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Ginevra Weasley knew what it was like to be lonely.

As the only girl in the Weasley clan — and on top of that, the youngest — she knew what it was like to be pushed aside, unwanted. Made to feel like an outsider. 

When Ron went off to Hogwarts, and Ginny was left at home alone for the first time, she truly felt loneliness in that rickety old house — absent of Fred and George’s laughter, Ron’s excited chatter, Percy’s nagging. Bill and Charlie had grown too old for her, moved out of the home, out of the country.

When Ginny finally, finally got to join her brothers at Hogwarts, she thought her year of loneliness would be over. 

She was wrong. 

Fred and George had always had each other, which meant Ron had been just hers. But he had Harry and Hermione now, and no more use for his annoying little sister.

But that was okay. Because she had Tom. 

When Ginny found that diary in her cauldron, the day she started to pack her things in Charlie’s old trunk, Ginny finally felt understood, felt heard . And loneliness didn’t seem to affect her so much.

When Tom was gone. Ginny knew loneliness once more. Even when she knew she shouldn’t.

When Harry left her. When he said ‘I’ve got things to do alone now.’ Ginny did not cry. She had known loneliness before. And she could wait. For him.

And when Fred died, the world lost all its laughter, and in that quiet, empty world, Ginny had never felt more alone. 

But — Ginevra Weasley also knew what it was like to be loved.

When Ron went off to Hogwarts, Ginny was left at home. But she finally had her mother all to herself. A mum who doted on her, made her favorite dinners every night. No George who complained or Percy chastised. 

She had her father who spent each night telling her stories in the shed, her feet swinging as she sat atop the work table and watched him tinker with his Muggle finds. 

She had her parents — and she never had to fight for their attention. 

When she boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time — without Ron, wherever that idiot had gone off to — a girl with long, golden hair found her in an empty compartment and told her fascinating things in a beautiful, sing-song voice that made Ginny feel like the melody was just for her. 

When Tom was gone, Luna had been there. She reminded Ginny always — you are not alone.  

She had Neville, who asked her to the Yule Ball her third year, and although Ginny never saw him in a particularly romantic way, he was a good friend to her. One who sat quietly with her when the nightmares got to be too much. Who listened when she vented about Ron and Dean and Harry with his stupid fucking textbook. A friend who was there when she needed someone to just be.

She had Hermione — a sister she’d always wanted. A confidante, who listened to her worries and fears and helped her relax around Harry because Harry was oblivious and eventually ‘ he’ll see you, Ginny. How could he not?’

When Harry’s eyes blazed at her from across the common room. When his fingers tangled in her hair. When they spent those few sunlit hours together, Ginny knew what it was like to be adored. 

And when Harry returned. When he and Ron and Hermione walked through that portrait’s tunnel with Neville. When her friend’s face, her brother’s face, the love of her life’s face lit up at the sight of her. That didn’t feel so lonely.

So when Ginny sees Draco Malfoy, sitting alone at the end of the Slytherin table — one of the only Eighth Year Slytherins to return and subsequently ignored by the rest of the decimated, once noble house — she understands the look on his face. The slump of his shoulders. The aura of see me. please. that surrounds him.

Neville is shocked when he crosses the courtyard, on his way to Greenhouse Three, passing Ginny sitting beside Draco, laughing and teasing him. There’s a begrudging twitch to the ferret’s normally down-turned lips. Draco’s skin is still sallow, gaunt from his short stint in Azkaban and subsequent house-arrest, but there is a glow returning to him the more Ginny chatters in his ear. Even when he attempts to ignore her and read his Charms book.

Luna finds it perfectly fine that Ginny has befriended the once-bully, the fallen Prince of Serpents. But then again she’s always found the abnormal to be normal. She takes a seat beside Draco one morning in the Great Hall, sitting right down at the Slytherin table as she pleases, and ignores the incredulous stares of the Slytherins and her new blonde companion. 

Hermione doesn’t understand it, though she never questions her friend outright. Ginny can see it in Hermione’s eyes each time she passes the odd pair in the corridors. 

