A/N: Wow! Would you look at this? My third HP fic in less than a month. Maybe I should slow down? Oh well. I'm not even sticking to one pairing… This one's Draco/Ginny, so if you don't like it, then leave, cuz I'm not changing it.
Pairing: Draco/Ginny, Hermione/Severus (only mentioned at this point in time), and possibly others, depending on if the mood strikes me.
Rating: Erm… PG-13, unless I get to be a bad little girl.
Disclaimer: This is worse than any other fic I've written…I really don't own any of this. The characters belong to Joanne K. Rowling, and the plot (well, most of it. I've changed some of it… ) belongs to whoever owns the rights to the movie "Speed." You know, the one with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock? Hehehe…this should be good.
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Virginia Weasley boarded the Hogwarts train with a feeling of foreboding. Why should she have that feeling, though? Voldemort was gone. Dead. His followers though… Maybe that was where that feeling was coming from. But they hadn't heard from any of the Death Eaters in a long time. She'd graduated two years earlier, and in that time she'd apprenticed with a few different people, only leaving when she felt she couldn't learn anything more from them. When she'd received the letter from Headmistress McGonagall, she'd been ecstatic – at last, she could stay in one place.
At least her best friend would be there. Hermione Granger – she'd kept her maiden name – had surprised everyone by eloping with, of all people, Professor Snape. She'd moved in with her husband and was substituting for other professors as a part-time job while she devoted the rest of her time to Potions. Already she had invented two new potions, and improved another. At the moment she was working on a cure for lycanthropy.
Ginny chuckled to herself, walking down the corridor with her bag. She'd always known that Hermione would go places, even if it was just to Potions conventions at the moment. She herself had always wanted to teach. She wasn't completely sure why, but she'd always looked up to her teachers, and aspired to be like them. And finally, she was. It was the first day of the new school-year, and she was going to be teaching.
She reached the back of the train and walked into the last compartment, knowing that, finally, she was exactly where she wanted to be.
***
Draco Malfoy fell into the chair and closed his eyes. It had been a rough night. Being an Auror was tough work, he had to admit. But he owed it to the Ministry. They'd saved him, saved him from his father.
"Draco, it's time."
Draco looked up at his father. There was no way he could do this. But he had to. There was no other way. He glanced at the small picture one more time, sending a small prayer to whatever god was listening that she would be watched over. She would never know how much he cared. But now it didn't matter. He knew that once the Mark touched his skin, he would be gone. Draco Malfoy would die, leaving Lucius Malfoy II in his place.
Lucius sneered as he looked down at his son. "Still mooning over that girl?" 'Girl' was pronounced in the manner that Lucius reserved for the words 'Mudblood' and 'Muggle-lover'.
Draco stood, steeling himself for the task ahead. He followed his father, who was still sneering, to the fireplace, where Lucius handed him some Floo powder.
"It's 'The Underbowels.'"
Draco glared at his father. "How fitting."
Lucius' eyes flashed. "Finally decided to grow a spine, son?"
Draco said nothing. He just stared, as if seeing his father truly for the first time. He threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped in, repeating the words his father had said. If only…
He fell onto the hearth of the house – or at least he supposed that was what it was. There was no way to tell for sure. He stood, and made his way to stand in the circle of Death Eaters. His father fell through the fireplace, though he caught himself before he landed on the hearth.
Lord Voldemort began to speak, but Draco didn't pay attention. These were his last few moments, and he wanted – no, needed – to think about her. About … Hogwarts. About his mother. About anything except this.
Suddenly, there was an explosion. Aurors swarmed the place, shooting the Killing Curse at anything that moved. And as he watched, he saw Potter come to stand in front of the Dark Lord. All was silent.
And then he was dead. Voldemort was dead at the hands of the Boy Who Lived. All the Death Eaters who had not yet fallen began to run for their lives. It was mayhem, madness. Then he saw Potter in front of him.
"What?"
"Let me see your arm."
