Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"I hope she hasn't changed the password," Lavender said anxiously. "If so, you'll just have to go on ahead, Charity." She cleared her voice, staring at the gargoyle as if it were a living guard hellbent on stopping her. "Whiskers and herring!"

Draco raised an eyebrow, and Charity doubled up in laughter that had a marked tinge of nervousness about it, so close to her goal. "Oh, that's so Minnie." They stepped onto the moving stairs behind the gargoyle, and were carried quickly, steadily up a floor.

Draco wouldn't soon forget the look on Minnie's - Minerva McGonagall's face when she saw the three of them standing in the doorway to her office. Her look of cool, polite anticipation, suggesting she'd been interrupted at work, unravelled in a split second, her hand darting to her lips in a gesture of stunned recognition.

"Charity?" she whispered. "Oh, my dear, is that you?"

"None other," said Charity gently, and waited until McGonagall mutely stepped aside before gliding into the room. Lavender and Draco followed, and Draco heard the door swing shut with a sound of finality.

No way back, now. At that moment the choice was taken out of his hands, lifted off his shoulders, and he felt nothing but pure, blessed relief.

"Lavender... Mr Malfoy." McGonagall said their names more as if to make a note of them to herself, than as a greeting. She made a distracted gesture toward the chairs opposite her desk, but didn't sit down herself. She remained standing, staring at her dead colleague, her voice thick with emotion when she spoke. "We've searched the country up and down for you, Charity. For any trace of what might have happened to you."

Charity gave a rueful shrug, raising her arms to the sides. "Nothing left to find but this, I'm afraid. I owe it to Draco, that he has brought me here. I couldn't have found my way on my own." She looked proudly at him, and at Lavender, too. "He and Miss Brown have been most astute, determined and courageous in their efforts to convey me to your door."

That was an extremely generous summary of his history with Charity, and Draco felt his ears go warm, both with the praise, which sounded heartfelt, and with the recognition that it was a highly misleading description of anything but the very last few days. Indeed, the look McGonagall gave him was non-committal.

Charity was glancing around her with interest. "Very different. But I like what you've done with the space, Minerva; I really do. It must have been hard, giving up your old office and quarters."

McGonagall looked like she balanced right on the edge between tears, laughter, and a shouting fit. "It was. It's starting to feel like home, finally. Charity—"

"I wonder," continued Charity, "if it wouldn't be best if I speak with you under four eyes. Do you have somewhere these two can catch their breath, meanwhile? They've had a long and stressful journey."

McGonagall nodded, and crossed the room to a door in the back. "You may wait in the lounge. Unless there's somewhere else you'd rather go? Please help yourself to tea and shortbread; you know where to find it, Lavender."

They filed inside, and the soft hum of a privacy charm descended on the room they'd left.

Draco looked around. The room was quite small, but comfortably furnished, comprising a dresser with tea-making amenities, bookshelves on every wall, and a red tartan couch and armchair on opposite sides of an elegant, gleaming coffee table on ornate legs. The window looked out onto the lake.

"This is where Minerva and I talked after I'd broken her nose," Lavender said, flopping down on the couch. Draco aimed for the armchair, but Lavender interrupted him. "Oi." She was patting the couch cushion beside her, and grinning at him. "I intend to rest my weary head on your broad shoulder. For that, I need your broad shoulder to be over here."

He snorted, and sank down beside her, an arm going around her when she promptly lay her head down on his shoulder according to her declared intent. She didn't stop with that, but toed off her shoes and swung her feet up onto the couch, her legs over his lap. "Well, we pulled it off," she said, looking up in his face.

"We did." He tugged her closer with his arm around her, liking the warmth of her against him, her drawn up knees resting against his midriff, her wind-tousled hair so soft against his jaw. Liking her. Liking that she'd commandeered his shoulder to rest on and had called it 'broad'. She was trusting, genuine, seemingly uncomplicated in so far as any woman could ever be. And yet he knew she had her own monsters under the bed, her own uncertainties about the future to grapple with, her own qualms about this journey home. She'd come with him, anyway. "You were quite brave," he said, "on the broom ride."

She grinned tiredly. "Maybe I'll find out that it worked as exposure therapy. The second hour wasn't as scary as the first and the third was almost exciting. But it might be only because at that point I was too exhausted to notice I was afraid."

"You did well."

"Mmm. Thanks." She raised a hand, brushing his hair back from his brow. "It's done, then. Still no regrets?"

"None, provided the Headmistress doesn't call in Aurors to march me straight to interrogations at the Ministry." Lavender looked distressed, and he made an apologetic grimace, regretting bringing it up. It made him pretty queasy to think of, anyway. "No, honestly, I'm prepared to face the music, if it comes to that. It's a long time coming. How she died, it haunted me... long before she did." He swallowed hard under the feather light caress of her fingers, brushing his hair behind his ear, now. It sent distracting tingles down his nape, his spine. "Thanks for giving me a kick in the arse."

"It didn't take that much, Draco. More of a friendly nudge to your arse. You found your own courage," she said earnestly. "I think that's the only way it ever works."

He wasn't so sure how this would have happened without her around — perhaps not fast enough to help Charity before his parents got to her, anyway — but he wasn't eager to argue when her opinion was so clearly to his advantage. He sank back into the cushions and pillows, unable to quite suppress a wince. He was going to be feeling that broom-ride for some days. His entire body ached. "And you?" he asked into the silence between them, "Ready to face England?"

She let out a rather painful-sounding sigh. "I suppose I'll have to be. Grab the bull by the horns, like those kids at Knossos... Parvati and I are... were... going to open up a tea room with Divination services." The tale seemed to end there, but Draco waited patiently, and finally, she went on. "That is, she thinks we're going to. We've been planning it since we were thirteen. Have been putting aside money for it for the past three years. Parvati's got us a promise of a loan from her parents, for the rest."

"And?" he asked, wondering.

"Well... things changed, after the Battle. Obviously." That unconscious straying of her fingers to her cheek, again. "I was at St. Mungo's for weeks. It took time to heal. That is, my skin sort of did, pretty soon. But... it was like I had scars inside, too, that took much longer to heal. I had nightmares of Greyback coming at me; I woke crying from them every night. I always felt like people were staring at me. I went and re-did my seventh year, with Parvati, expected things to get better, but they only felt worse. And... somewhere in there, I've realised that I don't want to open a Divination tea room any longer. At first, it was because I wanted to hide myself away, not have a job where I had to talk to strangers all the time and face their reactions to me. But now... it's not really about that."

What was it she'd said, that night she'd discovered Charity in his hotel room? "I've promised things that I can't deliver. And instead I want things I'm afraid to do." He tilted his face at her, caught her sad eyes. "What is it you're afraid to do?"

"Beyond telling Parvati that I'm jumping ship? Wrecking our dream?" She sighed, dropping her gaze. "I don't know, I..."

"You've got to know roughly what it is, to be scared of it," he pointed out.

"All right!" She sounded upset, all of a sudden. "If the Battle of Hogwarts had taken place at the full moon, everything would have been different! I would have been a Werewolf; I would have been shunned. And there are so many that Greyback and his pack hurt during the war. I escaped with a few scars, but there are plenty of people, plenty of kids that he turned, and it breaks my heart to think of. If I'd been turned, my family and friends would have helped me somehow get the Wolfsbane potion, but that thing is so indecently expensive, and there are people out there, kids out there, who face agony and terror every full moon!"

"Survivor's guilt?" he asked softly, surprised.

"No! I don't feel guilty for surviving!" She was almost shouting, suddenly, and he reached quickly for his wand and cast a discreet privacy charm of their own. "I did nothing wrong! I feel guilty because I'm doing nothing now! I should be fighting for free Wolfsbane potion every fucking month for every werewolf in Britain!"

Draco looked at her strangely. She was staring at him, sitting defensively braced in his arms, as if expecting him to laugh out loud at her, to tell her she was crazy to harbour such a thought — well, a dream, because that's what it sounded like. "Perhaps, if you're feeling that strongly about it, you should?" he said, reaching for her again and pulling her close in a gentling motion.

She seemed to kind of collapse against his chest, feeling smaller, more vulnerable. "But that's not me! I'm supposed to open a fun and pretty Divination tea room with Parvati! We've planned it since we were kids! And everyone would laugh at me. No one would take me seriously. I'm just a silly girl who cares about makeup and boys, right?"

"'Such a fucking silly, shallow thing'?" he asked, throwing her own words back at her, as he remembered them, anyway. "If you wouldn't take it from McGonagall, you shouldn't take it from yourself." He shook her gently. "Listen to yourself, damn it. Look at yourself. You're truly passionate about this. You have grit, you have courage, you have... you're all heart." Quoting Charity now, but Draco saw the truth in her words as plain as day and felt he could be forgiven for not citing his sources. He smirked at her. "Bit of a cheeky monkey, but all heart. There's nothing disqualifying about caring about makeup and boys. And for the record, I think you're bloody gorgeous. So if people should happen to stare at you, whether you work in a tea room or on the barricades for Werewolves' rights, that would no doubt be the reason."

