A/N July 2020

Hello dear readers, and I hope you are all well amidst the chaos!

I apologize two fold, for the long wait, AND the tease, because I took it down and put it back up...

Something wasn't hitting right and sometimes you don't know until you know it's out there.

Did a quick re-write, apologies.

Going to truncate this A/N as well. Bulk of the rest is done. Will post regularly.

Will be going through this fic and seriously editing. But will put the original version up on another site, so it will still exist in full. But I must trim the fat.

Thank you, thank you, love you all.

Be well,

Amie

Hermione's Tale

The bathroom floor, appealing as it had seemed earlier in the day, began to lose its charm somewhere around dinnertime.

Ginny had only gained the presence of mind to actually take her headache tonic, make her cup of tea, and run her bath about an hour ago. She sat in the lilac water while the heat ebbed slowly away. She ran her fingers absently through the bubbles. She stared blankly at the shower curtain for a long time, until she noticed, very belatedly, that the water was lukewarm.

Must not have cast the heat sustain spell properly.

Something was easing in her. A bit of her furious internal battle was subsiding. Perhaps it was only the headache tonic kicking in... but she felt a calm slowly replacing the panic that had been swirling around her body-mind for the entirety of the day.

The light falling onto the bathroom floor held the golden haze of pre-dusk. Her stomach gave the faintest of rumbles.

Ginny suddenly became aware of tiny labored snorts in the vicinity of the shower curtain. She peered over in time to see Arnold struggling to heave himself up the curtain to the edge of the tub. Clinging to the lavender lace with all the might his little paws could muster and trembling with exertion, he caught Ginny's eye and she laughed out loud.

"You can do it," she encouraged, watching him carefully. He stuck out a leg, searching for the lip of the tub. Catching it with a toe, he managed to scrabble his way onto it, nearly sliding into the bathwater with a dramatically shrill squeak.

"Here," Ginny laughed, catching him with a soapy hand and steadying him on the ledge, "you're alright. My goodness, what warranted such a bold move my love?"

She grinned at him, and he looked back at her, fur a little wet, and eyes full of concern. She suddenly wanted to cry.

"Oh, Arnold," she whispered, stroking his chin with her pinky finger, "I'm sorry. I've been completely absorbed in myself today."

Surveying the bathroom tile, where the two of them had sat for the entire day, Ginny took in the mess of photos, the magazine, and old letters she had found from her Hogwarts days— sent back and forth between her and Hermione. She felt as though she had been on a desperate quest all day... to find proof that she was still herself— To make sure that the voice within her now was still the voice within those letters. That she was still full of courage, of loyalty, of proper judgement...

This new thing... well, it wasn't new at all, was it? But this newly discovered thing, these feelings in her chest—in her whole body— these things that had just been given new lease, new permission to flow more openly to her... she didn't know what to do with them. Besides keep them locked in the vault of her bathroom.

Her eyes fell, once again, onto the cover of Witch Weekly. The Ginny depicted said something to Malfoy and he laughed. His posture was easy, open, as he retorted, as she had seen it a hundred times. And... there was a look in his eyes as he watched her roll her eyes at him that was just...

And she, the Ginny in the photo— her eyes held a similar shine that also danced around the corners of her mouth as she smiled at him challengingly— teasing him— ready to laugh before he even replied. The Malfoy in the photo made a very familiar gesture with his hand, directing them back to the work before them, and when he looked down at the parchment between them, her eyes lingered on him softly in a way that held an unmistakable kind of intimacy.

Ginny's stomach contracted with embarrassment.

This was a photo of a woman who was at the very least incredibly attracted to the man across from her... and at most...

Her stomach clenched dreadfully. She knew instinctively, the snowballing feeling in her chest told her, that she was in trouble.

She knew that photos could be charmed to a degree, to take on certain qualities. But she also knew that everything she was seeing mirrored things she felt happening when she was actually with Malfoy. She had just never had proper perspective until now— consumed as they had been in their isolated determination; scrambling to get their work done in the ungodly amount of time he had set for them.

She was mortified. Beyond mortified, into the territory of abject terror.

This was hardly the first time her life had been written about. Her family, Harry, Hermione— they'd all been in the press for as long as she could remember... but this felt like an assault. She hadn't even allowed herself to acknowledge her feelings. Somehow the truth in the headline was the greatest insult the press had delivered her, to date.

Ginny felt vulnerable, and violated. Everything where Malfoy was concerned had happened in such a vacuum. Their partnership, their friendship— it had all grown in an isolated space. She didn't want that part of her life opened up to anyone else.

And him! Ginny had spent the entire first hour of this whole debacle in a state of bodily-burning mortification at the thought of the entire country seeing her feelings for him— pouring out of her blasted, betraying, sappy eyes across the table of the Hungry Hag. And then she had seethed for another thirty minutes imagining the vindicated rage of her brothers.

