Where'd You Go?

Chapter Ten. Getting There

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose [The more things change, the more they are the same].

--Alphonse Karr

Harry sat gazing at the fire, unseeing. He barely had a sense of who he even was anymore. All he knew was that he wanted to go back home to the people he considered family. And to Ginny. Ginny was the first person to tell him they loved him besides his mother, which he regrettably couldn't remember. There were many things that kept his eyes on the prize, but the thing that came to the forefront of his mind every time was her.

He, Ron and Hermione had been gone so long that time had begun to warp together. Days turned into weeks which turned into months, and they were still gone from the world. Even still, Harry knew it was Christmas.

He would have known even if it weren't for Ron and Hermione's restrained faces, clearly wondering if it would even be appropriate to say anything. Harry couldn't help but laugh at Ron's nervous twitches.

He could hardly blame them for their hesitancy. Harry had been extremely driven throughout the whole mission. Combined with all their skills and cunning, it was how they had found Hufflepuff's cup at the orphanage where Voldemort used to live. It was how they found Slytherin's locket in a forgotten muggle second-hand shop. It was how they now found themselves in a forest in Albania.

Perhaps too driven. He failed to stop and think sometimes how much his friends had sacrificed for him.

"What do you say we head out tomorrow instead of today?" Harry asked casually, looking over his shoulders and at their surprised faces.

"Er," said Ron, chancing a glance at Hermione, who shrugged helplessly.

"It is Christmas, you know. Unless you two hadn't known..."

Ron pounced on him and put him in a chokehold. "Harry, you prat!" Hermione shook her head, chuckling. Ron extended an arm to pull Hermione close, only to tickle her mercilessly. Hermione shrieked with laughter and tried to escape his clutches while Harry was busy trying to breathe for dear life.

Just for a few minutes, they were able to forget the world and lose themselves in the joy of being the very best of friends.

***

On Boxing Day, something unimaginable happened: Draco knocked on Ginny's door. While walking over to the door she furiously rubbed any remaining tears from her eyes. The misery of not knowing where her loved ones were at Christmas, or what kind of danger they were even in, hit her harder than she thought it would.

"What do you want?" she asked warily. She never quite knew what to do, say or think around him anymore. His mere presence unsettled her greatly. She would have rathered he not come around at all. Not to mention she was dressed in her nightgown as she was getting ready for bed and wasn't too keen on him seeing like this.

He held up a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey in one hand and two shot glasses in another. "To get mind-numbingly pissed, of course," Draco said as if he were explaining it to a five year old. He neither asked nor seemed to care why she had been crying.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Where did you even get that?"

"Your brothers," Draco smirked. "Never thought they were very much use until now."

"Fred and George?"

"Unless you have another pair of revolting-haired twins somewhere, which I wouldn't doubt, then yes."

"Why? They don't even like you?"

"It was undoubtedly a thank you gift."

Ginny gritted her teeth in frustration. "Sometimes I feel as if I would rather eat rat poison than try to get a few answers out you. Can you just spit it out already?"

Draco made such a great show of sighing that Ginny really just wanted nothing more than to slam the door in his face.

"Well, if you must know, I bribed them with a very expensive family piece in exchange for their services. No doubt they'll pawn it off to some grubby shop for extra money."

"What services?"

"Use your brains, Ginevra--"

"How do you know about that!" she practically shrieked.

He ignored her. "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are my only links to the outside world. As much as it pained me to part with a ring so filled with nobility to somebody like your brothers, it was well worth the sacrifice. I now have just about anything I could want at my disposal."

"Like what? And I can't believe they told you! I'm never speaking to them again."

"I'm sure their hearts will bleed at the very suggestion." Draco rolled his eyes and tapped the bottle against his black-slack clad leg impatiently.

"I don't bloody well care what they feel," Ginny said sulkily. "And what do you need so bad that forced you to sell your soul to the devil - commonly referred to Fred and George?"

"I sold my soul a long time ago. I have no soul," Draco said in a deadpan. He wasn't even looking at her anymore. He was in another time, another place. Undoubtedly thinking about things Ginny could never even begin to conjure in her mind. Her eyes automatically rooted to the spot where she knew his dark mark lay under his navy blue jumper.

"So, um...Firewhiskey then?" Ginny asked awkwardly, her gaze flicking down to the floor when he looked at her.

"Yes," he said sharply. For once she knew it wasn't aimed at her.

Ginny summoned some cushions to the floor and made herself comfortable on a few of them. Draco looked at her in utter disgust.

"There is no way I am sitting on the floor!" he exclaimed scathingly.

"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure I cleared all the owl droppings away. At least, I think I did." She scratched her head, as if trying to remember. Draco looked about ready to flee.

Ginny erupted into giggles at the look on his face. "Don't be such a pretentious prat, Draco! You know very well Mum has us clean the floors every few days. Now sit down and stop being a girl." And with that, she took his wrist and pulled him down onto the cushions across from her. He grimaced buy she completely ignored him and took one of the glasses from his hand.

"You never told me why you came to me in the first place. Or what you need the dimwits to get for you."

"Is that a question?" he asked, still looking uneasy but pouring them both shots anyway.

"Yeah."

He shrugged carelessly. "It is quite desperate for a person to drink alone. My choice was either you or Kreacher."

"Oh, really, you're turning my head."

Draco picked up his glass and downed the glass easily. Ginny followed suit. However, the liquid burned down her throat and she started coughing. Despite that, however, she could feel the alcohol hit her stomach and was already starting to feel good.

"Another. I'll pour this time. You talk." Ginny placed both the glasses next to each other and drizzled the Firewhiskey over both without stopping. She was very proud of herself for not spilling any.

Again, Draco took his shot effortlessly. This time, Ginny knew what to expect and it was a little easier this time. And she was starting to feel better and better.

"Music," he announced suddenly.

"What?"

"I want sheet music from the bookstore. The collection here is rubbish."

Ginny stared at him incomprehensibly. "You really do play then?"

"No, it was all just an elaborate ruse to lure you to the attic so I could have my wicked way with you," he said as he poured another round.

As she took her third shot, she tried to figure out if he was kidding or not.

"Honestly. Of course I really play."

Ginny lounged against the pillows. "It just doesn't seem like your kind of thing. Art...music...what's next?"

"Underwater basket weaving, I think."

"Now I know you're joking!" And she laughed as if it was the most hilarious thing she had ever heard.

Ginny learned a lot about Draco that evening, and about herself. He told her about the appreciation of the arts that he gained from his mother. He actually had something resembling pride and adoration in his voice when he talked of her and Ginny knew he missed her.

They even touched on the world around them. She would never truly understand what goes through a person's head to make them become Death Eaters, but Draco provided a little insight. For him, it was not a choice to be made; it was simply the thing to do. What reason would he have to question his father's ideals?

"I still don't think he's wrong," he slurred stubbornly. "I just don't want to kill anyone."

Ginny erupted into giggles again, though she wasn't sure why.

In turn, she told him all about her childhood. She told him how she grew up carrying a torch for Harry. She admitted how much she missed him and stared longingly out the window, wondering where they were now. Ginny was too lost in her own world and too drunk to see the look that flashed across Draco's face.

It was clear they came from very different worlds, and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world for them to be sitting together, sharing a bottle of Firewhiskey and even a few laughs.

And what did Ginny learn about herself? She can't hold her liquor.