A/N: At this point I'm not even going to bother saying I'm going to update eventually. Between college and personal projects and work, this fic just isn't my top priority. However, I have no plans to full-on abandon it. Just keep in mind that updates will probably be very infrequent, and I'm sorry for that. Thank you to everyone that's been following, favorite-ing, and reviewing. If it weren't for you guys, I probably wouldn't stick with it at all.

Harry's POV

Ginny comes into our bedroom late at night, holding a letter and a cup of tea. Her hair falls around her face like a curtain. I have a question in the back of my mind, one that I've been meaning to ask ever since she came out shortly after the war, one whose answer terrifies and excites and saddens me.

I wait for her to sit on her side of the bed, crossing her legs and charming her tea to levitate next to her. "Ginny," I start, waiting for her to look at me. "I have a question."

"Sure."

"Did you ever love me? Like, when we dated in my sixth year, was that…was that legitimate?"

A look of confusion and sadness spreads across her freckled face. "What do you mean?" she asks, though I suspect she must already know.

"Because you're lesbian and all. Did you ever really love me or just the idea of being with someone?"

"Harry—" she sighs gently, and I hold up my hand to cut her off, suddenly seized with fear, knowing this is something I don't want to hear the rest of. I never got over her, not really, and even the knowledge that it was no one's fault doesn't make up for the fact that I can't stop wondering about what we could have been, about everything I had wanted us to be.

"It doesn't matter."

"No, Harry, it's bothering you. It matters." She sighs again, then explains, "I thought I did, really. I just…during my sixth year, when you were gone, I started to notice Luna, and I questioned my identity, and…it wasn't something I'd ever really thought about before, really. But suddenly it made sense. I just didn't really have a word for it until then."

"But—"

"Not in the way you wanted me to," she says quickly. "I do love you, Harry, just not in the way you want me to."

I sink down into the comforter, unsure of how to respond, knowing that none of it is her fault but feeling oddly hollow regardless. "I can't," she says. "I hope you understand that. It's nothing personal."

I nod, smiling at her gently, trying to communicate that through my hurt, I still understand her. "I know."

We sit in silence for a few long moments, heavy with the knowledge that we have to consummate within the next three days, neither of us willing to bring it up despite the growing urgency. "Honestly," she starts, sniffling. I look over to see her wiping tears away from her eyes. "I don't even know if I really love Luna."

I feel strangely shocked, and I wait for her to say something else, to explain herself. "I thought I did at first, but I think I just needed someone to hold onto. I—I'm a selfish ruin, Harry. It's just who I am. I don't know if I've always been this way, but I am now."

"Ginny," I whisper, my breath catching in my throat. I can't remember ever seeing her upset; I didn't think she could cry. She's one of the strongest people I've ever met. "You're not selfish. It's just…it's a coping mechanism. You're not selfish." It's hard to tell her this because I can't really wrap my head around the idea that she would need anyone to reassure her. Ginny knows herself. She would never need anyone to tell her what she was or wasn't, and yet—

"It's fine," she says, her voice suddenly firm and certain. "It doesn't matter anymore."

I don't know what to say in response; she's never been one for sentiments or empty words. If she says it doesn't matter, I'll have to let her think that, even if I know it's not really true. I opt to change the subject instead, hoping this will cut the odd tension in the room. "Who's the letter from?"

"Fred and George," she answers, glancing at the messy script on the front of the envelope. Sometimes I marvel at how intertwined their lives are; they don't even write letters individually a lot of the time. It makes me wonder how things would have turned out if Fred hadn't pulled through.

She opens it, reading off parts here and there. "Cho and Fred consummated, good for them," she says lightly, wrinkling her nose, presumably at the thought of one of her siblings having sex. "Nothing about George and Katie, but…I thought they had something going before, so maybe they figure their consummation wouldn't be a big deal," she continues absently. "And then some stuff about the shop, 'tell everyone we said hi,' etc, etc."

Setting the letter aside, she picks up her abandoned mug of tea and starts to drink quickly, almost with an air of nervousness about her. She seemed to tense up as she read the word "consummation," and I know she knows it will have to happen sooner rather than later.

"Ginny," I start, keeping my voice as steady as possible. If I try to be gentle or indirect, it might just piss her off. So I say, as bluntly as I can manage, "We need to have sex soon."

She looks at me, looking a little anxious but mostly indifferent, and nods. "I'm not sure how you want that to play out."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, do you want to just get it all over with as fast as possible? Like, goal oriented, no real enjoyment, done?"

"Is that what you want?" I ask, figuring that she must, because she's not attracted to my entire gender, much less me specifically, so why would she want to drag the process out?

"I don't know," she says honestly, but she doesn't elaborate.

After a long moment of silence, I summon the courage to ask the most disgustingly thoughtless, selfish question I could possibly ask in this situation, or ever, really. "Can we pretend?"