It wasn't until well past noon that it had even occured to Ginny— with a heart-shriveling shock— that Malfoy himself would most likely see the headline. What would he say? What would he think? Would he see, as she did, how obvious her more-than-friendly feelings were for him?

She cringed inside, imagining his horror, his disgust. It made her think of a hundred things he had said about her family when they were at school— the proof that he would, of course, be repulsed stacked itself neatly in Ginny's mind, catalogued by Year and location of offense. It made her hate him, and it also crushed some new, completely unbidden part of her. It was unbearably confusing.

It was so unfair. It was so bloody unfair, she thought, thrashing her legs out of the water to rest on the lip of the tub, and causing a cascade of lilac bathwater to sop over the edge. She hadn't even gotten any time with her own bloody feelings before they were paraded around in front of the world— made comical and ridiculous before she even got to understand them fully.

Because Ginny still couldn't fully reconcile a reality where she, a Weasley, the true and fierce girl she had always known, could have these feelings for him.

Seeing it there, in photograph and print, seemed to bring it into a realm of logic and reason, that just would not match up to her feelings. She could not stop thinking about the Hogwarts versions of herself and Malfoy. It was ludicrous. It was preposterous.

...But wasn't she just ignoring the advice she had so ardently been doling out to her brothers?

She had been through this loop all day long. Wasn't it time to forgive? To move beyond family names and titles and sides?

She caught her vision starting to lose focus again, and looked back to Arnold, taking a deep breath.

"Bloody hell, Arnold," she breathed. She needed to be more proactive.

Leaving the bathroom was probably the first step. She looked miserably around the tiny room, which, for a few minutes this morning, she had truly believed she might be able to die of old age in.

She knew that there were at least two letters waiting for her outside the bathroom door— she had heard the owls fly in through her open bedroom window at some point during the day.

Groaning, she took a breath and sat up, sloshing pink water around the tub. She reached for her wand and cast a heating charm on the room before standing up and toweling off.

She found herself opening the door cautiously, as though practically expecting her family to be on the other side, waiting to shout her down. But her room was empty and still, save for a breeze fluttering in through her sheer curtains.

There were four letters on her desk.

She walked to them with dread in her stomach, able to identify them all at a glance from the handwriting.

One from Hermione, one from Ron, one from George ... and one from Malfoy. Her stomach did a strange combination of a flip and a shrinking in embarrassment. She picked up Hermione's first.

Ginny—

I stopped by this morning but I don't think you were up yet. I wanted to check in with you about last night. We FINISHED! It feels huge and I haven't even begun to fully process it yet. Can we have tea or supper together later?

Also ... I did happen to see this week's issue of Witch Weekly while I was in town. I don't know if you've seen it yet. Not to worry— just the usual desperate bid for people's attention ... but Ron is still feeling rather sore about Malfoy after last night. He might be sending you a note. I tried to tell him it's just tabloid nonsense, but you know him, any excuse.

Let's not let it damper our spirits in the slightest. We finished Ginny! The three of us, symbolically and actively healing. I want to hear your feelings about it all! Drop me a note or else just come over anytime after 6. Ron will be working late.

Love,

Hermione

Ginny smiled and felt some of the panic and tension in her chest ease as she read Hermione's words.

She considered throwing Ron and George's notes directly into the bin, but decided it was best to know what she was in for the next time she saw them.

Gin—

Look I know I'm probably overreacting after last night, but Hermione and I just saw a photo of you and Malfoy on the cover of Witch Weekly, and I feel like something's up. I know I can be overprotective and I know it's Malfoy, so I don't expect you to tell me if there is something going on, but Gin... just don't forget where he comes from.

I'll see you Friday at mum's.

Ron

Ginny scanned the note again, trying to ignore the sliver of fear and doubt it instilled in her. Finally she scoffed and dropped it into the bin. Enough of this. She knew herself. She trusted herself. She picked up George's letter,

For my honorary twin,

Thanks for talking last night, Gin. I know I can make it hard, but I do appreciate you always fighting your way through to me. I miss knowing that there was always someone else who understood me, so thank you for the reminder that I haven't lost that entirely.

Love,

Your actual favorite brother (don't worry, I'll never tell Ron or Bill),

George

Ginny read these few sentences over a few more times, a rush of love for her brother coursing painfully through her chest. A deeper kind of ache settled into her heart and put her day in a slightly different perspective. Merlin. Romantic feelings, attraction— at this point in life it was all almost just a drop in the bucket. Maybe she had been overreacting. She picked up Malfoy's letter.

Tea, Weasley?

— Malfoy

P.S. — It's been too long so you'll have to remind me: Did Romeo kill Juliet or did Juliet kill Romeo ... some kind of draught of living death wasn't it? Or a swordfight?

Either way, shall we sue for libel?

Ginny laughed out loud.

Some part of her shriveled as she did, as it was further confirmation that she was in trouble.

But.