She blinked up at him, surprise in her eyes, her cheeks red, and Draco smiled and cupped her cheek in his hand. It felt so warm to the touch, and she turned it into his palm with a kind of unthinking yearning that caused his breath to catch hard with a surge of protectiveness. But not the familiar kind that was tinged with guilt, that he'd felt for Pansy, or duty, that he'd felt toward his parents. Something that felt light and warm and no trouble at all.

"Thanks," she whispered, that impish smile starting to appear on her face again. "And, um, I'm sorry for yelling. Today's the full moon. I get a very short fuse around that time."

"Yeah, you told me that first night, in the restaurant. You yelled at me, then, too." That was just two nights ago, he realised with a start. It somehow felt longer than that. These past days had been pretty insane. He didn't think he'd ever got to know someone that well, that fast before; certainly no one outside his safe Pureblood circle of friends.

"Do you... do you really think I should do it?"

He frowned. "I don't think you should do anything, Brown. I think you can do anything you want to do, and feel is right. Including this. After all," he reminded her, "don't forget what your enemies call you."

She laughed in surprised delight. "Very true. The Ministry has no idea what's coming at them."

"That's the spirit." She still seemed a bit subdued, no doubt still dreading the part of telling Patil that she was backing out of their shared project, but there seemed to be a new straightness to her spine, a hope in her eyes, faith that she might not be trading away the old dream for nothing. He didn't begrudge her the hope he saw in her eyes, felt proud that he'd had some part in putting it there, yet he felt an unexpected sting of envy, too. There'd never been any consideration for him to have a career, to do anything but learn to manage the family's estate and various funds. That was what Malfoys had done for generations, after all, hoarding Galleons and land and gaming the system. He'd never questioned it. He'd sat for his N.E.W.T.s, after the war, had passed them easily and then tried to forget about them, yet if he were honest, he had his secret dreams, too, as well as his fears of ridicule.

She seemed to catch on to something in his expression, tilting her head to the side as she studied him. "And you," she asked, "what are you doing, anyway, when you're not honeymooning on your own?"

And... the blasted thing was, Draco found he didn't want to tell Lavender Brown he was doing nothing of purpose with his life. So he told her something else instead. And then he braced like she'd done a minute before, regretting the impulse when he saw her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth fall open.

"Wait," she said when he turned away blushing and discomfited, caught his face in her hand and turned it back to her. Her initial astonishment was gone without a trace, replaced by curiosity and excitement. "I didn't mean to... Actually, I think you'd be amazing at it."

"Based on what?" he asked, feeling inordinately prickly. He didn't like being so transparent, and it was easy for her to say, after all. "A Malfoy, in such a job; it might be frowned upon, don't you think?" His parents would most certainly frown. It was almost a good enough argument in itself, to try it.

"Well, you're dashing," Lavender said. "That's the most important qualification, yeah? You should absolutely do it."

He looked at her carefully for signs of mockery. She was smiling at him, but she didn't sound, or look, as if she were making fun, or finding the idea hopeless. "It's true; I am."

She giggled. "Confidence is probably a requirement, too."

Deep down, Draco wasn't a hundred per cent certain how he fared in that department. "I have a healthy ego. Does that count?"

"I'll tell you a secret," she said. "From a bit of a distance, no one can tell the difference. And confidence comes with doing, doesn't it? I hope so, or I'm screwed."

She looked so... sweet sitting there, smiling brightly at him, a whole brimming ocean of faith in her eyes, for herself and him. No, sweet wasn't the word he was looking for, not the one he was really thinking. He was thinking of her grabbing his hand and dragging him into a clear blue lake full of invisible snakes and making him laugh about it, he was thinking of her teasing about flashing her tits at him and that wicked laughter in her eyes, and he was thinking, most of all, of her sitting astride his thighs in that hotel room in a pool of blue-green velvet and about the noises she'd made when he—

"Fuck, you're adorable," he muttered, leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. He was going for dashing, but probably only managed awkward, because their noses collided and aborted the kiss at once, and she giggled again, breathless, and this time he thought it really might be at his expense. But her arms slid around his neck and caught him safe and sure, mending any slight to his pride. And her lips, her mouth, were warm and soft and wet, her tongue sliding along his, and Draco pulled her more fully onto his lap and curved his hands around her hips and forgot, for a while, all about wayward ghosts and unbearably controlling parents, or the inconvenient fact that he was snogging Lavender Brown as if their lives depended on it in a room in Headmistress Minerva McGonagall's private quarters at Hogwarts.

***

When Charity had finished her account, seated in one of the big armchairs in Minerva's library, her old friend and colleague was silent for a while. She reached into her robes and drew forth a tartan hankie and dabbed at her eyes, and Charity sighed. "I very much wish I could give you a hug right now, Minerva, but we both know it would be dissatisfactory for me and unpleasant for you."

"I'm afraid so," said Minerva thickly and tucked the hankie away. "The feeling is mutual." She pulled herself together with a visible effort. "We've obviously feared the worst, Charity, after you disappeared without a trace. Your suffering was appalling, and indeed, this is exactly the kind of scenario my imagination has plagued me with since your disappearance. I am, however, extremely relieved that you managed to escape Malfoy Manor and make it safely here. You'll find a welcoming home here, as you know. I'll get the Floo line connected promptly so that the Ministry can send someone from the Spirit Division to help with the formal transferral of your attachment from the Manor — or Draco Malfoy, as the case might be — to Hogwarts. We should also ask for an Auror to take your statement, of course. And just in case the Malfoys are still at your heels, I suggest we do it sooner rather than later."

It was so like Minerva, to take refuge from strong emotion in brisk action, and Charity shook her head fondly. "Sit down a while longer, Minerva," she pleaded, as Minerva started to rise. "Surely I'm safer here, even unbound, than most places I could be, and... I'm not quite done."

With a look of surprise, Minerva sank back into her armchair again. "What's on your mind, Charity? Of course, if you need a bit of a rest first, that's understandable."

"I don't only need a bit of a rest. I feel like I need a long, long rest." Charity smiled unsurely, hoping so hard it hurt. "Preferably for eternity."

"Ah, Charity—" Minerva's lips turned down in a pained grimace. "You know better than that, my dear."

"No! Please, hear me out. I have an idea, you see." She was worried that she came across as desperate - well, she felt desperate, now that the moment had come, and she'd find out if her hopes had been misplaced all along. "It's fear of death that traps a ghost in its existence, that's what I've always heard, what we teach the students. Ambivalence about the afterlife. You make that choice, and you are stuck with it. I know. But Minerva, for me, that wasn't the case. At the time of death, it came as a relief, as you can imagine. Yet I was almost at once seized by a... a horror at what I'd left behind. I think I knew the snake would have my body. I realised, at any rate, that no trace of me would ever be found. I'd suffered so, and was distraught that my fate would be buried and hidden, that there would be no justice for me or my family, that my poor parents would never get certainty about my death, that I would leave so many questions behind. And so, in a moment of despair, I turned. But it wasn't despair for death, or fear of the afterlife, not as such."

Minerva let out a soft breath. "That's... a fine distinction. And the question is not a new one. To the best of my knowledge, for a ghost who regrets their choice, no other way through has been found."

"But listen," Charity said eagerly, getting up and pacing the room. "I knew I had to limit my attachment to this existence, or eventually it would feel normal and even the will to shake it off would weaken. I kept a very low profile at the Malfoys' home, for that and other reasons, as I've already explained. I... couldn't quite keep myself from bonding with that unhappy boy, and indeed, saw that he might be my only chance of escape. But I've kept my direct engagement even with him to a minimum, until the past couple of days when I depended on his assistance to take me here." She gesticulated with her arms, encompassing the room and the school and all the strange, solid, incompatible world around it. "I could easily let all of this go, Minerva. I yearn to pass on, yearn for my natural fate."

"It's hardly fair, I know," said Minerva quietly, sadly.

"I wonder," said Charity, stopping right in front of Minerva, clasping one hand nervously in the other, "if the Department of Mysteries might present a solution."

She'd caught Minerva by surprise; she sat back abruptly in her chair, her eyes widening behind her glasses, her brow frowning in thought. "Do you have anything particular in mind, Charity?"

"Just something I heard, years ago," said Charity in a rush, "about a... contraption that, once one passed through it, had no return? A conveyor to death, the unknown, to whatever lies beyond?"

"A Veil?" asked Minerva, almost whispering.

Charity nodded eagerly. "Yes!"

"I see," Minerva said slowly. "Yes, I've heard of that, too. Sirius Black ended his life, falling through that Veil...Is that what you heard, too?" Charity nodded again, and Minerva let out her breath in a huff. "Would it work for a ghost? I wonder!"

"Has it been tried?" asked Charity.

