Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.

Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is rated T for no particular reason.

Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!

Pairing: Draco x Ginny, mention of George x Oliver.

Author's Note: I have been gone for so long, but this story has always been with me. As many of you know (if you are still reading,) a few months before I stopped updating, my grandmother passed away. The stress of that event exacerbated an undiagnosed thyroid disorder, and completely unrelated to that condition, I dealt with the diagnosis of a bone tumor in my leg (thankfully benign, but it was a very frightening time.)

In any event, I have never wanted this story to end up on permanent hiatus, and so I am back. Some readers guessed at some developments with George and I hope those readers are still around, because you were right. This has been planned since the beginning. ;)

The Name of the Game

Chapter 29: Lost Halves

Ginny and Draco apparated back to the road outside the Burrow, taking the walk to the house slowly. Her temper seethed beneath the surface and she struggled to keep it tamed. She could no more hex Lucius Malfoy from here than she could actually see the gnargles Luna spoke of from time to time. The one person there on whom she could vent her frustration was the one person she truly didn't want to hex with flying bat bogeys.

The stars seemed large in the night sky, and Ginny felt that if she wanted, she could reach up and grasp one in her hand. That was silly, of course; even wizards understood basic science, at least where astronomy was concerned. But still, with Draco at her side, the stars glittered brightly, and hovered close. Why he should make such a difference she couldn't say, or rather, couldn't yet admit to herself.

"I'm not ready for this night to end," she said quietly.

She would have been unable to imagine herself doing so only hours earlier in the wake of her family's riotous behavior. Unless what she actually meant was that she didn't want to go home, which was distinctly possible.

"You have to go back sometime," Draco replied. "But, Weasley... Ginny. I want to see you again. Not just for Quidditch and not just because we were in the papers. Whatever we are, I feel it's too precious to let go."

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart sped in her chest. The stars above seemed dizzying in their brightness, gleaming like heated silver, like his eyes.

"Come with me," she said, holding out her hand to him. "Come with me to the broomshed."

"Why, Ginevra," he said, lip curling lasciviously.

"Not for that," she replied, tugging him toward the rickety wooden structure. "Come fly with me."

She opened the shed and there was his old broom; she reached for it and offered it to him.

"I'd use it but one shouldn't offer one wizard's broom to another, and I'm afraid Fred and George's brooms are the only others I'd feel right about using. I wouldn't be surprised if Ron's tried to hex it so I'd go bald if I rode it or something. Usually he's a bit of a bungler with anything more complicated than basic defensive magic or stirring Mum's mashed potatoes, but every now and then he pulls something off."

"Ah yes. I have very fond memories of the time he tried to hex me and ended up vomiting slugs down his front. Reminiscent of today, wouldn't you say?" Malfoy grinned, then sobered slightly. "I'd have deserved it, of course, for what I said about Granger. I'm lucky that one has a more even temper."

"Draco... The past is something you can never change," Ginny said, remembering what she'd later been told he'd called Hermione that day, remembering the path Draco had already been headed down by then, and what that fate had stolen from all of them. "But all we have now is this. This moment, this flight. Come and fly with me."

She tucked the old broom under her skirt and kicked off, giving not a whit for her dressy shoes as they rubbed into the grass and soil. And the world fell away, like always, as she plunged upward into the night sky and its spiraling stars.

"It's like none of it matters up here," Draco said from very near her ear, the distance between them easily closed by the difference in brooms.

She smiled faintly. It was as though she was beginning to get used to the similarity of his thoughts to her own.

"I wonder if we'll ever become one of those old couples-"

"Who finish each others' sentences?" he smirked, and her momentary knot of worry at having just said that aloud dissolved with the sound of his laughter. "Please, Weaslette. It was completely obvious what you were about to say."

"I still shouldn't have," she said, smiling in return. "It's a bit much for where we are now."

"I don't think so," he countered. "We are where we are. We don't have to decide what's too much if we don't want to. Our rules, Ginny, and no one else's."

"This is ours," she breathed. He nodded, nudging closer, caught her hand in his, trailed his fingers through her hair, pressed his lips to hers.