Some of the panic that had been dancing around her nerves, also seemed to dissipate. It was okay. She trusted herself. And she trusted Malfoy. Whatever this momentary development was, it would be okay. They could laugh it off. They had just accomplished something so deeply meaningful together, and nothing could change or touch that. It was like a huge pillar between them now— a giant block of foundational friendship that could not be touched by anyone else's opinions. So what if Witch Weekly had something ridiculous to say. She could deny it. She could give herself time to figure this out.

They would be fine. She would be fine.

Her stomach rumbled in earnest, and she looked at the clock. It was just past 6.

She put out fresh food, water, and warm bedding for Arnold, and got herself dressed. She would go to the market and bring something to Hermione's for supper. She needed some company and to talk about happy things. About their accomplishments.

Hermione beamed when she opened the door to find Ginny brandishing a breadstick in celebration.

"You came!" she squealed, squeezing her tightly before ushering her inside, "Come in, come in, I just got in— I'm starving!— I didn't really take a break for lunch today."

Ginny abided with pleasure, shedding her light jacket and removing the groceries from their brown bag with a flourish of her wand that made them soar and dance preeningly across Hermione's kitchen. Hermione laughed.

"Oh, Ginny, you remind me so much of your mother— in the best of ways, sometimes," she said.

Ginny glanced up at the pirouetting potatoes and laughed too. No doubt about that. She had seen her mother make food dance across their kitchen, usually teasingly for her father, many, many times in her years at the Burrow.

"How can I help?" Hermione asked, rinsing her hands at the sink and pulling an apron from the drawer. Ginny sent the vegetables in her direction for chopping, and summoned some pots and pans from the cupboards.

The two women worked in comfortable silence for a moment, until Ginny became aware of Hermione's glances in her direction.

"Yes...?" she asked, unable to hide her smile at the familiar sight of a question threatening to burst from Hermione's person.

"Oh I just .." Hermione paused, and her tone suggested walking on eggshells. "I wondered... if you had happened to see the Witch Weekly cover ... or speak to Ron."

Ginny snorted. Hermione looked up. She seemed surprised and relieved at her lightness of spirit.

"Yes. I saw it. And yes—in a manner of speaking, I received a letter from your dear partner this afternoon that I promptly threw in the bin," she looked at Hermione tentatively, feeling questions of her own rear their heads in her chest. "Why ... did you... happen to see it...?"

Hermione cleared her throat delicately.

"I did. I saw it at the newsstand outside work ... and then of course Ron burst through my fireplace a couple of hours later, brandishing a copy—"

"—you're joking."

"I wish I were," Hermione said primly, with the particular tone of disgust she reserved only for brutish male behavior, mainly Ron's.

"Git," Ginny breathed. Hermione smiled.

"You know how he is. Stubborn as all hell, and Malfoy and him just had such a fraught adolescence where the other was concerned... really, he's just protective of you Ginny."

"You know," mused Ginny, pausing to take a bite of chopped pepper, "I don't know if I've ever met a man who is as taken in by gossip mag headlines as our dear Ron is. He's second only to mum in that department."

Hermione grinned.

"Good lord, that's true actually. But Ginny ... What did you ... What did you think of the cover?"

A silence fell in the kitchen that contained the active conversation of unspoken feelings between women in times like these.

Ginny knew what Hermione was asking without asking, and she wanted desperately to know what Hermione thought of it all, before she even considered opening up the secret that had been held in her chest, held even from herself, for months now.

"Well. I ... it is Witch Weekly, and I— I mean I think it's about time we all let our obsession with Romeo and Juliet go once and for all— It's hardly a healthy relationship model ... Sure, Shakespear was one of the greatest warlocks of his time, but he only wrote that to establish himself in the muggle royal court— I mean ... it was a tad dramatic, I thought, for a headline ... but what else would you expect, really ..."

Hermione waited patiently for this profoundly transparent rant to drift away into a mumble, her eyebrows raised, but with a certain sparkle in her eye that told Ginny she had just confirmed something of the unasked question. Ginny felt herself begin to turn red, and struggled to regain ground in the conversation again.

"I mean— what did you think of it?" she shot at Hermione, who seemed disgruntled at her sudden heated tone, but who appeared to have been expecting to be asked.

"I think," she said slowly, raising her eyes to Ginny's after a moment, "I think... that I've seen you two look at each other like that many times before."

Ginny felt an odd sensation, like the wind being knocked out of her, but not in an unpleasant way. She felt all of her heat and indignance from the moment before dissipate instantly, into the vulnerability of being seen.

"And," Hermione continued thoughtfully, "I think after these months with him, and from what I've known of him for the past years... I think, surprisingly, that... Malfoy is actually a well intentioned person. With a good heart, despite what it's been through. And I think, Ginny— though I wouldn't have believed that I would ever say any of this while we were in school— Good Lord, I even smacked him in the face once, in our third year, I keep thinking about that— but— Ginny... I think that he would actually be a very good match for you. He cares for you, I can tell."