“You testified in his defense,” Ginny reminds Hermione. 

They’re in the Gryffindor common room, lounging against the overstuffed red velvet sofa. It’s late. Far later than any student should be up, but the fire is crackling and they’d just closed a Floo call with Harry and Ron. A call that Ginny begged Hermione not to mention anything about Malfoy in. 

‘I’ll tell them when they’re ready. It’s too fresh for them.'

‘And it isn’t for me?’ Hermione asked, rubbing her right arm. 

Ginny had the grace to look abashed. 

‘Yeah, but… you’re you . You’re different.’

“I know I defended him,” Hermione replies. 

She’s on the floor, sitting across from Ginny, her back against the sofa and her arms around her bent legs. 

“He was too young, forced into this by those who should’ve protected him. And he didn’t identify us that night…” 

She rubs her right arm again.

“But…” Ginny offers. 

Hermione looks at her, sitting in front of the fire. The flames reflect on Ginny’s freckled skin and are probably making her hair look aflame. She thinks Hermione can see what Harry sees — her fiery passion and complete stubbornness. Ginny never gave up on him. She never gave up on anyone. 

“But he was still cruel.” 

Hermione is stubborn too, Ginny realizes.

She stands, brushing emerald ash off her red plaid pajamas. They had been Fred’s. 

“Malfoy was young. Young and naive and he regrets every bit of it. Who do you think he learned those cruel words from?”

Without another glance, Ginny bids Hermione goodnight, and walks across the common room, up the winding stone steps to their dormitory. 

She didn’t see her friend’s flushed face, the way Hermione bit her lip, or how she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep the memories at bay. The memories of her insides searing with white-hot pain, the bite of the knife digging into her flesh with manic laughter. The memories of her reaching a hand out over a blood-soaked marble floor towards a boy who had tears streaming down his face as his lips moved silently, forming her name. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.   Repeated again and again and again as though it could be a protective charm.

Double Potions with the Slytherins.

A crowd starts to form in the corridor, waiting for Slughorn’s doors to open. A few look curiously at the ginger and the blonde leaning together against the stone walls. They silently eye the growing crowd, making quiet comments to one another. 

A few students pass by, whispering to their friends behind their hands about the traitor Gryffindor. ‘ She’s more of a Slytherin nowadays, isn’t she?’ Ginny smirks. Draco rolls his eyes. 

Ginny slides a hand down her long, red ponytail and shifts, leaning one shoulder against the wall, facing her friend. She watches Draco sigh, letting his head fall back, looking at the crowd from down his nose. He crosses his arms, bringing his bag of candy within her reach.

She swipes a jelly slug, and he pulls the bag away sharply, catching the theft. 

“Better watch your figure, Ginevra.” 

Anyone else would describe the smirk as cold. A sneer. But Ginny sees the teasing warmth in it now. The desire to make others laugh, not to laugh at. 

“What will Potter say the next time he sees you?”

He pulls a jelly slug through his teeth and shoves the candy into the satchel on his shoulder.

“Trust me, Harry likes my figure just fine, Malfoy.” 

She winks and he mimes a gag. 

“You on the other hand…” 

She pokes his side and he swats her hand away, frowning.

“Ginny?”

She’s giggling at the scowl on Draco’s face when she turns to find Hermione before them. Her hair is plaited down her back, curly tendrils falling out which tells Ginny it’s been a hard day of studying already. 

Hermione looks between her and Draco, and Ginny wonders if she expects Malfoy to leave. He stays just where he is though, looking down at her, his chin raised. He’s challenging her to ask him, Ginny knows, but she can also see the slight flush on his cheeks. The nervous twitch in his fingers, arms crossed again. 

“Neville and I are going down to Hagrid’s after classes.” 

Hermione glances at Draco, waiting for him to make his usual remarks about the half-giant, but his lips remain pressed thin. 

“Want to come along?” she asks. 

“Of course!” Ginny smiles, laughing a little, ”I’ll bring Harry’s latest letter. Hagrid will get a kick out of the Blast-Ended Skrewt story.”

