Once again, Draco found himself pacing, his eyes focused on the hardwood floor beneath his feet. He had Apparated back to the Manor, charging straight up to his study to make the necessary preparations—and hoping desperately to calm himself before it was time to return to St. Mungo's. In his mind, he replayed his earlier encounter with Ginny Weasley, analyzing every small detail that had brought him to this point.

His conversation with Blaise, coupled with his image and Weasley's splashed all over the tabloids, had set this plan into motion. Prowling the streets of Diagon Alley for a mate he had never seen was not enough, nor would it be entirely feasible anymore now that his cover had been blown. He needed a new approach and Blaise's admittedly crazy idea had caught on. Of course, there was no guarantee that a high profile relationship could be used to lure his mate out, but there were other reasons he wanted to keep Ginny Weasley close.

That she had been there the night of his attack still hit him like a ton of bricks every time he considered it. He had agonized over what that might mean for hours on end. Had she been captured alongside her brother and father? Why hadn't he seen her? More importantly, how much had she seen? He knew that exposing his secret to her was a risk, but he had weighed it against the chance that she already knew—and that she would not go running to the rags. He was confident of at least that. Her family owed him far too much for her to even think of betraying him.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair. She had not let much on earlier today, but Draco was convinced that she'd known something even before his revelation at St. Mungo's. Otherwise, the inexplicable need she felt to flee from him could not be explained. Both times he had seen her, her eyes had been wide with fear, skin pale as the blood drained from it. She was positively terrified of him. The wolf stirred at the thought, and Draco tamped down hard on that reaction.

The predator in him was intrigued at the thought of a chase. But the wolf wanted more than that from the youngest Weasley, although it could not understand why. She was not his mate; that much had been confirmed. After being with her in that tiny examination room, both Draco and the wolf were sure of it. Weasley had no scent. She was just another female—not the one the wolf longed to claim, nor the one Draco burned to exact revenge upon.

And yet it so happened that the hollow ache in Draco's chest throbbed just a little bit less when Weasley was around and just a little bit more when she wasn't. He often felt like a hole had been carved into him after the night he'd been brought back—and it was as though Weasley almost fit into it. Almost, but not quite. Concurrent with that sense of near-completion was a sense of bone deep confusion.

The wolf wanted Ginny Weasley, and perhaps part of Draco did, too, though if it was up to him alone he would never act on it. She had been attractive at Hogwarts, but he was a Malfoy and she was a Weasley. There had been little real interest on his part. Yet he had almost kissed her earlier today, when his hand had grasped her small chin. She had been trembling ever so slightly. Draco stopped pacing abruptly, feeling himself harden at the memory. Her lips had parted expectantly and her warm brown eyes had been surprisingly heated. He was certain that she had been waiting for him to kiss her. It had taken all of his self-control not to.

He took a deep breath, deciding that a cold shower would be in order before he found himself in her presence again this evening.

Regardless of whether she wanted him or not, he didn't reckon that it would be difficult to get her to agree to his proposal. Her family was the reason he had ended up like this and the Slytherin in him was willing to use that to his advantage. If Weasley agreed to his plan out of obligation, then that was fine by him as long as he got what he wanted out of her. She had been quite proud back at Hogwarts, and although it had been a long six years since he'd seen that side of her, perhaps it would be satisfying to have her at his mercy.

He knew his mother would not be pleased with the additional scrutiny this would bring. She had already been quite distraught over the amount of attention he and Weasley had received due to his actions at Diagon Alley. Their House Elves had been nearly overwhelmed with the influx of mail in the intervening weeks—everything from Howlers, to fan letters, to interview requests. Draco knew that there would be a spotlight on him from now on—so he intended to face it on his own terms.

He squinted out the window behind his desk and thought he could just make out a swarm of owls frantically approaching.

Ginny Weasley just so happened to be one of his necessary conditions.

When he returned for her, the wolf was stirring with excitement within him. See her, it chanted, skittish as a pet dog about to see its master. He approached the old receptionist, politely inquiring after his target and looking every bit as composed as he had that morning. The woman's cheeks reddened like a schoolgirl's—he may or may not have laid on the charm earlier in the day—and she pointed him toward a slightly ajar office door just down the hall.