Another silence fell in the kitchen as Ginny absorbed this sudden bluntness about herself and Draco Malfoy. She sat down on one of the barstools next to the counter, chopping forgotten, and blinked at Hermione, her mind and heart racing uncomfortably.

"Yeah," she said dumbly at length, her brain short circuiting under the load of what it had been asked to process on this day, "he's definitely... been a surprise."

She stared at the wooden countertop as another wave of reality caught up and crashed into her. She had feelings for Draco Malfoy. There was something happening with Draco Malfoy.

Because that was it, wasn't it? It didn't feel like something light and frivolous that could be chosen or controlled. It had all the weight of something real— something that happens outside of one's control.

A spasm of anxiety coursed through her and she took a deep breath, looking up to see Hermione preparing two mugs of tea. She brought them over and pulled a stool to the counter opposite Ginny.

"But let's just slow down now," Ginny continued, eyeing Hermione, "we don't need to be talking about matches, Hermione— I'm sure he cares for me, we've become genuine mates, but— it's taking a big leap to think that he'd ever— that we both could—"

"Just trust, Ginny. Just let it unfold."

Hermione had taken one of her hands, apparently deciding to ignore the unstemmed flow of hedging still spurting from Ginny's mouth. Her hand was hot and comforting over Ginny's from carrying the mugs of tea.

Ginny quieted down and nodded vaguely, but thought this was a rather unreasonable ask. Trust. Draco Malfoy. Trust. Her brothers not to lose all control and go on a murderous rampage. Trust. Lucious. Death Eaters. The History, The War. —Trust?

She suddenly laughed out loud, sliding her hands from Hermione's to cover her face.

"Oh, Merlin! Oh, my word, what am I thinking! Hermione—," she uncovered her eyes to look at her friend, the absurdity of it all seeming to crash down around her, "Hermione—it's Malfoy. The Malfoys. Death Eaters. We fought them in a war! His aunt killed Fred, Hermione— she—,"

Ginny broke off, her chest gripped by that familiar icy hand. She waited for her eyes to stop welling before turning them to Hermione once more.

"It's not possible, Hermione. Too much has happened," even as she spoke, she felt a simultaneous crush of disappointment in her heart, as well as a return of glimmering, comfortable normalcy. "I don't know what this is— but it doesn't, I don't think it can mean anything more than what it has— that we have against all odds become friends, partners, and have built something really special together out of that ... chemistry."

She let her own words hang in the air, taking them in. Hermione reached for her hands again, squeezing them, and bringing her back to the moment.

"Anything is possible, Ginny," she said softly. "There were insurmountable obstacles between Ron and I at various points—"

"What?!" Ginny laughed. "No there weren't. You were always destined for each other and we could all always see it."

Hermione smiled wanly at her.

"Maybe so, but things always look a lot different from the inside. It felt impossible many, many times. We were with other people, we were practically family— he left Harry and I, and I honestly didn't think I would ever see him again ..." her voice trailed away for a moment, and she bit her lip in thought. "Honestly, Ginny, from where I'm standing, I don't really see any real obstacles between you and Malfoy."

Ginny laughed again, though she was aware that it was a slightly harsher sound this time.

"No real obstacles?! Hermione! Our families literally want each other dead! We move in circles that would just never, ever, ever combine. We come from different worlds and different sides of a war..."

"That," Hermione said swiftly, holding up a finger, "is not exactly true. I would hardly call the position Malfoy was in, 'the other side'. He was just as tortured and abused by Voldemort as many of us were."

Ginny felt dangerously close to tears again, as she had a sudden, fresh image of the teenage Malfoy, untainted by her own biases at the time. Forced to do terrible things at Voldemort's bidding. It touched a nerve too deeply buried in her, and she felt sick. She shook her head.

"Maybe not," she admitted. "But ... it's just also been a mystery since the war— what the Malfoys actually did— where they stand. Lucious has made his position perfectly clear, and I—," the thought of being tied in any way to that man made her feel sick again, and she stopped talking abruptly.

"Well," said Hermione slowly, "again, I wouldn't lump the Malfoys together like that. They were all changed during the war— Lucious too— they all left before the final battle. And after ... I think it's safe to say that Malfoy was his own man, his own person after the war. And he established himself in life as very different from his family."

Ginny took in her words slowly. And then quickly.

"What do you mean?" she shot at Hermione, her senses beginning to tingle. Hermione knew more than she was letting on.

Hermione bit her lip, seemingly in an internal struggle. She rubbed her temples for a moment, and Ginny noticed with a twinge of pain, that she looked truly exhausted. She felt a flushed surge of guilt rise in her for blazing past even asking how Hermione was doing in the midst of all of this— she was caught in the middle seemingly from every angle these days.

But those feelings were pushed out of the way by a larger and more dogged question that was bubbling up out of her tingling senses.

