's face. She was looking at her like she was trying to memorize her every freckle, as though she might disappear in a puff of smoke at any moment, like one of Fred and George's jokes. Ginny realized that eventually, that was exactly what was going to happen. A lump formed in Ginny's own throat and she threw her arms around her mother. What if this was their last Christmas together?

"What's going to happen to you, Ginny?" her mother whispered, stroking the young girl's hair. Ginny swallowed the sob that rose up and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to expel as much of her tears as possible. No one else in the noisy kitchen spared them a glance.

"I love you, Mum," Ginny finally managed to whisper.

"I love you, too, Gin-Gin."

"Molly?"

Mother and daughter pulled away, looking for the source of the voice. Lupin had stuck his head in the door, looking apologetic.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I believe you said you wanted to greet Leona?"

Molly stepped away from her daughter, bustling back into matriarch mode. "Oh, yes! Angelina, dear, do make sure these keep stirring, would you?"

Molly followed Lupin out into the living room, Ginny following behind them, where the noise level had dropped somewhat as a few curious visitors watched the newcomer. Lupin had said earlier that he had extended Molly's invite to a former Order member who had just returned from overseas. What Lupin had not said was that the former Order member was a very attractive blond woman. She stood nervously by the front door, smiling uncertainly at the assembled group, her short bob swishing. She wore black dress pants and a white sweater, navy robes thrown over her arm. She looked up at Lupin and beamed, becoming even prettier. She had the sort of smile that lights up a room, rather like a Christmas tree at full blast. There was something familiar about the smile.

"Molly," Lupin said by way of introduction. "This is Leona. Leona; Molly."

Leona stepped up to shake Molly's hand, revealing another person behind her. This one had her head ducked, a curtain of dark hair obscuring her face, an act that hardly made her bright red sweater any less noticeable. Molly ignored the proffered hand and hugged the younger woman.

"Welcome to our home, Leona," Arthur said, joining his wife in front of the newcomer.

Leona smiled. "Thank you. I'm sorry I neglected to mention it when we spoke, but I've brought my daughter along - "

"Nonsense," Molly said dismissively, looking around Leona at her daughter. "It's Christmas, and Christmas is for family."

Leona's daughter cautiously lifted her head.

Ginny gasped.

"Cassie!"

~

The bathroom light reflecting off the tile was too bright.

Draco screwed his eyes completely shut, grinding his teeth as another wave of pain rolled over him. The tile under his arm was growing wet and warm, but he ignored it.

He was laying on his bathroom floor, pain causing him to curl in on himself. His left arm, freshly branded with the Dark Mark, lay prone and extended on the floor before him.

Having buried Lucius the day before had apparently signaled to the Dark Lord that a new Malfoy must step into the ranks of Death Eaters. The Dark Lord had thought it a great irony to 'christen' his newest, most promising servant on the day Muggles celebrated the birth of their savior. He made no secret of knowing about the new, sudden power that the Malfoy heir, now Malfoy Lord, possessed. Greed to add such a shiny new toy to his arsenal, however, caused him to overlook, or, more likely, disregard the origin of the power. Draco was thankful for that, at least.

The Marking had been painful, of course, but Draco had been through worse. In fact, the Marking had been no worse than a Cruciatus Curse. This, however, was fresh hell indeed.

Draco felt the first little electric shocks of pain and bit his lip to keep from making sound. He could feel the blood rising to the surface, first appearing in little droplets along the outline of the Mark, slowly turning the black lines of the brand red, until they became too full and overflowed, causing rivets of his own blood to run down his pale forearm and pool beneath it.

At first, Draco had thought it was simply a part of the Marking, a horrible little aftereffect the Dark Lord had added to remind his new servants of his power. Draco had only made it as far as his bedroom, collapsing just outside the bath, before realizing the twisted cause of his torment. The hellish pain he was suffering was no deed of the Dark Lord's, but rather his own body rebelling against him. In trying to expel the fresh Darkness from his system, the Dragon's regenerative powers were crippling him. The healing powers of the Warriors were apparently no match for a masterpiece of the Dark Lord's magic.

Draco realized the irony in this and had even chuckled bitterly upon finally crawling into his bathroom. He supposed it was another measure of punishment imposed on him for his past betrayals.

A ragged gasp escaped him as the blood rushed to the surface faster than before, and he wondered distantly if cursed mythical warriors could die from blood loss. He eventually decided that the gods were normally far more creative.