Hermione nods and smiles back, but it slips as she looks between the friends once more. Her eyes finally rest on Draco — as if magnetized to him. Ginny realizes his gaze never left Hermione. 

“You’re… welcome to come too, Malfoy?”

Ginny almost laughs at the way it lifts into a question at the end. 

She watches Draco’s eyebrows rise, and the flush on his cheeks is deepening. His fingers tighten around his crossed arms and he finds the doors to the Potions classroom suddenly very interesting. 

“No.”

Hermione nods again, almost relieved, but it’s the next words that stop her before she can turn to leave. 

“Thank you, Granger.” 

Hermione freezes, looking like she’s been hit with a reducto. Her eyes flick back and forth between his, but he is still. A statue against the stone wall. Ginny hears his breath catch in his throat.

“Oh,” Hermione breathes, “Don’t mention it.”

Hermione hurries back to Neville, a flush growing on her exposed neck. 

Ginny chuckles quietly to herself and turns to find Draco fixed on Hermione’s back. A faraway look in his eyes. 

She clears her throat and she can see him twitch. 

“Are you going to tell her?”

His jaw ticks. His eyes drop to his shoes. 

“No.”

It’s not the first time that Ginny has witnessed a stilted conversation between her new friend and her old, and it certainly wasn’t the last. 

Ginny finds she likes Draco’s sarcastic bite and their bickering banter and she struggles to split her time between her Gryffindor friends and her Slytherin one.

So a few times over the next couple of months, Ginny finds Hermione standing before her and Draco — looking between the two of them curiously, flushing at the latter’s hard gaze — asking a question, scheduling a time to Floo Harry and Ron, seeing if Ginny would like to go shopping in Hogsmeade with her and Luna.

It’s this last one that piques Ginny’s attention. Hermione willingly planning a shopping trip? With Luna? Ginny wonders then if she has been neglecting her friendship with Hermione more than she thought. If Hermione was… lonely. 

“Would you like to join us, Hermione?” Ginny asks, “Draco is working on his Potions essay.”

Said man looks up sharply from his parchment where Ginny can tell he was pretending not to notice Hermione’s shoes standing before him on the conjured blanket. They sat near the Black Lake, the intention being to study but the witch before them was throwing a wrench in his concentration.

“You mentioned you wanted another opinion on yours,” she continues, ignoring his narrow eyes.

“Oh.” 

Hermione’s eyes drift to the blonde man she has been specifically avoiding looking at. 

“Um. I can’t, but thank you,” Hermione answers, her eyes on Draco though he hadn’t spoken, “I’ll see you at dinner, Ginny.” 

Ginny nods, though she knows Hermione doesn’t see it because those brown eyes are still locked on grey — and his on her. She blushes a deep red when Ginny clears her throat softly and finally tears away, turning toward the castle.

Ginny chuckles, waving, and turns to Draco, finding his gaze on Hermione’s retreating form. 

She smiles, returning to her Transfiguration essay. 

After a few silent minutes, just long enough for Hermione to crest the hill and disappear over the horizon, Draco turns his eyes to her. 

“Ginevra.”

She can hear the glare in his voice. She smirks.

“Hm?” 

“Don’t hm at me, Gin.”

Her lips fall at the vitriolic snap and she sighs, rolling up her two-inches-too-short essay. 

“If you don’t tell her,” she says, “you’ll only end up lonely and full of regret.” 

His fist clenches and his cheeks flush, but he can only open and close his mouth soundlessly. 

She stands, shoving her essay into her satchel and ignoring the way he drags his fingers through his white-blonde hair, gripping the ends. She pulls the strap over her shoulder.

“Keep doing that and you’ll go bald.”

Draco throws her a middle finger as she turns towards the castle. Her laughter echoes back to him. 

“Ginny?” 

It’s whispered across a quiet room. The girls from Ginny’s year are already asleep — those that returned anyway. Lavender’s bed remains empty, Pavarti’s prone form facing it as she does every night. 