"Hermione," Ginny said sharply, "do you know what went on between Harry and Malfoy during the Death Eater trials?"

There was a long silence. Then Hermione took a deep breath, sat up straight, and tipped her head back, hair spilling off her shoulders, as if praying for patience.

"I do."

It was a testament to the fact that Hermione truly was half Weasley by this point in her life, that she did not so much as wince at the explosion of sound and questions that erupted from Ginny at this revelation. True, at her most obnoxious she was only three-quarters the volume of Ron, but still, Ginny had to hand it to Hermione for her ability to sit calmly and wait for the red-haired shouting across from her to turn back to rational communication.

The kitchen was practically ringing, and Crookshanks had bolted reproachfully into the other room, peering at them grumpily through the door frame, when Ginny regained her composure.

"I— How— how long have you known? How do you know?"

Hermione waved a careless hand through the air, seeming to have given up all pretense in her exhaustion.

"Harry told me."

"When?" Ginny asked, feeling awed, but not altogether surprised. Harry was known for his absolute secrecy when it came to his job as an Auror ... but ... she knew that Hermione and Ron had always been an exception for him.

Hermione sighed.

"Right after we found out that Malfoy was our anonymous investor. Ginny, I know—," she said in a rush, looking up at Ginny imploringly as Ginny made a noise of outrage, "I know— but he made me swear— and after you decided to go ahead with Trinity of your own accord, well, there didn't seem a need to break my word to Harry in order to try and persuade you."

"Does Ron know?" Ginny demanded.

"No," said Hermione, looking more exhausted still. "Though it would make it a hell of alot easier if he did. Bugger. I will tell you—"

And at this she looked up at Ginny, a serious expression in her brown eyes.

"— only because I can tell that it's causing you pain, not understanding what happened to get us all to this point. But Ginny, you have to promise not to tell anyone. And promise that you'll talk to Malfoy himself about it ... at some point," Ginny began to protest but Hermione held up a hand, "at some point. I don't want you getting it all third-hand from me. I will tell you what Harry told me. But you have to swear."

Ginny blinked. Her heart was beginning to beat rather sickeningly at the serious tone and expression that had come over Hermione. She had hoped that the answer to what Malfoy had done since the war would be simple. Black and White. Light. Humorous, maybe. She felt irritated that everyone seemed to know but her. But she knew this was also just an old trope— stemming from a buried jealousy of the closeness and trust between Ron, Harry, and Hermione. And she knew that trust was for damn good reason. She was being a brat. She pushed it aside and nodded.

"Yes, yes— I swear," she said, and a small measure of dread spilled into her stomach.

Hermione searched her eyes. She seemed relieved to find that there was no anger there. Nodding, she reached out for Ginny's hand and squeezed it once.

"Okay," she said, and then she shook herself, releasing Ginny's hand to rub her eyes. Then she turned suddenly to look quite spastically from her mug of tea, to the kitchen counter behind them. "Oh, goodness," she said, "we are going to need something stronger."

And she summoned some mead from the highest cabinet.

Two minutes later, Ginny and Hermione sat, at Hermione's table, steaming mugs of tea in one hand, and glasses of mead before them. The air drifting in through the windows was tantalizing. All soft smells and warm air punctuated by a cool spring breeze that brought with it the aromas from a neighbor's supper. A chorus of birds and insects could be heard outside, and through the windows, all was the light-green colour of freshly budding leaves and baby grass.

Hermione gazed out the window for a moment, seemingly trying to decide where to start. After a moment, she took a breath.

"Well," she said at last, "I suppose, in a way, it can all be traced back to Snape."

There was a moment of silence.

"Snape?" Ginny asked, unable to see how this could be where the story of the trials began. Speaking his name gave her the same odd ache it always did. He had played such a strange role in all of their lives. Such an important one, though they hadn't known it at the time. He was a figure in her life who had changed completely in hindsight. It always gave her a particular pang of loneliness to think of Snape— of the danger he had put himself in, and of the pure scorn and resentment he had received from all of them, right up until the moment of his death.

"Yes," said Hermione, "Snape. I think, he carved out the way for what happened between Harry and Malfoy. It had such an impact on Harry, you remember—,"

Ginny did.

"—and I think it really changed something about the way he judged people. From that point on, he reminded me, well... more of Dumbledore. In his willingness to give others a second chance if he felt their intentions were true."

Ginny nodded. She had remembered seeing this change in Harry too. Being so wrong about Snape, as they all had been, had stopped him in his tracks in a certain way. It had seemed to call for a growth into manhood for him, and Hermione was right... From that point on, Harry had begun to make the sort of unquestioned judgement calls that Dumbledore once had, erring on the side of compassion.