She turns to face me, turning her whole body toward me this time, and looks at me with an indiscernible expression, and I almost take it back but I want this experience so badly, even though I know it's going to hurt more when it's over than it does now. I need to feel this; I need to know what it could've been like if we'd ever had a chance, if I could've been loved by anyone at all.

Before I can really process what's going on, she's already moved to straddle me, pressing her lips to my neck and moving up, apparently waiting for my shock to wear off well enough for me to kiss back properly. If I'm going to indulge my own bloody awful selfishness, I'm going to at least try to help her enjoy it. I shouldn't tip the balance of power, I realize; she's taking control because she needs this to at least happen on her own terms. She pushes my chest down until I lie flat under her, almost instinctively resting my hands over my head; it just seems like the right thing to do.

In the bright light of the bedroom, I can see the lean muscles of her arms and her toned stomach as she tosses her shirt aside, unabashedly, barely breaking the rhythm as she descends back to me, yanking on the hem of my shirt until I take the hint and pull it off.

I know she's not thinking of me as she tugs on the waistband of my trousers or starts to pull my pants down my thighs. I know she's not thinking of me as she unclasps her bra and shucks her pajama pants, or as she helps me slide into her, or as she starts to move, faster than I thought she would. I'd always imagined that her personality would carry over into the bedroom, that she'd be dominant and overpowering, and I'm strangely thrilled to find that I'm not wrong.

Ron's POV

"They're going to be here any minute," I call down the hallway. The consummation checks were two weeks ago, and I don't think Luna's pregnant yet. Given, we've only had sex twice, but I was kind of hoping that's all it would take.

The consummation check was a tad uncomfortable. A prim Ministry worker in crisp grey robes with a tight bun and thin, wire rim glasses waved her wand over both of us, checking our auras. Apparently, blue auras mean there hasn't been consummation, and red means there has been.

Basically, a Ministry stiff wanded us to make sure we were shagging, told us there'd be pregnancy checks in two weeks, coughed awkwardly, and then took us each aside and asked if we'd been having any problems in our marriage. I don't know what Luna said, but I told her things were more or less okay, politely glazing over how we don't actually love each other as anything more than semiclose friends, and then sent her on her way.

Finally, Luna emerges, her hair swishing down her back in platinum waves. As time went on, I've hoped that she'd get a little bit more normal, but if anything, she's gotten even more distracted and distant. She doesn't talk very much about anything, and when she does, her voice trails off and often doesn't pick up again. We sleep in the same bed and she feels so far away that it's not even awkward anymore, it's genuinely worrisome.

In the living room, a loud swoosh signals the arrival of the Ministry worker, right on time. Ginny and Harry will get their check after ours; even if I know my sister and my best mate are having sex, I don't really need or want to know the details, so I won't hang around for them.

We exchange meaningless pleasantries before the worker goes, "Mrs. Weasley, if you please," as she waves Luna over to stand in front of her.

She waves the wand over Luna's abdomen. If she's pregnant, the glow the Ministry worker manifests around her will have gone from red to green.

Nothing.

"Have you been, um—" The uptight woman clears her throat, expecting us to take the hint. It angers me a little bit, that she's prodding into our personal lives, these lives we don't even want, and she doesn't even have the decency to be straight about it.

"Shagging regularly?" I supply, and she blushes and grits her teeth, but nods. "Not exactly."

"Mm. Well, pregnancy doesn't always occur whenever you have sex; there is some timing involved. The more often you have sex, the better your chances are," she explains. "And if you're still having trouble, you can try fertility potions, but the side effects on those aren't always the most pleasant…I'd leave those as a last resort. I recommend tracking your cycles, Mrs. Weasley, and keeping close tabs on your fertile windows."

Luna nods politely and I thank her for the information that I neither asked for nor wished I needed to know, though I can't say it's not valuable. "Can I ask why there hasn't been regularity?" she inquires, posing her quill toward the center of her clipboard of papers.

I glance toward Luna, who's staring off into space and probably hasn't been listening. "Well," I start. "I'll hazard a guess and say it's because we don't particularly want to, because we're just friends and have no real desire to be anything more than that, and we're only shagging at all because of this ridiculous law."

She stares at me, mouth very slightly agape, before making an odd choking sound in the back of her throat. "I'm sure you of all people, Mr. Weasley, understand the concept of making sacrifices for the greater good. I'd say that idea applies very well to this situation, yes?"

I gnash my teeth and refrain from pointing out that at this point, I've done enough sacrificing for everyone and it's about time I get to do what I want with my own life, but I don't want to keep this bint in my house any longer than I have to. "Sure, yeah, whatever," I wave her off because she can take us aside separately to ask about our bloody marriage. As far as I'm concerned, she already got her answer. "OI! Harry! Gin! Ministry woman's here!"