“Yes?” Ginny whispers back. 

She hears Hermione shift beneath her scarlet duvet. 

“Are you… happy with Harry?”

Ginny frowns. She rolls over on her side, facing Hermione’s bed, and finds the bushy-haired woman already studying her, eyes flicking worriedly. Ginny puts down the letter she was writing to her said boyfriend and quirks an eyebrow.

“Of course, Hermione. Why would you even ask me that?”

But Ginny can already suspect why. She’s seen the curious looks Hermione throws at her and Draco when they laugh together or when she steals his quill or pokes at him teasingly, and it irks Ginny that Hermione would think her capable of betraying Harry — after all that time she waited for him.

“I— I’m not sure— I guess.” 

Hermione twists her hands in her sheets. Ginny sighs. 

“Malfoy and I are friends, Hermione. Nothing more. I love Harry.”

Hermione nods, shame visible on her face.

But there’s also relief there too. Ginny wonders if it’s not just for Harry.

“Hermione?”

“Yes?” Hermione whispers back. 

“Is there anyone you love?”

A nervous laugh tumbles out of her.

“You, of course. Harry. Ron. George—“

“No,” Ginny cuts her off, “you know what I mean.”

It’s silent for a long while and then, “Maybe. But it scares me.”

Ginny nods and her head ruffles against the pillowcase in the silence. 

“How long?” Ginny asks, and there’s a small gasp from the bed across from her, and she knows her suspicion was correct. 

“Long.” 

The word is just a breath in the darkness. 

She hears Hermione rollover, so Ginny does the same, pulling her covers close to hide a smile no one can see anyway. 

“Granger.”

Ginny slows her approach, watching from across the courtyard as Hermione whirls around at Draco’s voice. Her curls fly up into her eyes and his throat bobs. 

Ginny lets a crowd of chattering students pass in front of her.

“—seen Gin?”

“No. I mean — I’m waiting for her,” Hermione replies, brushing her curls out of her face, “We’re supposed to meet here.”

“Ah,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair, “You two have plans?”

Hermione stutters, “We’re — we’re going to Hogsmeade.”

“Ah,” he says again. 

Silence. And Ginny wonders if she’ll have to step in or if one of them will make the first move.

“Would you… would you like to come with? Draco?” 

His eyes flick up as Hermione whispers his name.

Ginny can see the answer on his nervous little face. She rolls her eyes and before he can respond she steps up.

“Malfoy. Good, you’re both here. All set to go?”

Draco frowns, his eyes narrowing on Ginny suspiciously. Hermione looks nervous, biting her lip, but she nods. And so does Malfoy. 

The first hour is quiet and Ginny has to provide most of the conversation, but she doesn’t mind because it’s usually hard to be listened to so well at home. So she chatters away about classes, the upcoming winter break, and how excited she will be to see Harry. Draco hates that particular topic.

The second hour is better. Ginny drags conversation out of Hermione and one-word answers out of Malfoy, and there was even a moment when Hermione asked Draco a direct question. 

“What do you think, Draco?”

He twitches and finally tears his eyes from his shoes. His cheeks flush as he answers, “You're probably right, Granger. You’re the brightest of our age, after all.”

Ginny almost expects malice in his voice, but there isn’t any there. Only admiration. Truth. 

Hermione blushes and mumbles something, looking away.

At the third hour, Ginny leaves them down the street from The Three Broomsticks. Draco refuses to face Madam Rosmerta, but Ginny had promised to pick up a case of butterbeer for Luna and Neville.

Hermione has no reason to wait outside, but says, “I’m… enjoying the weather.”

It’s bitterly cold and starting to snow, but Ginny smirks, noticing the way Hermione glances protectively at Draco as he looks anywhere but at the pub. 

When Ginny exits the pub thirty minutes later, waving goodbye to a couple of Sixth Years, she hears it.

“— off your fucking rocker, Granger.”

“— why can’t you just tell me why —”

“— you have no idea what you’re talking about —”

“— I think I do I was there —”

“— stop it, Granger—”

“— I will not! I meant what I said and I want to know —”

“SHUT UP!”