"And Harry, whether he would admit to it or not... had also started to feel for Malfoy in that last year before the end of the war. He was there with Draco and Dumbledore on the Astronomy tower. He saw how scared— how trapped Draco was, and he saw him lower his wand. And when we were found by the Death Eaters and taken to Malfoy Manor... well. We all we saw firsthand how trapped the Malfoys were. Draco could have identified us immediately, but he didn't. He tried to pretend he wasn't sure who we were. He tried to protect us, in that small way. And we saw what it was like for him there, Ginny."

Hermione looked at her, and Ginny could feel her unspoken words. She felt the cold feelings of dread that thoughts of the War always brought on. She had a sudden budding understanding of why Hermione had been so much quicker than she to accept Draco cordially, all those months ago, at the start of their work together.

"And, of course, in the forest— Narcissa lied to Voldemort for Harry, when she realized Draco was alive, and they all left, before the end. I think they had wanted to escape Voldemort for quite some time."

Ginny nodded. She knew pieces of this, of course.

"So ... Snape," said Hermione, looking into her tea mug, "you know of course, that Snape was always a mentor of Draco's. Draco always looked up to him— even before we all knew the truth of what Snape really was."

Ginny nodded again, with a slow dawning inkling of where Hermione's story was heading.

"So, in the year following the end of the war. You remember the mayhem... trying to sort out who was guilty, who was innocent, trying to trace all of the aftershocks of dark magic from Voldemort's broken factions of supporters— it was a mess. And one night, right in the thick of it, Harry received a letter. From Malfoy. He was using a fake name, but he left enough clues in it, enough references to things only Harry would know, to point Harry towards realizing it was him."

Ginny furrowed her brow. "Was this before or after the Malfoy trial?"

"It was after the first, but before their final," said Hermione slowly. "I remember when Harry got the letter. We figured out together who it was from. And he debated for days whether or not to meet with Malfoy. But ultimately, he decided to trust. After everything he had seen from Draco in the two years previously— and I think, Ginny, I think something about it reminded him of Snape. So Harry went with his gut. And he went to meet Malfoy."

Ginny took a breath, feeling belatedly how risky this would actually have been. If she remembered that time correctly, Harry had still been receiving regular death threats from un-captured Death Eaters. They had all been actively working to stamp out the dregs of Voldemort's rebellion, and Harry could very well have been walking right into a trap.

"Alone?" asked Ginny, her brow still furrowed, because she knew Harry, and she already knew the answer.

Hermione nodded exasperatedly.

"Yes," she said, "yes, and we tried to warn him against it. Ron especially, as I'm sure you can imagine. But they did meet, and Harry saw enough remorse from Draco— enough genuine desperation to put some of all the darkness right— that they started working together."

She looked up at Ginny. "Even I didn't know. I suspected, of course, but Harry promised him, I think, to keep it solely between them."

"But," Ginny tried to wrap her brain around this new facet of her own recent history, "— how? What would Draco do for Harry?"

"Well..." said Hermione deliberately, "He gave him information, as far as I know. He remained in his position, with the last of the Death Eaters, or whatever they call themselves now. And as far as I know, he kept Harry informed of their movements. The real work, as I understand it, was deciding what to do with that information. I think they had to work together quite tirelessly for a while on that front. You know— obviously Harry couldn't go leading the Aurors to make arrests on all of the information at once or it would have been obvious that someone in their midst was betraying them. So I believe Draco and Harry have been working together for years, on and off, to undermine the lingering rebellion with such light strokes, that no one has ever suspected that Harry Potter is fully informed of their every meeting and move."

Ginny stared at Hermione. This seemed incredible.

"Still?" she asked, this one piece of revelation floating to the surface above all the rest. Hermione nodded.

"As far as I know. Or until very recently at least. You know, all the Dark Magic sympathizers— they think the opposite is true. They think that Malfoy working with us has been a move of brilliance on his part to undermine the effort to rebuild. Though I think Lucious has his suspicions."

"But—," said Ginny, as a tiny fist of fear gripped her stomach at this piece of information, and clenched her tighter at the mention of Lucious Malfoy's name. "But— Lucious, is he— is he still part of this rebellion? Because all of the Malfoys were cleared, weren't they? And if they all think that Malfoy is undermining us ..."

She trailed away, not wanting to give voice to her fresh doubt. She felt oddly like crying. She felt a warm soft hand over hers.

"Ginny," said Hermione, gently, "do you trust Harry?"

Her question hung in the air. Ginny was flooded with a hundred memories of Harry intervening in her life, to save it, to keep her safe at all costs. She nodded. She flushed as an unexpected lump formed in her throat at this admittance. Of course it would come down to Harry in some way. Her life sometimes felt impossibly intertwined with his.

"Well then. He trusts that Draco's loyalties ultimately lie with our side. No matter his family or who he spends his time with, or what they think. Harry seems sure. He told me so when I was about to throw Trinity Teneo away. When we found out it was Malfoy wanting to invest. He said Draco has more than proven himself loyal, at this point."