They'd done this before, on brooms or on the ground, under the stars, and it felt like home. As they floated above the yard where she'd grown up, the house where her family lived, it felt that way now more so than ever. There they remained as the night wore on and the stars circled overhead, trading words and secret kisses, hidden from the prying eyes of the world.

Though, as it turned out, they were not hidden from the prying eyes of one other Weasley in particular.

xxxxx

A thin tendril of smoke curled from the lit end of the cigarette, glowing cherry bright in the otherwise darkened open window that overlooked the broomshed and the yard. George sat, breathing the still night air before he took another drag. Dirty Muggle habit, he thought with snicker. Thanks for that, Fred.

He was surprised that watching Ginny in a private moment with her apparent new beau didn't inspire something more like Ron's particular brand of enraged sibling distress. Bill's scars could be laid at Draco Malfoy's feet almost directly, and countless deaths at the feet of Death Eaters in general, Fred's death among them.

"How should I feel about that then, Fred?" he asked the silent room. There were still two twin beds in it, though only one of the inhabiting twins remained. A quilt made by their mother when they were but children was spread over it, and a battered old teddy bear leaned against the pillow. The bed was rarely made when Fred was alive; he just hadn't been so inclined to neatness, meticulous though he had been in applying knowledge and effort to making their magic tricks and confections.

"Never poison a customer, isn't that what you always said?" George laughed softly, and his smile faded. He took another drag from the cigarette. "I've been so tired for so long, Fred. Didn't know how to go on without you, my other half. Still don't, but would you believe it, it happens anyway. One day follows another and before I know it, years have gone and I'm still here, and your face gets a little further away from me every day in the mirror. Never thought I'd say I missed your face, Fred."

He looked out the window again as Ginny's laughter floated gently on the breeze, too soft to be heard without the window open. Luckily Ron wasn't home anyway, probably drinking away the night's disasters with Harry.

"I do miss you, Fred. Every day. But that's the thing; I'll never stop. There will always be an empty space at my side without you in it. But I see Ginny like this and I realize she's found a way to move on. I should be angry, but I'm not. Not with her, not with him, not with what they have."

He stared into the night, his sister faintly limned in starlight.

"If there's hope for them, Fred, might be there's hope for me as well, and if there is I have to try."

His gaze shifted back to the teddy bear on the empty bed.

"I only hope you can forgive me for letting you go."

xxxxx

Ginny's back pressed up against the wall next to the kitchen door as Draco kissed her thoroughly. He pulled back a moment later, just looking at her, at the way the soft glow of a low light in the kitchen shone through the glass panes set in the door, making her hair look alight like burning embers. He stroked his fingers down a lock of crimson.

"I had best be going, before this turns into something neither of us wants to play out on your parents' porch," he said softly. She nodded and he leaned in to kiss her once more. "I'll see you again soon, Ginny."

She watched as he walked back down to the road and apparated away in the dark, blowing out a heavy sigh. She thought about the night, about that day. Visiting Pansy at the hospital seemed ages past but had really only been that morning. And somehow Draco's family had managed to be almost completely courteous compared to her own family's barbarism. How she could face them all again, she didn't know. Her anger at Ron, the shame she felt before her parents...

And she was ashamed. She knew she didn't need to be, but she was all the same. If she were a better daughter and a better Weasley, she wouldn't want the things she wanted. She wouldn't want to play Quidditch and date the former Death Eater while snubbing the boy hero. She'd want to marry said hero, her brother's best friend, build a Burrow of her own, and have children to fill it. She felt like she had betrayed her family. And wasn't family what the Weasleys were all about?

But... She wanted. She wanted so many things. She wanted to ride the wind and chase the sun and catch the Snitch. She wanted to feel its little golden wings beating against her fingers to the time of the thrill of victory pulsing through her heart.

And she wanted him, Draco, most taboo of all.