"Who knows, with the Department of Mysteries? Of course, very few ghosts would wish to make the attempt." Minerva bit her lip, interest sharp in her eyes. "Hah. I do suspect that if it has not been tried, they would very likely be ecstatic to have you volunteer. But Charity, have you really thought this through? Nobody knows for certain what lies beyond the Veil, for a ghost, or for a living woman. Or a man, for that matter."

"I'm willing to take the risk," said Charity steadily. "This ghostly existence feels rather glum to me, and I always used to be a very jolly kind of person. I feel that the odds are sufficiently in my favour, but I should seriously consider a strong advice against from an Unspeakable, I suppose."

"I can tell you this," said Minerva. "After his death, Sirius Black appeared for Harry when he used the Resurrection Stone, along with his father, his mother, and Remus Lupin, who had just died in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Oh," said Charity, with a sharp pang of sadness. "I so liked Professor Lupin."

"Yes, I did, too," said Minerva patiently, "but what I'm telling you is that it was possible to summon Sirius Black like the others, who'd died, well, regular deaths. Whether the Veil would work in that way for a ghost remains to be seen."

"Possibly only by me," said Charity with a wry smile, and Minerva smiled back, reluctantly.

"I'll ask for an Unspeakable, too, then? And of course an Auror."

"Now, listen, Minerva." Charity steeled herself, suspecting this wouldn't be popular. "I have changed my mind about all of that."

"All of what?" Minerva asked, frowning.

"About wanting justice, and all of that."

"You must be joking," Minerva said, suddenly sounding extremely stern, and Charity shook her head adamantly.

"You can't make me."

"I bloody well know I can't make you! You're as obstinate as a Niffler with a diamond necklace! But what on earth is your reason for letting a dozen torturers and accomplices to murder off the hook?"

Minerva sounded upset, upset for her, and Charity was determined not to get angry in turn. "I don't want to put Draco through another hearing. Those others, well, you told me some are in Azkaban, some died in Battle, and the Malfoys walked free, as usual — oh, well! It never was about vengeance for me, and at least I managed to give them a real fright, lately," she said with a chuckle. But she quickly fell serious, again. "Nor do I wish my old parents to know what an ordeal I went through before I died. All the details about torture and torment and giant snakes... what could it do but cause them distress? I was upset that no one would know or care what I went through, but it's faded with time, and now... Lavender cried for me. You did. Draco expressed deep remorse. And I know, now, that Severus had no choice, what he must have suffered on my behalf. I'll be glad to give a witness account that I died from the Killing Curse, at Voldemort's hand. That's all. And it's the truth."

"Charity Ellen Burbage, for Godric's sake." Minerva half-rose from her chair, fingertips braced on the table. "Draco brought you here knowing full well what it might cost him, and that speaks in the young man's favour, I might add. But you - owe him - nothing!"

"Don't I?" she asked quietly, and watched Minerva sit back and let slip a very Scottish oath. "Right. I wouldn't be here, wouldn't have my chance at freedom, without him. And Lavender, too, by the way. She's got faith enough for a whole club of Cannons' supporters, that girl. Anyway, Draco never wanted to hurt me, and for what he had no fair chance to hinder, he has fully made amends. I know that. I've heard his nightmares. I've seen his despair. I am his ghost."

"I'm not sure I am convinced that I'd see it that way," Minerva said reluctantly.

"It is my death," said Charity. She could be stern, too, on occasion. "My suffering. My privilege to accept or refuse amends."

Minerva held up her hands. "All right. I do see the point about your family. I should very happily see the boy's parents held to account, and all the rest of those bastards. But on your head be it."

"My head's more or less forfeit, anyway, Minerva. I went head first into that snake, you know." She shrugged apologetically at the grimace of dismay on her old colleague's face. "I'll go and get the kids, now, I think. They must be wondering what is going on."

She glided through the wall, and gave a yelp of contrition. "Oh, drat!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm so sorry; I can't believe I did that a second time! Well, if you could — in Minerva's office — in, say, a minute or five?"

She hurried back, and met Minerva's gaze. Minerva's eyebrows had climbed close to her hairline, and Charity grinned. "They're just snogging," she whispered. "Holy Helga, Minnie, they're so cute."

"Cute, my foot," said Minerva dryly, fully recovered. "That girl broke my nose last spring, you know."

***

It was a wistful goodbye with Charity. Lavender even stepped up, stubbornly, and gave her a tearful hug. It felt sort of formless and icy cold, and she stepped back with a shudder and a sheepish smile.

"I know," said Charity ruefully. "I appreciate the sentiment, though."

"We'll miss you," said Lavender, speaking both for herself and for Draco, and Charity shook her head and winked at him.

"I'm not sure Draco will. Being haunted is a mixed pleasure at best. Isn't it, Draco?"

Draco flushed slightly with her teasing, but then just nodded with a helpless shrug. He still looked dazed and distracted by the revelation that Charity had decided to try to pass on without attempting to bring anyone to justice. Including him.

"I could have tried to grab hold of you and Apparate sidelong somewhere safe with you," he blurted. "I had my wand, it might have worked. I was... too scared. Too scared to even think of it."

"Could have, might have..." She eyed him pensively. "Yes, I suppose, but there weren't a surplus of safe places in those days, and I never expected you to commit suicide on my behalf. Whatever's to forgive on my account, is forgiven, Draco. Now you'd better learn to forgive yourself."

"And my parents?" he asked harshly.

"That's between you, and them. I wish you all that's good and true in the world. That's all I can say." She let out a sigh, and glanced over her shoulder at the wizard standing by McGonagall's desk. "Now let's get ourselves free of each other, my dear, shall we?"

The wizard from the Spirit Division drew his wand and stepped up between Charity and Draco. The ritual was done in a few minutes, a few Incantations, an intricate slashing motion through the air with his wand. A sort of separation, or divorce rite, Lavender thought, and afterward, nothing seemed changed.

"I don't feel anything different," Draco said uncertainly.

"I do," said Charity brightly, beaming at them. "Oh! I feel positively boundless! Thank you again, my dear. And thank you," she said to the wizard.

"No trouble, Professor Burbage. I'll write you up as staying here at Hogwarts, then?"

"We'll see," said McGonagall, her expression non-committal. "We're waiting for someone from the Auror department, and for Samuel Croaker from the Department of Mysteries to clarify a couple of questions." He nodded and left through the Floo, at the same time as Argus Filch popped his head in the door. "Oh, Argus! Could you please see if you can find Pomona and Filius and ask them to come here. We have.. a visitor, as you may see..."

She trailed off, watching with all of them as he stepped uncertainly forward and squinted at Charity's form before him. Lavender wasn't sure whether he saw anything as clearly as any of them did, but the stricken recognition in his expression was unmistakeable.

"Professor Burbage, ma'am..." His scowling face twisted, suddenly, and he was quickly up to his eyes with the back of his hand. "That's how it is, then," he said brusquely. "My... condolences, as it were."

"I'm afraid so, my friend," Charity said, her voice kind. "Thank you. I may not stay around here long, and I'd rather not that too many know I'm here. So I'll trust you to keep my secret, Mr Filch."

"That, you can." He stared at her a moment longer, then bowed respectfully and left.

Lavender looked after him, suddenly recalling her errand for Uncle Matthew.

"Thanks for the adventure," she said, stepping up to Charity and venturing another kiss on her cold cheek. "We'll hear if all went well, I hope. I'm sure it will. I've never met any ghost less ghostly than you, Charity." She smiled, recalling the proper Greek for the occasion, one she'd heard from Eleni and Manouil and Niki often enough, when she'd been about to embark on the journey home. "Kaló taksídi, Professor Burbage."

"Evcharistó, Lévanta," Charity said with a merry laugh. "It certainly has been an adventure."

They parted with that, Draco saying a formal good-bye to both Professors, and Lavender giving a friendly wave as she slipped out the door. She took off at a run after the man and cat walking down the corridor. "Mr Filch! Hang on a second?"

Argus Filch looked astonished and highly suspicious as he turned to face her. "What do you want, eh?"

Lavender rummaged in her rucksack while Draco's expression echoed Filch's astonishment. She drew out the two letters and put Parvati's back, then drew a reluctant Filch carefully aside with her hand on his sleeve, lowering her voice slightly, though Draco had remained at a respectful distance. "From my uncle," she said, holding the letter out to Filch. "Matthew Rowe. He chairs the annual European Squib conference in Rethymnon. And his hotel has discounts for British Squibs throughout the holiday season. I happened to mention you were caretaker at Hogwarts, and he told me to give you a personal invite. All costs and Portkey's included." Mr Filch was looking at her as if she'd gone mad, or turned into an angel before his eyes, or some combination of both. She glanced nervously down at Mrs Norris, who was sitting by Filch's feet and looking up at her with those bulging, glowing eyes. "Pets are accomodated, too!" she added reluctantly. Oh dear! At least Aris, Platon and Soks would be three against one.