At this, Ginny felt a fresh surge of curiosity. She wanted to know more. Who the lingering rebellion consisted of. What Draco did in his time with them. How much danger he was putting himself in— if the truth were to ever get out.

"As for Lucious," said Hermione, in the clipped tone of disapproval she saved for those who disgusted her most, "he seems to be as much of a snake as ever. He still plays all the sides he can, letting his money speak, and keeping himself ambiguous. Though I think we can be sure that he is certainly not loyal to our side. I think he will always be sympathetic to the rebellion and the dark arts, though probably never openly again. He spent too much time in prison already to ever risk open support again."

Ginny let herself think of Lucious. Which was something she rarely did. He had been responsible for one of the worst things to ever happen to her in her life. Hermione's picture of him was right. Lucious Malfoy had always had a knack for ambiguity. For letting his money talk and spreading it widely, so that some of his influence somewhere would always insure him some measure of protection.

It struck her with more dread, that clearly, many of Draco's talents for the way he moved in the world were learned from Lucious. And it struck her, how very different one could look, depending on one's true intentions and motivations. But still, she hated that they were related. Connected so obviously in appearance and in action.

"But that's it then, isn't it?" Ginny asked suddenly, feeling her own kind of cold resignation. "He can't have open relationships with all of us then, can he? Ever."

She heard herself say it. The feeble mask over what she really meant seemed completely wasted on Hermione, who looked at her with a wan smile that held just a touch of exasperation.

"Of course he can," said Hermione simply. Knowingly. "Ginny, it's been eight years! Think of all the arrests that have been made in eight years. I think any lingering dregs of the rebellion at this point, are extremely flimsy. I don't actually think Draco would be in very much danger anymore, if his true loyalties ... were made known. I mean, he's been open about Trinity Teneo. Probably precisely because the resistance is so feeble now."

Ginny stared into the mug in her hands. She still wanted to cry, and wondered if she might have been more relieved if there had been some concrete reason, like mortal danger, that could have kept her feelings for Malfoy safely and legitimately in her chest for the remainder of her life. Hermione nudged her, and when Ginny looked up, her friend was still smiling.

"Besides," Hermione continued, "I don't think he works alone anymore either. I think," she said, with a note of import, "that the scales officially tipped in favor of our side quite a while ago."

"Who does he work with?" Ginny wondered aloud.

"Well," said Hermione, "I'm not sure about the others, but I do have my suspicions about Diana Farrington."

At this Ginny's eyes widened. She thought back to her one and only encounter with the girl, and felt herself redden.

"Diana Farrington?" she asked Hermione incredulously. The thought that the tabloid romance between Draco and Diana actually had themes of double-agent recon work at its roots sounded laughable— too outlandish even, for Witch Weekly to have thought up. But Hermione was nodding.

"Yes, actually. Do you know much about her family? I looked into it at one point. Her family's not too different from Malfoy's— in fact, they are related somehow, distantly— but she has an interesting history. I talked to some of the Hogwarts Professors about her when I was there a few months ago. After Harry had told me about Draco. She's a bit older than us, but apparently she was a bit of a black sheep in her family. Always standing up for the bullied and muggle-borns in strange ways. With ah, quite flamboyant displays of magic, actually. Anyways. It seems that she has a bit of a Robin Hood complex, when it comes to her family— who are very wealthy— and those less fortunate than her."

"—Robin who?" Ginny interrupted, confused and struggling to process this cherry on the top of Hermione's tale of unexpected loyalties.

"Oh, it's a muggle story. Nevermind. About a man who stole from the rich to give to the poor. Anyways. She was overseas during the War, but apparently she came back a few years ago, and I very much suspect that her black sheep tendencies led her to start working for Malfoy to bring down the old supporters from within. You know how it is," she said, sharing a look with Ginny, "no one ever suspects very much from such a beautiful face."

Ginny let all of this sink in.

"So where ... Where does Trinity Teneo stand in all of this? Do they think he is undermining it by working with us— I mean .. won't they know he failed when it starts to be implemented?"

"Ginny," said Hermione softly but firmly, squeezing her hands. "Like I said. Who is they at this point? It's been years, and thanks to Harry and Malfoy, and the Ministry reforms, I would say ninety percent of them are gone."

"But..." Ginny frowned, as this did not seem to make sense with recent events, "what about the raid that went badly, at Hollowhand?"

Hermione grimaced ever so slightly. She pressed her lips together, shaking her head.

"No... that... Harry told me that was something else. Some other group, from somewhere in Europe. He said they weren't connected to Malfoy or the old Death Eaters at all. Not that it's less concerning, but still..."

She released one of Ginny's hands to take a sip of mead and a deep breath.

"Our war is over, my love. The sun is starting to come out again."

She smiled at Ginny, and Ginny felt tears threaten to well in her eyes again.