Ginny pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit kitchen, heaving a sigh as the door closed at her back. At least she wouldn't have to face her family again until morning. She didn't know what she would say to her parents, what decision she would make about Draco... Perhaps it was better that she didn't think of him that way, better that he should remain Malfoy, with all the venom that name inspired in the people she loved.

But it just might be that he was becoming one of those people.

"Tea, Gin?" a low voice spoke from the shadowy corner by the breakfast table. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

"George, I could hex you!" she hissed, grumpy as she recovered from her fright. "What are you doing down here, sitting in the dark by yourself?"

"Waiting for you. We should talk, Gin. But I really do have tea," he said, pushing a lightly steaming cup across the table.

"Think I'd rather have gin, but thanks," she grumbled, taking a seat opposite him. Her finger toyed with the teacup's delicate handle. "What do you think we need to talk about?"

"Things about you. Things about me. This thing with you and Malfoy," he sighed.

"Merlin's bloody beard, are you going to give me the brother-knows-best lecture too? Because Ron's already had a go and I'd rather not hear it twice," she huffed.

"On the contrary," he paused a moment, getting his thoughts in order. "This life, the past, they've taken so much from us, Gin. And we deserve to get something back. We deserve to find our own happiness." He glanced up, meeting her gaze. "There's someone... Someone I've known a long time, actually, but I've only recently realized there may be the chance for something more, and it's a chance I want to take."

"George, that's wonderful! Tell me all about her. Do I know her?" Ginny asked excitedly.

"You do, in fact." George took a deep breath, steeling himself. "It's Oliver."

"Oliver Wood?" Ginny's eyes widened.

"Yes, Oliver Wood, unless you know some other Oliver that I've been spending a lot of time with lately," George said, rolling his eyes fondly. "Well go on, say something!"

"I don't know what to say! Only, I'm relieved," she replied. "I was worried... Honestly, I've been afraid you'd never find anything to live for outside of the shop."

"You mean outside of what I have left of Fred," George replied. "I know. I've been thinking the same for some time now. And when I ran into Oliver at your training camp this summer, it was like a missing piece just clicked into place. He could never replace Fred of course, but it seems there's an Oliver-shaped space in my life as well."

"That's wonderful," she repeated, truly happy for her brother. She reached across the table and clasped his hand in her own. "And Oliver. Really. I couldn't have guessed that he fancied men... Although I never really thought about it."

"There's a reason I'm telling you all this now, Gin," George pressed on. "I always thought, with whomever I ended up, that Fred would always be right there too. You know how we were, no one could ever be top priority to one of us but the other. And to have someone now feels like... It feels a bit like shutting the door on Fred, choosing to ignore that empty space he should fill. But it isn't that way, not really. The point is, Ginny, that I can't just do nothing for myself because Fred isn't here. That emptiness will always be there, but it doesn't mean that emptiness has to be my life. And you need to do what fulfills you, and you can't let our feelings, or rather Ron's and Harry's feelings, be the deciding factor."

"I have felt a bit like being with Draco... Well, whatever we are to each other... is a betrayal to Fred, and to Bill. So many people suffered and died, and the Death Eaters are to blame," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

"And the worst, the ones who carry most of the blame, are dead or rotting in Azkaban," George said evenly. "Malfoy didn't skate by chance, he was let off because he was a bloody child when he was roped into it and he didn't do anything that made him irredeemable. That, and the few good things he did turned the tide for us. And Ginny, now more than ever, I have to believe that those of us scarred by the war have a chance to live and to love and to be happy. I have to believe that for me, and for you, and that means I have to believe it for Malfoy too."

Ginny suddenly launched from her chair and threw her arms around her brother's neck, hugging him tightly.

"George, you're the best brother I could ever have, and you always have been," she whispered.

"I suppose I am, at that," he laughed softly.

"And," she added, "I know Oliver will make you as happy as you deserve."

xxxxx

Draco apparated into the foyer of the Manor, hindered neither by wards that prevented him from apparating in with company nor by training camp rules that required him to use the Floo. He heaved a sigh. The day could have gone worse, could hardly have gone better, all things considered, but facing facts, their families hated each other. It was plain as day, and though being with Ginny lifted him up until he could hardly feel how mired in the past he was, once her presence began to fade he was again oppressed by the weight of his burden. It didn't really help matters that he felt it was a burden he carried justly, a burden he deserved.