Filch finally grabbed the letter, with the same possessive ferocity as if he'd confiscated some forbidden substance from a student. But his gaze wasn't hostile, just confused. "I'm no Squib, Miss. But... I have a friend as might be interested," he said gruffly, tucked the letter gently into his coat pocket, and shuffled on. Mrs Norris scrutinised Lavender over her shoulder as she followed.

"Well!" Lavender muttered, hooked her arm into Draco's and started the opposite way, heading for the stairs and the Room of Requirement. It hadn't gone too badly, really. Filch could have said thanks, but at least he hadn't exploded in fury and shouted at her. And... it had actually been a surprise to her, the way he'd reacted to seeing Charity, and Charity had called him her friend! Granted, that seemed like something Charity might do, but maybe Uncle Matthew knew what he was doing, after all.

"What was that?" Draco asked, and waved his hand when she started to explain. "I heard most of it, I think. But why Filch? What would they want that miserable git staying at their hotel for?"

"Uncle Matthew has a passionate commitment to the Squib cause," Lavender explained. "I told him about Filch, for a laugh really, but he got it into his head that he wanted to try to do something nice for him. He says I can't truly know how it is, to be born into our world without magic, and I reckon that's true."

"Yes, I guess," said Draco. It was clear that it was an issue he'd never pondered at length. Lavender didn't take any affront at that; she was all too aware that but for her uncle, she might not have given it much thought, either.

"He's just a good egg," she said proudly, as they started on the stairs up from the first floor, to seventh. "He has the Squib conference engagement; he works actively in a support organisation for the Muggle disease his first partner died from. He promotes the hotel specifically as LGBT friendly - lesbian, gay, bi, trans," she explained quickly as the acronym clearly wasn't known to Draco - "because, well, he's gay, he's a Squib, he knows what it's like living as a minority and trying to find a place in the larger community that knows too little and assumes too much about you and your life. He's my hero, you know? And a bloody sweet uncle, too."

Draco shook his head slowly, looking at her. "I don't know why you ever doubted your ability to work with issues beyond Divination and tea."

She felt herself flush under his gaze. His face had its familiar sardonic cast, and if it had been the old Draco, the one she'd barely known during their school years, she'd have assumed careless sarcasm, or a sneering taunt. But the old Draco was growing a fainter and less relevant memory superimposed by this living, breathing reality who'd assured her she had what it took to achieve what she wanted with her life, who'd knowingly taken a personal risk bringing Charity home to Hogwarts, who'd been a solid, safe warmth to hold on to on a long, scary broom ride and who'd kissed her and held her like she was something rare and precious just a few minutes ago.

The stairs shifted and blocked and helped and moved in their old patterns, and she and Draco navigated them with the surety of years of familiarity, laughing once as they rushed to the top and took a leap onto safe ground. Finally, they were up on the seventh floor, and turned left. Draco's arm felt warm and strong under the grip of her hand, and she felt that excited hum in her body again. She wondered if he felt it, too, and glanced longingly aside as they passed a broom cupboard where she'd got hot and heavy with Seamus back in their seventh year. She doubted that was Draco Malfoy's style. He'd dated Parkinson, and if anyone in their year had been more high maintenance, well, good grief.

They walked past the hidden entrance three times back and forth, passing the tapestry on the opposite wall. Lavender tried to think of how much she wanted a way out, and not how much she wanted to feel Draco's hands on her again, and slipped quickly inside when the door opened.

It shut with a snick behind them, and then she heard Draco chuckle.

The walls were close and tight. The room was dark, and when Lavender cast a Lumos, she blushed as hard as Draco laughed. It was full of brooms, and other random dusty equipment, and more or less a conglomerate of all the broom cupboards in which she'd snogged Seamus and Ron.

"Shut up," she moaned. "I'll fix this."

"Don't, Brown; honestly I am flattered." He caught her hands in his own against his chest, still laughing. In the warm illumination of the Lumos, his eyes seemed like silvery-gold light, dancing. "So you want to make out with me in a dusty broom cupboard, do you?"

"And what's wrong with dusty broom cupboards?" she asked, scowling.

"Nothing. It has novelty, I'll grant. And I suppose you're even more desperate for this than I am, since I was imagining a big, luxurious four-poster with silk covers, and candlelight, and roses and champagne on the nightstand, and... oof—" His words died out in laughter as she threw herself at him, pressing her lips to his.

"Did you?" she asked when she drew back for breath.

"Yes, but I was also trying to hold back because it felt terribly presumptuous, so—" He chuckled softly when she kissed him again, his hands twining into hers. "No? It wasn't too presumptuous?" He took charge of the kiss, then, with a passion that left her breathless and exhilarated, gathering both of her wrists in the grip of one hand and sliding his free hand down her back to her hip and lifting her up astride his thigh with a firm tug.

"Draco," she gasped, relishing the firm pressure between her thighs and rocking down on it. She remembered this, the explosive determination of last night; she also remembered the hesitant reverence that had followed, before a ghost and an uncle had put an end to that. It was present now, too, that question in his eyes, in his voice, as he moved to kiss her ear.

"All right?" he murmured, and she nodded, feeling desperate and starting to sweat in the warm jumper and jeans. As if reading her thoughts, he let go his grip on her wrists and slipped both hands under the edge of her jumper and t-shirt, easing both up over her ribcage, her shoulders, carefully over her head. She did the same for him, impatiently, whimpering when he cupped a breast outside her bra, his thumb teasing over her nipple and making her knees buckle slightly with the pleasure that shimmered and seared through her body. His lips latched on at the base of her throat, sucking gently, his tongue laving the tender traces of her scars.

"Oh," she whispered, light-headed, her voice catching. She arched her back, pushing her breast into his hand. Desire thrummed and tightened low in her belly, and she felt so good everywhere he touched her, she wanted this to never stop. With shaky hands, she fumbled and found the flies of his jeans taut over the hard line of his erection, her fingers mapping out the shape before starting to undo the buttons, and felt him shiver and go rigid.

"Fuck," he swore hoarsely, shakily, close to her ear. He applied both hands to opening her jeans, as well, more force than finesse, pushing at them until they were down past her bum, stopped by the fact she was still rocking herself rhytmically against his thigh. His hand slipped down the front of her knickers, fingers light through the soft curls, gliding into the warm wet and searching with a gentleness that made her quiver and whimper, made her melt. "God, Lavender," he whispered, and just her name breathed like that by Draco, Draco Malfoy, was so surreal and so sexy she could just die. He was studying her face in the faint light of her wand fallen to the floor, and his expression was taut and pained, almost stern in the spare light. "You're the hottest thing I've seen in my life."

He wasn't necessarily more skilled than the other boys she'd been with this way, but he was so intense, so into this, into her, that alone made lust sweep her along in a hot rushing wave. His long fingers passed over her just so, over and over, a bit too hard, not exactly right, but it didn't matter, for she was swollen thick and wet and it was in rhythm with her breath and his breath and her frantic heart, and she took her hand from its distracted rubbing over his open flies and gripped his wrist, couldn't even think of making sure he enjoyed it because she had to make sure he didn't stop. "Yeah, like that, like that," she ordered in a whisper, pressing her forehead to his jaw, and the tension was tightening so exquisitely where he touched her, and she threw her head back with an eye-watering gasp and choked out a cry and sneezed, repeatedly, as she came harder than she could remember doing in her entire life.

When she came back to herself, Draco was laughing helplessly but holding her safe and close, his hand still lodged between her thighs. "Bless you," he said.

Lavender groaned and put her hands over her face. She was still throbbing against his palm, lazy and slow, her hips hitching slightly with every little aftershock. "Oh God. I don't usually do that."

"Come?" he asked. "Or sneeze when you come?"

"Well, both, actually," she admitted recklessly, and saw him bite his lip on a smile. "I haven't actually done this a lot, all right?"

"Not me, either," he said, surprising her with the hushed confession, and finally slid his hand away from between her thighs. "And don't worry about the sneezing; I seem to have that effect on people lately. You're not developing an allergy to me, Brown, are you?"

"Nope." Lavender peeked over the tips of her fingers, and smiled and let her hands fall away to finish their work opening his flies, slipping down under the edge of his underpants to encounter the rough hairs on his belly and the smooth, damp head of his cock. "Beginner's luck, then?" she teased.

"Natural... raw talent," Draco countered with a scowl, leaning back against the rough wall, hissing softly with a small jerk that she felt through his entire body when she finally had his cock out and curled her fingers around it. "Didn't say I haven't ever, all right?" His cheeks seemed a bit darker and she wasn't sure if he were being truthful, or saving his pride with a white lie. She didn't mind, either way. She bent down for her wand and cast a charm to gave slickness to the friction, stuck the wand in her back pocket and pulled her hand to the tip of his length and back to the base, gently and then more firmly, and he was gasping now, bucking into her grip with surging motions and clutching at her hips. She liked his deep groan of pleasure, how he seemed not to manage to act blasé about this at all. How he seemed happy with this, just this, which sent a surge of gratitude through her, because oddly, though she strictly knew him better now than when they'd tumbled into bed at the hotel, it had somehow made her heart less inclined to rush things so. She saw his head resting in profile against the wall, how the tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he breathed hard, and his sharp, pale face was so beautiful in the eerie shadows cast up from her wand, abandoned and familiar and strange at once.