He took a deep breath as he approached, stifling the unexplained nervousness that didn't come from the wolf at all.

Weasley was at her desk when he pushed the door open, wringing her hands and looking thoroughly panicked. The redhead's fingers were smudged with ink and a dark streak graced her forehead where she had tucked her hair back. Her eyes were wide when she saw him, as if she hadn't really expected him to come. Draco kept his features neutral, but the wolf had just locked onto its prey. Her.

"Malfoy," she mouthed, but her voice did not emerge.

He rolled his eyes at her and made a point of enunciating her name, "Weasley." Her obvious discomfort was starting to bother him, but he ignored the niggling sense of irritation. She looked like a small, helpless animal, and Draco was acutely aware of his height as he leaned against the doorframe. "I'd think you'd be used to me by now."

Weasley swallowed audibly. "What do you want, Malfoy?" She looked down to her restless hands. "I won't tell anyone about what I saw today. Can't we leave it at that?"

He cocked his head, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly. "I know you won't tell anyone, Weasley." She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. They both knew why she'd keep silent and he let that sink in for a moment. "I was actually just hoping to take you to dinner."

Weasley frowned, shaking her head slowly. She seemed to be regaining her courage and he found himself oddly relieved as some of the tension dissipated. "I still don't understand."

"Is much understanding required for two old schoolmates to have dinner together?"

She shot him a look that reminded him distinctly of his brief encounters with her at Hogwarts. He found himself stifling a smile as she rose to arrange her cluttered desk. He couldn't help but admire her form from beneath the white robes she wore. This part of her had certainly changed since Hogwarts, and both Draco and the wolf approved.

She was watching him from the corner of her eye, wary of his scrutiny. "I'm certain you're aware that half of Britain thinks we're much more than schoolmates." She faced him fully. "What are you trying to stir up?"

She was sharp, now that she had relaxed somewhat. Draco rather preferred her like this, though he made sure his face displayed nothing of it. Part of him had thought she would just come along quietly with him—but rather than being frustrated by her defiance, he was intrigued. Perhaps he could bargain with her in the same way he often did with Blaise.

"How about this, Weasley: you accompany me to dinner and I'll tell you exactly what I want from you." Their eyes locked as he spoke and again he felt that magnetic attraction. His heart rate rose ever so slightly. Weasley diverted her eyes, and the wolf growled. Her cheeks were flushed. Hold her, the wolf seemed to urge to push her back onto her desk and capture her lips had to be quickly stifled away, and Draco had to physically redirect his attention down the hall to where the old receptionist still sat. He had a plan to carry out, and it would not do to get distracted now.

"Fine, Malfoy," Weasley said from inside the office. Draco returned his gaze to her to find the blush fading from her cheeks. "I will go to dinner with you, but please don't bother me again after this. I just want all this buzz to die down so my life can go back to normal." She brushed past him on her way out of the door, and the wolf was again puzzled by her lack of scent. But Draco didn't have much time to reflect as he strode after her, trying not to pay mind to the swaying of her hips as she walked.

They barely spoke as Weasley led him out of the clinic, and Draco was glad—he didn't want to tell her that their dinner would only be the start of her troubles with him.

He had made private reservations at an upscale restaurant in Diagon Alley. The Malfoy family had been patrons of the establishment since before Draco's birth, so naturally his every request had been catered to. The staff did not even blink at the sight of Draco and his red-haired company; they were greeted courteously and led covertly down a hall to a secluded cul de sac. Their table was surrounded by ivy-covered lattice, and set impeccably with sparkling silverware and fine crystal. With Weasley putting up more resistance than expected, Draco hoped the luxurious settings would sway her to his cause. Or at least appear to.

She looked rather out of place in her plain Healer's robes, and at first it was obvious that she felt it. But, just like back at her office, and this time aided by a fine red wine, the tension around her eased. The fear Draco had mulled over so extensively had diminished, for the most part. She knew what he was, but perhaps she had stopped expecting him to maul her. Draco couldn't help but muse that her trust was a little misplaced, and not just because the wolf still longed to touch her within him.