She frowns at me as Luna disappears down the hall. I give it a few seconds before I follow suit, trailing slightly behind her, unsure of whether or not she'll want to be left alone. After a few moments of walking, she turns around and asks, "Did you need me?"

"I, er…sort of, yeah."

"What's wrong?"

She should sound empathetic with the actual words she's using, but her tone is flat and far-away, and it almost makes me not want to talk to her because there's no way she'll want to have any kind of conversation. "I just…kind of thought we should, um…discuss the whole…ah…child…thing."

"Oh," she says. She pauses for a moment, grey eyes darting around strangely, nervous looking. "Okay."

I sigh, fighting the blush that I can feel heating up my face and my ears. "I—I don't want to have kids any more than you do but I figure maybe we should just accept things for how they are and…you know, ah…try…more."

She nods, lowering her gaze. "I—I don't know why it hasn't happened yet, but I suppose you're right. You didn't mean right now though, right?"

"Oh! Oh, no, no, just…just in general. Just…let's not force it, yeah?"

She nods, smiling very slightly. I don't know how to end the conversation, but luckily she does it for me by turning around and heading back to the bedroom after mentioning something about dinner tonight. Ginny comes down the hall with Harry, both of whom looking somewhere between miffed and amused. "No luck?" I ask.

Ginny shakes her head and laughs. "Nah. You?"

"Nothing."

Harry shrugs, Ginny smiles, and I head down to my bedroom, compelled to see Luna for reasons I don't quite understand.

Hermione's POV

At first, we only exchange words under the cover of darkness, when we put our differences aside for the night for the sake of fulfilling the Ministry's demands. It happens the same way every time: I wait until he should be asleep and slip into his bedroom, where he waits, motionless but awake. I sit on the edge of his bed and confess something, something different every night that I would never admit to saying in the morning.

At the time it always feels cathartic, like a weight is lifting from my shoulders, like we're actually getting somewhere. When morning comes, it feels painful and awkward, knowing that we're not in love or even anything close to it, that none of this would be happening at all if it wasn't for the law.

"The Ministry officials are coming in about an hour, I think," Draco says one morning, as though I hadn't been anxiously awaiting the first pregnancy check since it was arranged last week.

"I know," I say simply. It feels strange, talking like normal people, even with the sunlight streaming through his window.

He pushes himself up and sits against the headboard, letting the sheet fall from his chest. "Do you think you're pregnant?"

"I—I don't know. I haven't really noticed anything different," I answer honestly. He purses his lips and nods. "I should go get ready."

He nods again as I slip out of bed, picking my vest up off the floor and pulling it on over my head. In the doorway, I glance back at him. I don't know what I was expecting, but Draco's standing at his dresser with his back to me. I want to say something, but the time for it has passed, so I go to my room instead.

The Ministry worker is a lot more sympathetic than I would have expected.

It doesn't help.

"Have you been, erm…" She purses her lips awkwardly for a moment, seeming to hope that we'll spare her the embarrassment of having to ask the obvious question. We don't, and she eventually finishes, "having sex regularly?"

Draco, sneering, cold, and irritated, spits, "How often is regularly?"

The Ministry worker, who had introduced herself as Lilian, chuckles nervously and flips through the papers on her clipboard. "I, um…there's no set amount, per say, but I'd reckon at least once a week would be reasonable."

Silently, Draco nods. I stand next to him, feeling my face burn. I can have sex, but that doesn't mean I care to discuss it with a stranger, even if she's friendly about it. "Okay, well, Mrs. Malfoy, if you please," Lilian starts, motioning for me to come forward.

"Please, call me Hermione." Please, for the love of God, call me Hermione.

"Right then, Hermione, if you will," she smiles. She waves her wand across my abdomen twice, pauses, and exclaims, "Congratulations!"

"Oh, Merlin, I…no. Seriously? No," I groan. I look over to Draco, who's staring straight at me with no indication of emotion except for widened grey eyes. "…no?"

Lilian giggles, looking genuinely happy for me, bless her ignorant soul. "'Fraid so! Congratulations! Based on the color of the spell, I'd say you're quite early on, but do make an appointment with your Healer soon."

"I think I need to sit down," Draco mutters, turning around and stumbling toward the nearest smooth, black leather couch. Lilian laughs again and says, "Go ahead. There's one part left, but I'll have to talk to each of you separately, so I'll just do Hermione first."

"You still keep separate bedrooms?" Lilian frowns as I lead her to my bedroom, having made the mistake of calling it "mine" instead of "ours" or just a spare. I nod and invite her to sit on the bed, as there are no chairs and I don't feel like transfiguring some. She writes a line down on her papers and casts a Silencing charm over the room.

I sit next to her, on the edge of the bed, and try to force the idea of pregnancy to the back of my mind. I can dwell on that later, but first I have to deal with Lilian so I can get her out of my way. "What do you need to talk to me about?"