She slid her fingertips of her free hand up his flat stomach, his smooth chest, felt the flutter of pulse at his throat, and wound her arm around his neck and kissed him, and he came like that, shaking and moaning into her mouth, with her sucking softly on his tongue and his hand clamping over her hand and guiding it through the last slow strokes, slick and tight on his cock.

She kept her hand cupping him softly, and nuzzled against his throat, feeling his heart beating hard, and hers almost keeping time, yet. They were quiet regaining their breaths and she had time to get a little nervous about what she'd say, or he would say, when she felt his fingertips under her chin, raising her face so he could see her. "Not bad. But next time, we do it my way with a bed," he said firmly.

Next time! Lavender beamed at him, and then punched his chest half-heartedly. Not bad! "Yeah, it wasn't bad at all, Malfoy. I've had worse... possibly... I think."

He smirked, took his wand and cast a couple of cleaning spells, and then he caught her face in his hands and kissed her. "Brown, just admit that no one's made you sneeze quite like that before."

"Well... I'll give you that," she said, grinning at him, and reached down and hitched up her knickers and jeans. He set about tucking himself in, too, and she bent down for their jumpers on the floor and handed his to him. Only then did she notice the mark on his arm. The swirling forms of the motif were only sinister suggestions in the half-dark. But the associations they evoked made her stomach feel cold for a second.

He noticed her noticing, too. His gaze cut to her and he went very still for a very short moment before he quickly slipped the jumper on.

"Know what McGonagall said to me before I punched her nose? Just before that trite 'lucky to be alive' thing?" Lavender said, putting her jumper on, too, and finding him staring warily at her when her head emerged. She tugged down the jumper and lifted her hair out. "You've got to promise not to punch my nose, before I say it."

He rolled his eyes, but she'd managed to draw forth a reluctant smirk. "I think I should be able to restrain myself."

"You can't escape your own skin, so you'd better make your peace with it." She shrugged. "Kind of brutal, yeah?"

"Kind of," he agreed.

"She wasn't wrong, though. And, much as I hate to admit it, not about being lucky to be alive, either," Lavender said, grinning at him.

Draco let out his breath in a huff and shook his head with a smile, taking her offered hand as she reached for her wand. "Perhaps not entirely wrong, no."

***

Lavender didn't seem eager to stop by the Hog's Head after the interlude in the Room of Requirement, and they ended up simply walking down the path to the castle gates, his arm slung around Lavender's shoulders and hers around his waist in a steady drizzle of rain. Gravel crunched and small twigs broke under their feet, and the smell of wet pine and moss was fresh, sharp green in the air. The forest was dark beside the path, and full of the suckling, drinking sounds of rain, but an umbrella charm hovered over them, and it felt companionable underneath it, warmth in her arm wound around him and light in the smiles she occasionally shot up at him.

"You're going home, then?" she asked softly, when the entrance came into sight down the path, restored to its former glory after the war though still a bit worse for wear along the adjoining stone walls. "Will it be... all right?" She meant 'safe', he thought, and fought down a bristling response. He couldn't blame others for not getting his family; at the moment he barely did, himself.

"It will be fine." He considered his words, and shook his head. "Actually, it will probably be miserable or awful, depending on whether my father is there, but they'll be relieved at the outcome once they've finished scolding me and start listening to what I say. Anyway, I'll just be packing a bag and heading out again, I think. Greg or Pansy will put me up for a few days. I don't know all that I'll do, but I do know that I want out of that house. I need at the very least an extended break from it. It's... too many..."

"Monsters under the bed," she suggested, and he gave a jerky nod.

"Yeah. Far too many." In every corner, slithering along corridors, prowling down stairs. It felt so fucking liberating, the thought of simply walking out of there. Why hadn't it ever occurred to him before that there was an actual way out? His parents wouldn't be happy about him moving out, having just converted the upper floor to private quarters for him and Tracey, but they didn't have much of a say in the matter. He'd had control of his own trust fund, his grandparents' inheritance, since he was seventeen. The monthly yield wasn't enormous, but it was probably a fair-sized sum by most people's standards. "And you?" he asked into the silence. "Going straight home?"

"Yeah...my Mum will be calling the Aurors and the Hit Wizards and possibly the Minister of Magic himself if I don't go home tonight." She grinned, but quickly sobered. "I'll just pop by Parvati's first, if she's home. She's said I can have the other room in her flat; Padma is studying in India this year. We'll see how it all works out. Oh." Clearly, something had occurred to her. She stopped there, right before the gate, and turned her back to him, gesturing to her rucksack. "There's a letter in there; take it out for me?"

Puzzled, he opened the flap of the small rucksack, and rummaged until his fingers met parchment. He handed her the letter silently and cast a Lumos for her while she tore the envelope open and gingerly pulled the letter inside it a couple of inches out.

"'Lavender, you silly twit," she read in a whisper, eyes going wide and filling with tears. Swallowing hard, she packed the letter back inside and handed it back to him. "It can wait."

"Hey, come on..." That didn't really sound so bad, did it? Well, it might be, but there might be a different interpretation, Draco thought. Or maybe that was just the Slytherin in him talking; they tended to express their affection in insults, but he had a hunch. He pulled the letter out again. "Come on. How bad can it be? At worst, she'll be pissed off for a while. You can cry on my shoulder afterwards, if you need to."

She took a shaky breath. "You read it to me, then!"

"Sure?" Eyebrows raised, Draco figured that he couldn't refuse her. She'd done more for him than that, over the past few days. Clearing his voice, he tried to keep his delivery straight reading the predictably girly missive.

"Lavender, you silly twit,

Don't you think I notice when you're holding back on me and avoiding every question I ask? We've shared everything, for almost half our lives, and while I don't know what's going through your mind, I do know that it's definitely not a tea shop in Hogsmeade! And that's all right! Just talk to me, we'll figure it out. I know you've been through a lot, and I love you, will you please not forget that?

Love,

Parvati xoxo"

So far, so good. He'd read it conscientously, attempting to convey every exclamation mark, underlining, x, and o, and Lavender was looking massively cheered up; she actually threw her arms out and twirled beside him, veering out from under the umbrella charm in a giddy little dance. He laughed and reeled her in. "Wait, what's this? 'P.S. Draco Malfoy! Are you out of your bleeding mind?'" He grinned when she made a grab at the letter, and held it at arm's length. "'All right, I agree, he's fit and all, but that arrogant shit will only break your heart. (If he's gay, all the better!) At best, ride him like a Firebolt and get off as quick as you can! Love, P xoxo'"

"Ugh," said Lavender. Her face had gone very pink in a way that Draco couldn't help but find enormously appealing.

"Hmm. That 'get off' is pretty ambiguous, or is it just me?" he said, holding the letter still out of her reach so he could re-read the postscript. "By the way, I'm heterosexual; sorry for not mentioning it earlier."

She scowled. "Well, you checked into the Andromeda, what was I supposed to think?"

"I'm fit though, I'll hand you that."

"And an arrogant shit, too," she sighed, made a jumping leap and managed to tear the letter from his hand. She stuffed it in her pocket, but her embarrassment couldn't dampen her spirit for long. There was wonder in her eyes, even a fresh sheen of tears. "She's the best friend in the entire world!"

"Weight off your shoulders?" he asked quietly, and pushed the gate up so they could inch through.

"And how." She sighed, looking around where they were standing. The train station could be glimpsed through the trees, and the path fell away towards Hogsmeade along the lake. "Strange how this still feels like home, isn't it?" she asked. "Feels like we're just heading off for a Hogsmeade weekend trip. Or catching the Hogwarts Express back for the holidays."

"I know." It did, kind of, and Draco was oddly reluctant to leave. Well, not so oddly, after all. He wasn't looking forward to the confrontation with his parents, though it would be preferable to the stomach-ache of waiting for them to find him.

But the fact was that he wasn't eager to leave her, looking into those mesmeric hazel-fire eyes of hers, that maybe-shy, maybe wry little smile playing around her pressed-together lips. He couldn't claim he always understood her, yet everything seemed... so simple with her, and he thought it was because compared to the bloody mess he was trying to find a decent way out of, she was starting from a place of honour. That alone seemed to make things far less complicated. Note to self, he thought sardonically.

"Well, good luck, then, Draco..." She stood on tip-toe and pressed a quick kiss just at the corner of his mouth, and at the warm, diffident touch he was engulfed by a wave of protest that ached in his chest.