Ginny winces. She watches as Hermione snaps her mouth shut, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. Draco clenches his jaw, his hands in fists at his side. There’s regret on his face; the way his eyes close for just a second, his chin dipping down to his chest.

Hermione adjusts her scarf against the cold and glares up at Draco through glassy eyes. 

“Fine,” she hisses, “I’ll drop it. I won’t say anything about it again.”

Draco’s head bobs once, in acknowledgment.

“But —”

His eye twitches.

“I meant every word I said at your trial. And every word just now. You saved us, Draco Malfoy, and frankly, I don’t care why anymore. So thank you. ”

She turns on her heel and stomps through the gathering snow, back to the castle.

When Draco hears the clink of Ginny’s bottles approaching, he sighs, dragging his hands through his hair and over his face, groaning into his palms. 

“Why didn’t you tell her?” she asks.

Draco turns to her, eyes unfocused. She knows he’s not seeing her anymore, but another woman, pleading silently on a blood-soaked marble floor. A reaching hand that he wants desperately to grab hold of.

Ginny asks again, “Why didn’t you tell her why you did it?”

“Leave it, Gin.”

Draco shoves his hands in his pockets and starts through the falling snow. Alone.

It’s the week before Christmas break and Ginny is sitting at a table in the library — the unfortunate filling in a tension-filled sandwich. 

It was her own doing. She had walked into the library a couple of hours prior to find Hermione and Draco both in attendance. Alone. At separate tables. 

Ginny had rolled her eyes and dragged them both over to hers.

A few weeks have passed since the fight she witnessed in Hogsmeade and Hermione and Draco had silently agreed to pretend it never happened.

But they have also silently agreed that neither will give Ginny up. When Ginny invites them over, neither stubborn fool will admit defeat. So they sit across from each other, on either side of their mutual friend, and ignore each other’s existence.

Or try to.

There’s a snap to Ginny’s left and Hermione sighs, setting down another quill tip she’s broken while drawing up her astronomy charts. She turns a page in her book with one hand and stretches her other across the table, reaching for a new quill. 

Ginny hears a sharp breath from her right — a pained intake — and she glances up from her own parchment to find Draco’s eyes are wide, staring at Hermione as she reaches toward him.

She grabs a quill and pulls her arm back, dipping the ink and continuing her chart. 

Draco’s breath returns and he clenches his jaw. He glares, though Hermione doesn’t see.

“How many more quills are you going to break, Granger ?” he snaps.

Ginny sighs.

Hermione looks up sharply.

“I didn’t realize the world’s quill supply bothered you, Malfoy ,” she bites back.

His nostrils flare. 

“You’re wasting them.”

“Are they your quills?”

“They’re in front of me .”

Ginny looks over the table. It’s true that — as Hermione was prone to do — her quills and parchment and stacks of books were sprawled across the entire table, leaving not much room for her other two companions.

Hermione glared and reached her hand back across the table toward Draco, slamming her hand down on her pile of quills and pulling them back toward her.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy, that I —”

“Don’t apologize to me!”

Hermione snaps her mouth shut and Ginny sits up straight. Madam Pince shushes Draco and shoots him a nasty eye.

He lowers his voice, hissing, “ Never apologize to me.”

He gets up, abandoning his own charts at the table, and disappears through the library doors.

Hermione turns to Ginny, her mouth open, eyes wide and questioning.

Ginny only shrugs. 

“You were reaching,” she says, and returns to her own work.

Ginny walks through the silent corridors alone. Michael has ditched his Prefect rounds with her and normally Ginny would too, but she finds she likes the quiet tonight. The portraits are all snoring peacefully and the few ghosts that float by only tip their hats — or heads — and leave her to her thoughts.

They’ve just returned from Christmas break so the stone walls are still freezing cold. She casts a warming charm as she turns down the second-floor corridor, she hears it.

She listens closely to the whispered shouts and hisses, and realizes it’s not a couple of students she can deduct points from — but her friends. Fighting. 