She realized that Hermione might just be right. Her track record for this was good. Ginny took a deep, slow breath as she became suddenly aware of how constant the feeling of threat from Death Eaters still was in her daily life. But... it was just shell shock at this point, wasn't it? It had to be. Nothing had happened to warrant it for years, as Hermione had said. It was just a shadow. A habitual way of feeling.

She mused on this for a moment, trying to reconcile the ingrained trauma with the reality that Hermione was presenting. She realized slowly that she had to admit it was true. With most of all the Death Eaters locked away, and now with Trinity Teneo beginning to spread its protection over Wizarding England ... there was no longer any real threat to their lives.

Perhaps besides Lucious Malfoy. But was she afraid of him? He still made her feel like a twelve year old girl in a bookshop, but would she allow herself to be afraid? Malfoy certainly seemed able to stand his ground with his father.

Hermione watched these dawning realizations, still holding Ginny's hands. When Ginny finally looked back at her, nodding faintly in understanding, she spoke again.

"You know, Ginny? Sometimes life gives us exactly what we need in order to heal. And when it comes to you and Malfoy— what better way to heal past wounds than to let yourself love based on common ground, rather than holding yourself apart based on these 'sides' we created?" she searched Ginny's eyes earnestly, and Ginny could tell that Hermione felt that her words were true, that she really believed them.

She began to correct Hermione, again, to slow her down and remind her that it was incredibly, preposterously presumptuous to make assumptions about Malfoy's feelings— that love was an incredibly strong word to be throwing around in a situation like this— and that what would be healing would be to somehow laugh it off with him and then never talk about it again—

But Hermione plowed ahead.

"You and Malfoy do have a lot in common. You've experienced very similar things in different ways, and I ... why not just focus on the healing that could be found in exploring that relationship— rather than the obstacles? You might just find that they vanish all on their own ..."

With that, with a twinkle in her eye that reminded Ginny irresistibly of Dumbledore, Hermione made their empty mugs of tea vanish into thin air. And then their glasses of mead. And then the stack of papers on the table.

Ginny laughed, the urge to chide Hermione for using the word relationship— to talk about her and Malfoy— relaxing. She did feel an unexpected relief at most of Hermione's words. She also felt like a sponge that had just taken in too much to process properly. Hermione squeezed her hands one final time, seeing that she was at capacity. She got up to check the pots on the stove, saying to Ginny over her shoulder,

"Alright, let's eat, and celebrate— I'm starving!"

Ginny smiled and helped her transfer their supper from pots and pans to bowls and plates on the counter. A stack of papers and folders on the ledge caught her eye.

"What's this?" she asked Hermione. There were a pair of haunting eyes staring up at her from the corner of a photograph that lay concealed within a folder. Unable to help herself, Ginny pulled it out, revealing a page with many, many photographs. All of women, and all with the same haunted look in their eyes.

Hermione glanced over.

"Oh ..." she said, her tone going soft as she saw the photos in Ginny's hand. "That ..."

She walked over to stand next to Ginny, sighing gently as she looked down at the images.

"That is actually something that was passed along to me by Harry," she said. Ginny looked up at her in puzzlement, and Hermione began thumbing through the folder for more pages of photographs.

"It's been a pet project of his for a while now ... if you can call it that ... well, this part at least, I'm sure you can see why," Hermione passed Ginny another page, a sympathetic edge in her voice. Ginny took it.

There were children in this one— rows and rows of them. At the corner of the sheet, someone had written in by hand, War Orphans.

Ginny's breath caught in her throat.

"Oh," she said softly.

"They were all displaced by the war, and are in various orphanages around Wizarding England," said Hermione, "Harry's been trying to get together a better system for them— more funding, better organization, better outreach and home placement."

"And the women?" Ginny asked quietly. She found she could not take her eyes off of them.

"Those... well, they're women who were displaced by the war. Some lost their families, some were taken by Death Eaters and made to participate with them in ..." Hermione's voice trailed away, and Ginny felt an icy dread settle in suddenly on her stomach.

"Well," Hermione finished, "they're all considered war victims— they're alive of course, but were debilitated in some way. Harry thought I could find a way to get funding for their rehabilitation, similar to what he's working on for the children."

Ginny nodded faintly, putting the photo back on the stack of papers. Hermione placed the others with it, and swept her work things off the ledge and onto her desk by the window.

"Anyways," Hermione said, coming back across the room to her, and finding her eyes tentatively. Ginny could feel her wanting to ask about Harry, but she didn't. "There's always more to do, more damage to fix, but right now, we are celebrating."

Ginny shook herself. She managed to smile.

"You're right— sorry— It just sort of jumped out at me from your papers," she moved to fill a plate of food, and accepted the wineglass Hermione sent her way.

"I know. But first things first," Hermione raised her glass, "to Trinity Teneo. And my partner in crime. One of them, at least."

Ginny grinned and accepted the clinking toast of Hermione's glass.

To Trinity Teneo.