He caught her by the elbows, holding her there. "I'm going to miss you," he burst out, and bit his lip, almost scowling at the impulsive admission.

She laughed and tilted her chin up. "Ah, now it's you, forgetting what my enemies call me."

"Barnacle Brown." He had to laugh, as well; it was irresistible. "I'd rather not be your enemy, though. That sounds scary. I suppose you have little reason yet to think of me as anything but — well, an 'arrogant shit' is likely apt. But... I am truly attempting to better myself."

She was regarding him with an enigmatic smile, distractedly winding a long strand of her hair around a finger. "I guess I'll have to admit, then, that some of my friends call me that, too. I may have thought of you as an arrogant shit, before, but that's not what I see, now. And you'd better not have been just sweet-talking me, mister, with those smooth words about next time in a bed."

"No, I wasn't." Those words had taken him by surprise, an impulse in response to the uncertainty he'd felt in her, the way this brazen girl had suddenly been pressing her warm face against his throat. They hadn't been carefully thought through at all, but he didn't regret saying them; quite the contrary, especially if she considered them smooth. Still, he thought that moving a bit slower from here on might be a good idea. "I'll just call you Lavender, I think. I'll try not to forget it again."

"I'm counting on that," she said. He had no time to respond before she stepped back with an absolutely heart-turning smile and a jaunty little wave, and Apparated away.

Draco steeled himself, gripped his wand and Apparated to the Manor's front steps.

***

He found her in the drawing-room, curled up in a chair by the fireplace. Bull by the horns, all right. He leaned against the door-jamb, still reluctant to venture further into this particular room. When the day came that he'd inherit this place, he'd have it re-built entirely, he'd long since decided. "Where's Father?"

"Draco!" His mother looked up anxiously, and got to her feet, scrutinising him, such alarmed concern in her eyes that some resistance in him unwillingly thawed. "We've been trying to find you... why weren't you at the guest house in Chania, dear?"

"You know where I was," he said quietly. "Where's Father?"

He could see her swallow. Her hands were clasped so tight it looked painful. "He's at the Ministry... We thought you might go there." She shook her head slowly. "Oh, Draco, what have you done?"

And at that fearful dismay, he found his defences were smashed, again. How he'd relied on her unruffled, cool tenderness through the years. Not least, through the two years when everything in his world had unravelled. It was no triumph to see her like this. It made his heart hurt. No one on this planet loved him as much as this woman did. He suspected that no one ever would. And he loved her, too; hell, he did love them both, imperfect as they were, destructive and self-serving as so many of their choices had been.

"It's all right, Mother. We... I brought Professor Burbage's ghost to McGonagall at Hogwarts, tonight." Her hand flew to her chest, and he shook his head. "She's foregoing pressing any charges," he explained tiredly. "She only wants peace. She'll make a statement that Voldemort took her life with the Killing Curse. Only that."

"Don't say his name," she said sharply, before glancing away, wary relief mildening her features as she took in his words. "Are you certain? She could always change her mind."

"That's not how it looked to me."

She took a deep, quiet breath, seeming to gather herself. "Well!" she said, and straightened herself. "She's told the truth, then."

Draco laughed, feeling anger rise in him after all. "I suppose one could call it that!"

"It is, and don't you forget it!" Her face was set in stubbornness, her voice cool.

"And what about the Crucios cast?" he asked viciously. "What about the fact that we were a dozen people around the table, and not one of us tried to intervene on her behalf?"

She laughed too, then, a high, brief sound of utter disbelief. "You know very well that anyone who had tried anything so insane would have been signing their own death warrant! And my God, Draco, you were by far the youngest there; you can't blame yourself!"

His jaw clenched. "Yes. But that doesn't change the fact that we sat there, complicit to murder. That Father took part in her torture. That I would, if I'd been able." It was the truth, so help him.

"We had no choice but to follow the Dark Lord's orders," she snapped back.

"Don't call him that!" Draco shouted, and she gaped at him. "Don't dignify a monster with a king's title, damn you! Why should he keep his power even after he's dead and gone?" He banged his fist against the door jamb. "If he'd had no followers, if people like my father had not supported his loathsome ideas, enabled by people like you... if everyone who feared him, like me, had defied him, he couldn't have achieved what he did. And that is the truth!"

She stared at him a long moment, blankly, as if not properly understanding what she was seeing. "If so, you would have been dead, Draco." Her shoulders sank in some sort of defeat. "We would all be dead."

"Many people died. The best, I suspect." He stepped into the room at last. The ghost was gone, after all. It was only the ugliness of the deed that remained behind. He decided he'd had all he could stand of this particular argument. "I met Theo. And Tracey. They were in Chania, too."

She curled her hands into fists at her side. "You had no obligation to do that."

He shrugged. "We needed to talk. It was fine."

"The gall of that boy," she said coldly. "Wreaking such damage on a close friend's name. And her! Well, the less said, the better. We've been in contact with her parents, and they're at a complete loss. She's intractable."

"So am I. And I wish them both all the joy in the world," said Draco, and meant it.

"Draco." She sighed, fondness and exasperation in her gaze, subtly replaced by something that it seemed vulgar to identify as calculation on such a refined face. Yet he did, anyway. He knew his mother. "I've talked with Cara Bulstrode. Millicent hasn't got any... attachments, as yet. I know she's not pretty like Tracey, but—"

Temper flashed through him once more as he realized what she was up to. Again, already. "Millie's all right," he snapped. "You don't have to defend her to me. She's a good friend."

"Well, then—" She seemed taken aback by his response, and faltered. "They're a very solid Pureblood family, and came through the war with their name more unscathed than most. It would be... helpful for you, dear, for our standing — and if you like her—"

"I'm not doing that to another girl," Draco said swiftly. "Nor to myself. I am going to marry when I decide, to a girl I want. A girl I'm crazy about, and who's crazy about me. And besides, Cara Bulstrode may be as mistaken about her daughter's lack of attachment as Tracey's mother was about hers. Has that occurred to you?" Hell, Millie had been seeing that MacDougal girl from Ravenclaw for several months, if he wasn't mistaken, but he wasn't about to out her to his mother.

His mother grimaced, a chagrined look in her eyes. "Darling, I brought this up too soon."

"No. It's perfect that you brought it up now, so that we can get this out of the way."

"What has got into you, Draco?" She stared at him a moment, and then suspicion crept into her voice. "We," she said. "What did you mean by 'we'?"

"What?" he asked, though he already knew, suppressing a belated groan at his slip of the tongue. Still, he made an effort. "You and I, of course, we can get this out of the way."

"What you started to say was 'We brought Professor Burbage to McGonagall'. So by whom, exactly, were you accompanied on this... furtive journey to Hogwarts?"

Draco had no poker face vis-a-vis his mother, and knew better than to be evasive when her grammar got as sharply precise as that. "An old schoolmate I happened to meet in Rethymnon. She's been living there a few months."

"She?" His mother's voice was steel, of a sudden. "Is she a good Pureblood girl?"

"She's very good," Draco said, and almost added 'in a broom cupboard'. But he bit his tongue, no matter that Lavender would no doubt have laughed her head off at his childish, rebellious impulse. "She had a brush with Greyback during the Battle of Hogwarts, and now she wants to help people who he turned during the war. That's... good, don't you think?"

"Oh, dear!" Her elegant fingers flew to the column of her throat. He'd managed to unsettle his mother twice in one conversation. That didn't happen too often. In fact, she didn't seem so glacially perfect any longer. She looked most human, looked her age and then some, looked... quietly wretched. He wondered if it were the mention of Greyback that had stopped her in her tracks. The memory of the monster prowling through their hall, leering at anyone who chanced to meet his eyes, threatening her son.

"I love you, Mother. But I won't need any more..." he hesitated -"helpfulness, as regards my love life. I assure you I can handle myself."

Unhappy silence was followed by a short burst of tense laughter. "Well! I can hear that you have made up your mind."

"I have. Also, I am going to get a job. I'm going to have a career."

"That... isn't necessarily something I oppose... of course, you should consider your options carefully." She shook her head. "What's got into you?" she asked again, sounding simply curious this time.

"I woke up," Draco said slowly. "Don't be too upset with me, Mother? I hate it when you are."

She pursed her lips on an exasperated little smile. "Oh, love, you are so much your father's son."

He had another sharp retort on his tongue, but it withered there, and he offered her a small smirk of concession. It was true, after all. He was his father's son. He was not his father.

And knowing that had to be enough.

He started toward the door, and heard her tense voice behind him. "He'll be home soon. He's feeling fairly hurt, you know. An apology would not go amiss."

Draco stopped. "I'll think about it. But right now, I'm packing a few things and moving out." He turned and continued before she could reply. "I'll be kipping on Greg's couch until I can find a flat somewhere. I don't have to explain to you why I need a break from this house, do I?"

There was sufficient of a plea and of anger in his tone to make her voice falter on what she'd been about to say.