Again.

“— Please, Draco.”

There’s silence, and Ginny casts a silencio on herself as she creeps forward, peering around the corridor.

Hermione has her back against the stone wall and Draco is only a step away from her. He looks at her as if she’s a puzzle that he can’t solve and it pains him — but he’ll gladly spend his whole life solving it.

Finally, he asks, “ Why do you need to know, Granger?”

“I think that’d be fairly expected. I don't like not having answers.”

He steps closer to her, one foot now in between hers. She straightens. Her back melds into the wall. 

“What if,” he whispers, “the answer isn’t what you want to hear?”

Ginny can hear Hermione’s breath catch from where she’s hidden and she watches as her eyes narrow, defiant.

“You think you’re a villain, Draco, but you’re not .”

“I am. I’m selfish,” he hisses, “And anything I have ever done has been for my benefit only.”

She leans forward slightly, a challenge, and Ginny watches Draco sway forward too, his eyes dark and narrow.

“Then why did you do it?” Hermione asks again, “Why didn’t you identify us that night? What benefit” — she sneers — “was it to you?”

His eyes flicker down to Hermione’s lips and back up again, and Ginny knows Hermione’s seen it because she sucks in a breath and holds it, waiting as Draco leans further into her, placing a hand beside her head, and the other hesitant, barely taking a brown curl between his fingertips. 

Hermione’s hands hover over his chest, not quite touching him. Almost as if she’s torn between pulling him to her and pushing him away. 

Ginny wonders if she should stop spying on her friends now, creep away without either of them noticing, but she can’t seem to look away.

Draco’s chin dips down and his lips barely brush Hermione’s nose as he whispers, “You tell me.”

He pulls away sharply, his hands falling from the wall and her hair, leaving Hermione leaning forwards towards empty air, her breath coming in short gasps.

Ginny catches them three more times.

Once from far away. She’s walking along the Black Lake with Luna, listening to her sing about her plans for The Quibbler after Hogwarts and how she wants to travel looking for a new species of nifflers or something, when Ginny spots them.

They’re standing just outside the courtyard, hidden from view of the castle and almost invisible in the late twilight. Their silhouettes are close together, heads bowed so they almost connect but never do. After minutes, what feels like hours, Hermione’s figure walks away, but Draco stays, staring out toward the trees. Eventually, he leaves too.

The second time, she’s in the library with Neville. She requested his help with her herbology homework, so he’s sent her on a quest for a certain book. Ginny sighs, rising from her knees where she’d been combing the bottom shelves for it. She turns down a new aisle and freezes.

He has her back pressed against the stacks. One hand cupping her cheek. Her own hand on his arm. Her eyes are closed and she’s smiling softly, but she turns away quickly as Draco’s head dips down.

“Ginny is waiting for me,” she whispers.

Ginny was doing no such thing.

“Ginevra can wait,” he replies, just as quiet.

Ginny bites back a laugh and watches as Hermione ducks under Draco’s arm. As she disappears down the opposite end of the aisle, he brings his head down to the shelf, eyes closed. Sighing.

The last time, Ginny’s on Prefect rounds again.

She’s climbing the steps to the astronomy tower when she hears the low voices. Quiet laughter. Whispered remarks.

Ginny reaches the last steps, ready to send the students back to their common rooms. She won’t deduct points. She’s tired and just wants to head to bed herself. But her steps freeze as she spies that familiar blonde head. She casts a quick silencio and ducks down behind the iron balustrade.

Draco’s hands are on Hermione’s cheeks, cupping her hair against the side of her face. 

“Thank you for coming up here with me, Granger,” he whispers.

Hermione smiles. 

“Of course,” she replies, her eyes not quite meeting his. Her eyes flick around the tower and she bites her lip.

Draco drops one of his hands, the other sliding through her hair to her neck. He leans into her and her eyes snap up. She looks as if she’s panting.

Draco touches his forehead to hers.