Slowly, Draco pulled up the sleeve on his left arm. Potter looked at it, and sighed in relief. Draco was amazed to see a smile grace his face. He grabbed Draco's wrist and pulled him out of the house – yes, a house it had been – and down the road.
"Can you Apparate?"
The question surprised Draco, but he answered nonetheless. "Of course."
"Alright. Go to the Ministry of Magic. There are some people there waiting for you." Then he was gone.
Draco sighed and concentrated. He opened his eyes just before he was engulfed in a hug he instantly recognized as his mother's. "Oh, Draco! I was so worried!"
Draco hugged her back with all he was worth, barely realizing the tears streaming down his cheeks. He was alive… He was alive.
Draco sighed, remembering. Yes, he was alive. His mother had been spying against his father and Voldemort ever since she'd discovered her husband's allegiances. Lucius had never accepted that women were just as smart as men, and that had been his downfall. He'd let enough information slip in her presence that she'd known where her son would have been initiated. She had known that Draco hadn't wanted to become a Death Eater, and was only doing it because he had no other choice.
Voldemort had died that day. Truly died. The Death Eaters had scattered. Lucius had never been found.
And the next day, Draco had joined the Aurors. He owed it to the Ministry. Had they not arrived when they had, he would have been assigned a fate worse than death. But he hadn't. He'd lived, and he had helped track down numerous Death Eaters.
But he'd never found his father. It would have been best if he had, even if he were dead. At least then there would be closure. He had inherited everything. He had set his mother up comfortably in the country, and closed up the manor. It was full of too many bad memories. He'd moved into a small apartment in Diagon Alley, and lived sparingly. He'd donated a large chunk of money to the Ministry, to help rebuild what his father had caused to be destroyed.
Draco sighed again. Why Potter had even cared whether or not he was a Death Eater had eaten at him for a while, until he finally contacted the man almost three weeks after the fact.
Draco threw the powder into the fireplace. "Harry Potter," he said clearly.
It was almost a half minute before Potter's head appeared through the flames. Potter glared at him. "What is it, Malfoy? I really don't have time—"
"Potter. It's about what happened three weeks ago."
Potter raised a brow. "What about it?"
"You seemed…glad that I wasn't a Death Eater. Now, no offense, but I don't see why you would give a damn."
Potter sighed. "Look, Malfoy, I can't tell you anything. You'll have to ask Ginny."
Draco just stared. He had not expected that. Potter and Ginny had broken up just a few weeks earlier, sometime around Voldemort's death. He wasn't certain of the exact date. "I don't understand."
Potter shook his head. "It doesn't matter. That's all I can tell you." He began to cut the connection, then stopped. "Maybe you should talk to Ginny." And then he was gone.
Draco sighed, leaning back into his chair again. He was completely confused. Maybe he should just go talk to her. After all, why not? He shuddered. He knew why. It was the only thing that had kept him sane for those few months after Voldemort's fall. Her. It was all her. He finally admitted it to himself. He loved her. He'd loved her ever since that time in his fifth year when she'd slapped him for insulting Granger. After that, he'd kept those comments to a minimum, especially in her presence.
He buried his face in his hands. He had to get to work. It didn't matter that he loved her. He'd never be worthy of her. Thanks to his past … and his father. So he buried himself in his work. He was praised as one of the best Aurors in recent history, and it was all because of her. Even if he'd never be worthy of her, if he could save himself at least a little in her eyes, he'd feel he'd done something good.
"Malfoy!" It was his superior, Tim Rovenwood. Rovenwood came from a long line of witches and wizards, and had graduated from Hogwarts five years before Draco had even started. "We've got a situation."
Draco's ears perked up at that. Finally. Something to keep his mind off of the thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone. "What is it?"
"Death Eaters." Draco stood and stared at the middle-aged man, waiting for him to continue. "About five of them, so far as we can tell. It's a hostage situation. Almost five hundred people, and all except one are under eighteen. They want access to their vaults at Gringotts and their records cleared." Rovenwood's voice was grave. "It's the Hogwarts Express, kid. They've taken the Hogwarts Express."
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