He headed up the grand staircase and followed along corridors he knew well. So many horrors had been witnessed under this very roof, and yet it was still home, its halls echoing hollowly with cold familiarity. He was about to make his way to the third floor when he spotted a light casting a thin line from the crack beneath the door of his father's study. Curiosity drove him down the hall; he didn't know what kept his father up at such a late hour, but if the night's events had set Lucius to plotting something, Draco wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

He raised his hand and rapped a knuckle against the door.

"Enter," Lucius said imperiously from within.

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed lightly on the door handle. The door swung open to reveal Lucius's richly appointed inner sanctum. A large fireplace spanned most of one wall, no fire burning as it was yet fairly warm, and a large portrait of Draco's grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, stared down upon them with ill-concealed disapproval; it mattered not what he disapproved of, as Abraxas's portrait rarely displayed any other expression. A black padded leather sofa with silver accents laid into the wood trim sat in proximity to the fireplace, with an antique lacquered table resting before it, both upon a green Persian rug both venerable and valuable, charmed to withstand wear accordingly. Bookcases filled with tomes thick and thin, ancient and new, lined the walls, interrupted by the door through which Draco had entered and the large window opposite through which owls came and went. Draco saw no activity there at the moment.

At the far end sat his father's desk, monolithic, a monument to the man. It too was lacquered deep black, gleaming in the lamplight like the back of some malicious, venomous spider. The corners and feet bore silver caps, polished to a high shine like the wood of the desk, which was carved decoratively down the front, the design distinctly serpentine and wound around a large letter M. The entire room spoke to the identity that was Lucius Malfoy.

"Why, Draco," Lucius said, in his best surprised-but-not-really tone of voice. "What brings you to see me this evening? Perhaps there was something you wished to discuss?"

"I think you have some idea what I'd like to discuss, Father," Draco replied.

"I'm not at all certain I do. Please enlighten me," Lucius said, smirking in a way Draco found all too familiar.

"I should hope there aren't going to be any repercussions against the Weasley girl after tonight's meeting," Draco said, letting a suggestion of ire slip into his voice. "I wouldn't be particularly happy about it."

"Oh my, well, we can't have that," Lucius replied with a slight scoff. "After all I suppose your happiness is paramount, even if that means taking in strays..."

"Father..." Draco growled warningly through gritted teeth.

"Make no mistake, Draco," Lucius hissed. "Your mother may be content with letting you play out this little dalliance but I? I will protect the bloodline this family carries, the name my ancestors built. That is the true priority here."

"If you meddle in this, Father..." Draco stopped short of an outright threat. Directly challenging his father might well goad the man into some worse action than whatever he was presently scheming. "This conversation isn't over," he said instead.

"I believe you'll find that it is," Lucius said silkily, the snake charmed for the moment. "For now. Do run along, Draco. I have further business to attend before I retire for the night."

Recognizing that his father would brook no refusal, Draco was about to leave when he spotted the turned down picture frame. He tipped it upright, his curiosity overriding his sense of decorum. It was an old photo, black and white, of a young witch sitting jauntily astride a broomstick in mid flight. Every now and then she waved to an unseen crowd.

Draco glanced at his father with an upraised eyebrow, but Lucius's gaze was steady and cold, betraying nothing. Draco left the office, taking the path to his rooms with rote familiarity, his mind on something else entirely. The witch in the picture had seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn't place her, no matter how hard he tried.

A/N: So many people offered their reviews and support in my absence, and several PMed to ask when this story is coming back. I was in the habit of giving everyone thanks individually and I would like to do so again, but so much time has passed since the last update that it's a bit overwhelming. So I offer my thanks to each of you who read, reviewed, messaged, or otherwise lent this story your support and praise, and to those who are reading it for the first time as I hope some will do. Thank you all.

I promise the next chapter won't take quite so long. ;)