Their conversation was remarkably amiable, and Draco found himself pleased with her company. They spoke primarily of Quidditch—not that Draco had had any time to reacquaint himself with the recent goings-on in the sport, but Weasley certainly was knowledgeable. When the conversation finally alighted to people they had gone to school with, though, Weasley became slightly guarded.

"And what of the Golden Trio?" he queried, delicately cutting himself a slice of meat. He had just told her of Blaise and Pansy's recent visit to Malfoy Manor.

Weasley stiffened and her eyes flitted toward the hall they had come from. It was barely noticeable, but Draco was oddly attuned to her. She swirled some pasta onto her fork before replying. "Harry is an Auror. Hermione works under the Minister of Magic." She coughed slightly. "Ron…"

Draco understood immediately and interjected before she had to continue. "Figured that Potter would become an Auror. And of course I'm sure that the Minister of Magic is nothing but a figurehead, with Granger pulling the strings from the shadows."

Weasley smiled, a small, grateful smile. Of course she would not want to talk about her brother or father. Draco didn't want to think about, let alone discuss, what had happened to them that night. He was sure Weasley felt much the same as he did.

Conversation lulled, as if their words had been shuttered by the memories they both wanted to avoid. Draco tried to focus on the taste of his main course, rather than on the unpleasant thoughts his careless remark had incited. Perhaps it was a function of having been in an animal-like state for so long, but at times he felt he had lost a good deal of his tact—never mind the times he struggled with the wolf to maintain his self-control.

The waiter arrived to clear their plates, bringing Draco back to the situation at hand. He realized that he had been staring down at his food, for the most part, and Weasley probably had been, as well. The air felt heavy again. It was not time to berate himself, Draco decided. It would not do if they looked so morose in each other's company—it would not do at all.

A slight furrow had appeared between Weasley's brows, and Draco's attention was drawn to the smudge of ink that he had noticed on her forehead back at the clinic. It was time to get this plan back on track.

He reached across the table, not giving her any time to react. She flinched slightly as she felt his hand touch the side of her face. "Malfoy…?"

Her skin was soft and warm. The wolf hummed with pleasure, and even Draco had to admit that something about touching her like this felt unbelievably good. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he was relieved that she did not pull away. "Ink," he said quietly, moving his fingers into her hair and caressing her ear. His thumb dabbed gently at the stain on her forehead, but even after it was gone, he lingered. Touch her. He tried to tell himself that it was all for the sake of his plan, but her skin had grown hot and flushed beneath his palm and maybe…

She had caught her plump bottom lip with her teeth, and her eyes had grown warm and hazy again. She was feeling this too—Draco was sure of it—otherwise she would have slapped his hand away already. He wanted to lean in—glasses and cutlery be damned—and kiss her. Within him, the wolf seemed to be urging him on.

A loud shout from the hallway broke them out of their shared reverie. Weasley stood abruptly, and Draco pulled back equally as fast, feeling a fierce growl start in his chest. The wolf snarled, displeased that they had been interrupted. Charging through the archway was Harry Potter, dragging behind him the unfortunate reporter he had managed to find. Restaurant staff trailed awkwardly behind, unsure of what to do.

"Ginny!" Potter exclaimed, relief evident in his tone. "Thank Merlin…Malfoy, what is the meaning of this?" Potter pushed the stumbling reporter ahead of him. The man was wide-eyed, clutching his camera for dear life.

Draco stood. So it seemed Weasley would be finding out about his little scheme a little earlier than anticipated. She still stood at the table, equal parts relieved to see Potter and perplexed at the man he had dragged in with him. Potter was glaring, waiting for an answer.

"You mustn't mistreat people, Potter," Draco admonished, "You wouldn't want it in the papers that Auror Potter is abusing his power, would you?"

Now Weasley looked at him, astonished. "You…knew there was a reporter here?"

Draco smirked. "Of course, Weasley. I invited him. And several others, who luckily seem to have escaped your good friend Potter."