"But this is your home, Draco!" she whispered. "It's been the Malfoys' seat for centuries. We can't let that... that monster... ruin that."

"I'd like it to be my home again some day. But I — need — time," he said, with emphasis on every word. "It's hardly unusual for someone my age to move out of their parents' place."

She dropped her gaze, and then looked up at him in abrupt, dismayed accusation. "You chose that Rethymnon hotel because of the name, didn't you?"

It came so out of the blue, and the fact that he'd been angling for exactly such a reaction when he booked the hotel almost made him laugh, but in the end, he felt a stab of guilt for that, too. He shook his head and said curtly, "Coincidence."

***

"Are you all right, Professor Burbage?" asked the senior of the four Unspeakables who had accompanied her into the dark, square chamber. Three of them kept at a respectful distance, having seated themselves on the tiered steps leading down to the pit with its dais in the middle. But this one, tall, balding, with sombre eyes, had followed her as she glided to look up at the Veil, at the black tatters fluttering and moving as if breathed on by a restless wind.

"I am, Mr Croaker," she said. "What... what are the murmurs behind it?" They sounded near yet distant, close enough to evoke a strange familiarity, distant enough that she couldn't hear words or recognise distinct voices.

"The short answer is that we don't know," he said simply. "We do know that people who have suffered loss of loved ones are far more likely to hear them." He looked at her closely, as if trying to gauge her thoughts. "You may stop this at any moment, should you wish to return to Hogwarts with the Headmistress."

Charity shook her head firmly. She'd said her farewells to Minerva, Filius and Pomona in the Entrance Chamber of the department. They hadn't requested following her here to the last — she had made her wishes clear. They were her dearest colleagues, and she felt loved and respected by their presence, but here, in this room, she needed to have nothing that tugged on her to stay. She had decided against alerting her family to her existence at all. If this effort failed, well, then there would be more than enough time for that.

For all that she had spent much of her time as a ghost hidden away in protest, in denial and fear, she had relished the brief time spent with Draco and Lavender in Crete. It had reminded her of being young and questioning, of being footloose and free, of far-off places she had explored and people she had met and journeys she had undertaken. She was grateful for that last gift from a life she had loved and lived to the fullest, but there was only one journey left to be made now, one where no companions could follow and no maps were needed.

"How does this work?" she asked, glancing up, and Saul Croaker smiled gently. She found him a soothing presence. His eyes, while serious, were kind; the lines around them revealed that he did know how to laugh, under different circumstances.

"If this works for you, it will be the simplest thing in the world. If it doesn't... well, I assume that you'll find yourself on the other side of it, still in this room, and in that case we shall escort you back to your old colleagues as agreed upon. You don't need to attempt to stay focused, or to concentrate on any particular task. It makes no difference if you are nervous, or distracted. The Veil is what it is. If it accepts you, this is where we part ways. But please, take the time you need."

He took a step back but remained close behind her, quiet and steady, and she looked up at the Veil again for a long time, until she barely knew he was there. She was nervous, yes, in case this last resort failed her, but she wasn't panicked at the thought like she had been before those two lovely young people had taken her back to Hogwarts. She was aware of bracing herself for that possibility, but most of all she felt an enormous swell of hope.

She glided on that swell, up off the floor, up to the Veil, heard the whispers grow in strength and closeness. She imagined she recognised some, so achingly familiar, and it filled her with a fierce and heavy longing to see their faces and say their names.

And she grabbed the bull by the horns and swung herself over, leapt like the blue dolphins at Knossos on a sun-drenched white wave, and knew as she felt the wave lift her that it was bringing her forward and onward, along on a journey that was always and endless and yes

***

He spent a week on Greg's couch, the next week at Pansy's, then moved into a cold, spare bedroom at the Nott estate when Theo and Tracey came home from abroad. It should have been awkward, perhaps, but he got on with Tracey better than he'd ever have dreamed. Still, he diligently scoured the Sell/Rent Property section of the Prophet each day to make sure he wouldn't outstay his welcome.

He did a few more things.

He wrote to Katie Bell and apologised for his actions that had led to her spending months in a coma in her seventh year. He did it honestly but without much hope, and indeed, the owl returned so quickly it could barely have been inside her house, with the words 'FUCK OFF' scrawled angrily on the outside of the envelope.

He turned up at the Three Broomsticks late on a weeknight when business was at low peak. Madam Rosmerta flashed him a look when she first spotted him that made him seriously consider turning straight around and walking out the door. In the end, he walked up to the counter and apologised, trying to ignore the few customers still around who were eaves-dropping eagerly. He half expected to get a pint of Butterbeer thrown at him. Instead, what he got was a clipped, upset torrent of words, and then her turned back as she served another customer, and then she hailed him as he was about to leave and made his cheeks burn as she called out that she appreciated he'd had the nerve to come there and say it to her face.

And then she asked if she could get him something to drink.

He took two broomstick rides into Somerset before he mustered the courage, on the third try, to walk up the gravel path through a well-tended garden and ring the front door bell of a period coach house on the outskirts of Glastonbury.

The woman who opened the door had his eyes immediately widening, his heart damn near stopping in his chest. Just a second or two, and then the differences began to sink in. The lighter brown hair, the softer, warmer eyes, that were regarding him with nearly as great an astonishment as his own, but recovered more quickly. From inside the house came the sounds of a very small child, playing.

"You sent me an invitation to come visit you," he said, his mouth feeling dry, his heart racing so fast it felt painful.

She studied him quietly. "A year ago."

"Is it too late?"

With a small, but genuine smile, she opened the door fully, stepping aside. "No, Draco. Teddy and I would love to have you."

And a week after his apology to Bell misfired, she sent him another answer. "I don't know if I can forgive you. Time will tell. But thanks for the apology, all the same. I appreciate it. Katie Bell."

And also, of course, he did a few things with Lavender.

***

The weeks before Christmas always whooshed by like a crazed north wind, Lavender felt, but this year's December had been particularly busy.

She moved in with Parvati in her small Hogsmeade flat the week after she'd arrived home. They'd exchanged one long, tearful, emotional look before falling into one another's arms laughing their heads off, and Lavender couldn't believe that she had been so worried about how Parvati would take her change of plans.

But of course, Parvati hadn't been the real hurdle.

It took more courage than Lavender knew she owned to go to the Ministry, take the lift up to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and ask around until she could peek her head into the small office that Hermione shared with two other junior employees. Hermione, of all people! She could just imagine how uncomfortable Ron would be if he knew, and the thought had been amusing enough to inject her with a little more confidence than she'd known she had. And Hermione didn't laugh or sneer at her at all. She was delighted and excited by her idea, interested in hearing her thoughts and had useful tips about where to start. Most helpfully of all, she advised Lavender to call on their former teacher Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, revealing that she'd worked in the Werewolf Support Services for several years before the section had been closed down. Willa turned out to be incredibly generous with her time, and also sent a letter of recommendation to Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, who as it happened was already taking steps to re-open the section.

And the end of all that, or the beginning, perhaps, was that Lavender was now the newest signed-on trainee in the department, with Willa as her mentor. It was exciting and scary at once, a bit like the broomstick ride with Draco had been, but she was determined to cling to this stick, too, like a barnacle, and use the opportunity for all it was worth.

Given all that had happened, she hadn't had many opportunities to meet up with Draco, but she'd owled him when his suitcase had been sent on from the Andromeda, and when Draco had turned up to collect it, he'd accepted an invitation to take tea with Lavender and her parents, and that had been quite lovely, if a bit awkward as such meetings were no doubt bound to be. And he'd seemed to have squared things with his own parents, after a fashion. She didn't ask too much about that. She wasn't sure she could properly understand it, and maybe no one really could except the three people involved.

The week after, they'd met up for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. Sadly, that hadn't been conducive to much more than outrageous flirting. He'd spent some nights on Greg's couch, then on Pansy's, and was now on to Theo's, and she'd been in the middle of getting her stuff moved in with Parvati. But the truth was, perhaps, that they both felt like slowing things down a notch after the frantic start. Their next meet-up had been to a Muggle cinema in Bristol, laughing at the improbable antics of James Bond, aka double-oh-seven. Lavender had been very glad that Draco had some Muggle experience now, so that she didn't have to explain to him that not all Muggles carried on like that. They'd sat in the dark holding hands, occasionally snogging a bit, and it had been rather brilliant.

A couple of days before Christmas, Lavender opened the front door of the flat to find Draco on her doorstep, with snow on his silvery fur cap and his black woolen robes, cradling something very long, very narrow and very festively wrapped in the crook of his arm. At first scrutiny of the package, she had a hard time holding back giggles... and a swoop in her stomach, not all because he looked impossibly attractive standing there with snow melting on his distinctive pointed nose.

But that, too. She found herself thinking of him more, not less, as the weeks went by. For some reason she didn't want to be the barnacle when it came to this. She wanted him to come freely to her. She wanted Draco to miss her, when she wasn't around, like she missed him.