"Well, just like last time, we like to talk to each spouse in turn about the state of the relationship. Of course, given the circumstances, we don't expect love, per say, but we do like to ascertain that there isn't outright abuse or mistreatment occurring. Have things…improved since last time?"

I nod. "There…um, there's nothing. We're fine. Not a whole lot better but fine."

"But you still keep separate bedrooms," she repeats, quirking an eyebrow. "Given that you've clearly been sleeping together, I would figure that at this stage in your relationship, you'd have started using the same one?"

I sigh heavily. I can't deny that I want Draco to trust me, that it hurts when he keeps shutting me out. It's taking time to get through to him, and I wouldn't have expected it to be any different, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating or painful. "I-um...occasionally I stay after we sleep together, but not with any regularity. The whole relationship is quite a…a work in progress, if you will."

"Do you think it will improve?"

"I hope so, honestly, but I can't say."

Lilian gives me another sympathetic smile. Something about her seems so warm and genuine that I can't help but convince myself that she really cares about this, this relatively insignificant complaint, even amongst all the other couples she's tasked with attending to. "Well, unless you have anything else you want to talk about, that's really all I needed from you."

"No," I sigh, standing up. "I think that's alright. I'll make plans to see my Healer soon."

"Good! Congratulations, again. It may not be what you want, but you've been through worse, I'm sure."

I can't help myself, even with the knowledge that it isn't fair to him, or with the niggling fear in the back of my mind that I might get caught. He might get furious with me. He might feel betrayed. I could end up undoing all the progress we've made. But I can't quell my curiosity.

Once Draco and Lilian have shut the door of Draco's bedroom, I creep up and take down their Silencing Charm before pressing my ear to the door. My plan is to wait until their conversation seems just about over, then make a mad dash for the living room and act natural. I hate to say it, but I could really use some Extendable Ears right about now.

I can just make out Lilian's voice giving Draco the same explanation she gave me, before posing the same question regarding the separate bedrooms. Draco's voice gives a monotone and emotionless confirmation.

"Why? If you're sleeping together regularly, why don't you share a bed as well?"

A long pause issues from the other side of the door. I'm expecting Draco to snap at Lilian for asking questions that aren't any of her business, or even yell at her for invading his privacy, but instead he says, "She usually sleeps here when we've had sex, but that's the only time she's in this room at all, really."

"Why is that, do you think?" Lilian asks curiously. Maybe she genuinely doesn't get it. To somebody who wasn't well informed of the Malfoy backstory, I'm sure Draco seems like your average arrogant pretty boy, infuriating but attractive and wealthy enough for it to be worth putting up with. I'm sure plenty of girls would be clamoring to sleep with him and, on the surface, I can't say it doesn't make sense. But we don't live on the surface, and the reality of the situation is so much more complex than that. It's heavy, it presses down on me every day, and I don't know if it will ever be fully okay.

"It's hard to say."

"Why?"

Draco clears his throat. His voice comes out just as flat and toneless as it was before. "We have history."

"Can I asked what happened?"

A tense pause follows, and I can hear Draco snort derisively. Finally, he starts, "I treated her terribly all throughout school, and then my family tortured her for information on the floor of our living room and I didn't say anything about it, and by that time I was quite finished with the whole Death Eater thing, but I still treated her like dirt, and to a somewhat lesser degree, I still do."

And then the silence is back, thick and heavy. Lilian says something but I've spaced out. Whatever she has to say is secondary to this revelation. I don't know what hurts more: him treating me like dirt, or him still treating me like dirt even after stating that he knows it's wrong. I want to cry, and I just might. It doesn't make sense, and it's so overwhelming, and it's nice to know that he knows he's an arse but it's meaningless if he doesn't plan on changing his ways. In the back of my mind, I know that I want this to work but I know that it's going to be so painful either way and I'm so scared and I don't want to have a kid and I just want to be back at the Burrow and ultimately I don't know what I want and I'm not sure I ever did. I want life to be more straightforward and I want Draco's apologies to mean something in the daylight—"Hermione?"

Startled by the sudden noise, I jump and nearly drop my wand. I'm met with Draco and Lilian standing in the threshold of Draco's bedroom, Lilian looking vaguely amused and Draco's face impassive. Something strange flickers across his face briefly. It must be anger; after all, I was eavesdropping on a personal conversation.

I start to back away, blushing and murmuring apologies, but he grabs my arm. "We'll see you in a few weeks, Lilian," he says, the ice creeping back into his voice.

She eyes him strangely, but says her farewells all the same, and disapparates. Letting go of my arm, Draco rounds on me.

A/N: Okay, that's it for now. School is starting again soon so I'm not sure when I'll have another chapter up. Once again, I'm so sorry for how long the wait was for this one, but I won't make any promises about how long any upcoming material will take.