Weasley rounded on him, outraged. "Why would you…? You tricked me, you prick!"

The wolf felt rather unsettled at the betrayed look Weasley was projecting—but Draco felt quite satisfied. "That's not a very nice thing to say to your boyfriend, now is it Weasley? Sorry I forgot to mention it, but from now that's what I am. Whether you like it or not."

Weasley looked even more radiant when she was infuriated. That was the last thing he registered before she punched him, hard, right in the face, and Potter had to wrestle her off of him.

"Let's go," Potter ordered, his hands on her shoulders. Don't touch, the wolf growled, but Draco showed no expression despite the bloom of anger in his stomach. He wiped the blood away from his split lip as Potter led her out. Don't let her go.

The wolf did not need to worry, because Draco didn't intend to.

"This was not part of the agreement," Harry said, holding his head in his palms. His elbows were propped upon Hermione's desk. He had just dropped Ginny safely home, and had decided he needed to discuss what had just happened with the only person who could have prevented it. It was late at night, but of course Hermione was still at work.

Hermione's office at the Ministry was neatly organized, and could pass for a library with the number of books she had crammed onto the shelves that lined the walls. As usual, Hermione was all business—she kept the décor to a minimum. Only a small vase filled with nearly-wilted flowers and two framed pictures offered any respite. In one, her mother and father waved happily from a beach in Australia. In the other, the entire Weasley family—Harry included—blinked and smiled.

Hermione made an acknowledging noise. She did not look up from the document she was working on.

"Ginny is really distressed, you know? Don't you think you should take this a little more seriously?"

At that, she shot him a sharp glance. "And what exactly should I do in this situation, Harry?"

Anger welled up in Harry's throat. "Ginny owled you, too. I was on an assignment today so I didn't know until I got back to the office, but you could have gone." Harry took a deep breath, trying not to sound too harsh with his childhood friend. "Why didn't you go, 'Mione?"

"I had work to do."

"Bullocks." Hermione glared at him, but Harry didn't care. He knew that she finished her work for the day well in advance. Even now, she was likely getting a start on next month's reports. "We're not going to be able to control this now. He's announced to all the newsmongers in Great Britain that he and Ginny are…together."

"And why exactly should we be striving to control this, Harry?"

"Are you feeling well, 'Mione? This is Draco Malfoy and Ginny—our Ginny—that I'm talking about. What if…"

"What if?"

Harry paused. Hermione was looking at him intently, and he knew that she was already aware of what he wanted to say. He said it anyway, hoping to drive his point home with the stubborn woman. "What if she remembers? I don't want any of us to go through that again, 'Mione. I don't want that to happen."

Hermione finally put her quille down and sat back in her chair, abandoning the paper in front of her. "So you intend to keep it a secret from her for her entire life, Harry?"

"If I can, yes."

"Don't you think that's a bit selfish?" Harry started to respond, but Hermione gestured to cut him off, and continued. "It's Ginny's life. I think it's about time you let her live it."

Harry fumed, "So you intend to let her go back to that state?"

Hermione rubbed a hand across her face. "At any rate, Harry, just because Malfoy is hanging around her doesn't mean she will remember anything at all. It doesn't mean that anything will happen. Ginny is an adult. She made a decision to bring Malfoy back, and she made a decision to hide her identity from him. I helped her do so, but I'm not going to intervene any further in their affairs. And neither should you."

Harry rose, shaking his head. "It doesn't sit well with me, Hermione."

"It doesn't have to," she retorted, and went back to her work.

Author's Note: So it took me over a year to update this story. Before I write anything else, I just want to let you guys know I do intend to finish it.

I've been going through a lot in life. I am a very different person now compared to when I started writing fanfiction twelve years ago. I guess I've been trying to figure out who I am and what's important to me. And no matter what, I always come back to writing.

I'd just like to thank everyone for their reviews and frequent reminders to update. As strange as this sounds, every review—even if it was, "please update this!"—helped remind me of the person I am. It helped remind me that I love writing. It helped me write this chapter—which was very difficult to write.

Thank you so very much for sticking with this story!