"Merry Christmas," said Draco, meeting her withheld giggles with a raised eyebrow. He leaned the long package against the door jamb, stepped forward and pulled her into an exuberant hug. She barely had time to soften against him before he stepped back. "What was that for?" he asked with a challenge in his voice.

"What was...? You hugged me!" Lavender looked up at him, fairly indignant, and found him smirking.

"Yeah, right. Prove it." He reached out an arm, wound it behind her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her, firmly, passionately, his lips moving over hers and his tongue sliding inside her mouth and making warmth swell between her thighs and a joyful warmth expand in her chest.

He looked down in her eyes, his own crinkled with a smile. "I suppose you're going to claim I was kissing you, too."

She burst out laughing. "What's got into you, Draco?"

"It's snowing," he said, leaned back and caught a snow-flake on his tongue which he proceeded to share with her in another long kiss. "It's almost Christmas. It's the full moon, did you know? So, pre-emptively, please don't yell at me if you don't like your present."

Wow, she'd actually forgotten that it was that time of the month, that was how busy she had been. And that might be a good sign, if she were honest. "I think I can promise you that I'll like it. But... I might need some very gentle refresher lessons."

"Are you saying you have guessed what it is?" His expression was of shocked dismay, but he was laughing as he pulled her in for yet another hug, and she laughed, too, breathing in the scent of snow and damp wool and the crisp citrus and woods of his cologne.

"You are in a good mood today," she murmured.

"I have reason to be." A grin spread on his face, more relaxed than she could ever recall seeing him. Well, out of a broom cupboard, at any rate. "For one thing, I've finally got a place of my own. The flat on the top floor over Scrivenshaft's was advertised for rent this week, and I managed to snatch it up. And for another, I have tickets for the New Year's game. Pride of Portree against the Falcons." He pulled two tickets out of his pocket and waved them in the air. "I should say they're a present from Theo; he and Tracey are coming too. I hope you don't mind. Like a double date?"

"I would love to!" she said, delighted. "Nah, I don't mind. As long as Tracey has forgiven me for accusing Theodore of snitching on you, back then."

"You've been forgiven on grounds of the high-stress situation, I believe." He pocketed the tickets again, then nodded to the package. "Going to open it?"

"Can I? It's not quite Christmas yet."

"Close enough." He looked both worried and eager for her to open it, in fact; he stuck his hands in his pockets and watched, biting his lower lip as she took her wand and carefully tore the paper away.

She stared, laughter fighting with tears from the tight, warm feeling in her chest as the gift gradually emerged. A broomstick, yes, but what a broomstick! A sturdy, yet sleek, baby pink Nimbus, with a flared handle patterned with flowering vines and long, matching bristles in pink and sky blue.

Draco shuffled his feet and cleared his voice. "I ordered it, custom-made, after we got back. It's got the best Stabilising and Cushioning Charms on the market. I just... I reckoned you might be missing that little bike you were so fond of. It gave you a sense of freedom, you said, and... well, that's an important thing to have..." He faltered, and raised his hand to catch a tear off her lashes with his gloved thumb. "I hope I didn't misjudge that entirely," he said, starting to look slightly alarmed. "I know flying makes you anxious, but—"

She kissed him and stopped the nervous babbling. When they emerged for air, Draco was smiling again, looking relieved. "Yeah? Happy?"

"I think that may be the sweetest gift anyone's given me, ever," she said fiercely, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands and then giggling up at him. "Sorry. I'm just one of those emotional, girly types."

"That hasn't escaped my notice," Draco said with a tolerant smirk. "And yes, of course lessons are included. I'd be very glad to help you get more comfortable flying... In fact, I'd hoped that perhaps we could take a short practice flight to initiate it tonight?"

"Brill!" said Lavender happily. "Come in and wait. I need to bundle up, and I've got something to show you, besides." She detoured to the kitchen, and came back with an envelope that had arrived in the mail the day before, pulling out the picture to show him. It was of Mrs Norris in the basket in the reception of the Andromeda, barely cracking a yellow eye open, with Aris, Soks and Platon sleeping tucked in around her like little piebald pom-poms.

Draco shook his head. "So he did end up going," he marvelled.

"Yup. Can't wait to get the whole story," Lavender laughed, and was on her way up the stairs when Draco stopped her with a hand around hers.

"There's one more thing."

The look in his eyes was hard to read, and she paused and gazed up at him. "One more... happy-making thing?" she asked warily.

He nodded sharply, a flustered smile brightening his face. "I... well, I wrote to the Head of the Auror Office, and was called in for a talk." He held up a hand, stopping her excited exclamation. "It's nothing given; I'll have to wait until next autumn's training begins and I'll obviously have to apply in the regular way. It's a tight squeeze, getting in. But he did say that given my age, and... other mitigating circumstances, whatever they may be... my war record won't be held against me. I'll be considered on equal footing with any other applicant. I'm going to work hard on brushing up my skills, until then."

"Oh, Draco." She stood still at the bottom of the stairs, taking him in. His expression was determined, but the line of his shoulders looked relaxed, and she wanted him to have this so much her heart ached with it. "I'm so glad for you. I know you can make it!"

"Thanks." He dropped his gaze and shrugged. "I truly wish I could have told Charity. Don't know if she would have cared, but if she hadn't decided to forego charges... well. I think I may owe her for this one."

"Of course she would have cared; that's why she wanted to do it this way... She'd have been so pleased for you, Draco! Charity got her wish in the end, and so will you!" She walked back to give him another quick, firm hug, and then backed off before he could catch her, grinned at him and ran upstairs to change into warmer clothes and her winter cloak.

She came down three minutes later to find him in the kitchen, talking with Parvati who'd just arrived home with two full bags of groceries that he'd taken off her hands. He placed them on the counter and Lavender listened carefully to their voices for some seconds. They sounded rather stilted in their polite chatting, strangers and wary ones, too, but there was good will there, on both sides. Good will for her sake. She had a lot of faith that things would be all right on that score, in time, if this thing between her and Draco became... well, a big thing. And, she reflected happily... whoever gave a bespoke broomstick as a present to someone they expected would be a small thing?

"Ready," she called into the kitchen, and waved to Parvati. "We're off on a broom ride," she said. "Draco got me a gorgeous new stick!"

"He mentioned it," Parvati said, dead-pan. "Firebolt, or?"

Draco gave a small chortle that gave way to a cough, and Lavender remember Parvati's letter and its terse advice. She smirked through a bright blush. "Funny, you are."

"Enjoy your broomstick ride," said Parvati, grinning, and shooed them off. Draco looked fairly relieved to be out of the house; it had to be said. Lavender was really grateful to him for giving it such a sporting effort. She looked forward to returning the favour at that Quidditch game with his best mate and former bride. That thought made her giggle, and he nudged her teasingly in the side.

"Knut for your thoughts. Sickle if they're dirty."

Lavender shook her head, grinning at him. "Pure as the driven snow, as ever."

She carefully let go of the Nimbus beside her and jumped up and down clapping her hands in excitement at how it hovered there with a pretty little hum; waited for him to mount it first and to get on at the back, but Draco shook his head at once. "It's your stick, Lavender. Your show. I'll sit at the back; I'll keep a good hold on you, and you decide how high and how fast. All right?"

She bit her lip and nodded, straddling the — oh! so pretty! — stick and finding herself comfortably, warmly seated on the Cushioning Charm. Draco felt even warmer, getting on behind her, his arms coming firm and strong around her. Lavender felt him follow her movement as she leaned forward and kicked off carefully, and the broom took off, rather wobbly at first, but she was getting the hang of it somewhat as their feet cleared the rooftops of Hogsmeade.

She whooped in excitement. "Where to? Want to take a sweep around the castle?"

"Whatever you want." He leaned in to speak close to her ear, and his voice had a smile in it that was sort of like a question and made her shiver pleasantly despite the warmth of him at her back. "Although if you'd like a closer and safer ride for this first go... I have a flat now, not too far away. I don't have a four poster bed, or champagne, but I cleaned and I bought roses, and there's a quite comfortable mattress on the floor, and I actually did bring all my Mulberry silk sheets—"

Lavender glanced over her shoulder, and when her stomach did a wild swoop, again, it wasn't the height that did it, at all. Those grey eyes of his looked very young and hopeful, yet very wicked, too. "You're one smooth talking Slytherin bastard, you know that?" she said, unable to contain the smile spreading on her lips. She leaned forward on the broom and accelerated with an exuberance and speed that had her squealing and Draco laughing, as he quickly helped right the course.

They flew apace on Lavender's pink-and-blue broom, on a wobbling but ultimately steady path over the housetops, and the falling snow whispered and murmured like a promise all around them, and the cold moon rose round and benevolent at their backs.

-αρχή (beginning)-

Greek mini-glossary:
Kaló taksidi - Good journey/bon voyage
Evcharistó - Thank you