“Let me have something good up here, Hermione,” he whispers, his eyes closing. “Don’t let the last memory of this place be…”

“What do you want me to do?” she breathes.

Draco’s eyes open and he pulls away from her slightly. Hermione’s wide eyes flick between his.

He leans in once more. 

“Stay still,” he whispers.

And he presses his lips to hers.

Hermione gasps. Her eyes close and her hands come up to his chest, gripping a fistful of his shirt in each one. She pulls him closer and he groans. She sighs, and his hands are back to cupping her cheeks. His thumbs sliding beneath her chin and tilting it up, deepening this kiss.

Ginny grins wickedly, and quietly creeps away, back to her dormitory and her bed. Alone. For now. But knowing her two best friends will no longer know what that feels like.

Draco Malfoy knew what it was like to be lonely. 

As the only child to a wealthy and powerful couple, he knew what it was like to not be seen or heard. To have to conform to rigorous rules and expectations. Being the lone Malfoy heir was a lonely business after all. His father had told him as much.

When the Boy Who Lived rejected his handshake, he knew loneliness. Would he always be rejected for his family name? So he did what he was taught best to do — he sneered at the boy’s ginger companion and ridiculed his name right back.

When he finally got to go to Hogwarts, a place he had been dreaming of for years, he soon realized that ruling a common room where everyone resented him didn’t feel much different than an empty manor.

When his father was arrested and brought to Azkaban, he knew loneliness once more. He witnessed it in his mother. In her scared eyes, wandering the manor, making frantic calls to the dwindling group of allies they had left.

When Draco was given the task, when his arm seared with pain and black ink mixed with his blood, he joined a band of brotherhood but had never known loneliness more intimately. He opened the gateway to Hogwarts, invited his new family in, but he was once again pushed aside. Unseen. Unheard.

When he looked out across the courtyard, eyes catching between the good and the bad, the dark and the light, the Order and the Death Eaters. His classmates and his family. Draco had never felt more lonely standing in the grey.

When he returned to that same courtyard for his final year, one of the only in his house to do so, he looked out at the strangers he once considered housemates — laughing with their friends and eyeing him with hatred — he thought, “Better get used to this. This is what you deserve.”

But now? Now he knew what it was like to be loved. 

When Ginevra crossed the library that first week of Eighth Year, sat at his table and annoyed him with her stubborn presence that whole month, he finally conceded that “ yes, there was one alright Weasley in the world .” 

Weeks later, Draco realized he knew what it was like to have a friend. A true one. Not one that he lorded over like Crabbe and Goyle, or was forced upon him like Blaise and Pansy. He knew what it was like to choose his family, and have his family choose him .

And when Hermione smiled at him for the first time, he knew what it was like to have warmth fill his chest. When that beautiful witch’s fingers entwined with his, he knew what it was like to pull someone close. When she tilted her face up to meet his lips, he knew what it was like to feel true all-consuming lust. When he made her whimper and cry out his name as she reached heights she’d only dreamed about, Draco knew what it was like to feel like a god.

When he finally told her why — why he did it. Why he whispered her name over and over as she lay on his drawing room floor — he finally knew what it was like to love and be loved in return.

He finally knew what it was like to have someone always by his side, always on his side. Someone to challenge him, to comfort him, to make him smile and feel the sun on his face even when he stood in the grey.

Weasley is shocked by it. Disgusted when Hermione steps off the Hogwarts Express, fingers laced with Draco’s. She smiles up at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in that way that melts his cold heart. He presses his lips to her temple, watching with delight as Weasley goes green.

Potter doesn’t understand it. He looks between Hermione and Draco confused, brow furrowed as if he fell into a coma in Third Year and has woken up to an alternate universe where there was no Voldemort, no Chosen One. Like he’s been hit in the head with a bludger.

But Ginvera. She only walks beside them, dragging her trunk in her wake, winking at her boyfriend through the engine steam.

“This will be a huge shock for them,” she mutters.

Hermione and Draco share a nervous glance. He tries to smile reassuringly, but he can feel his lips falter.

Gin leans into his shoulder and dramatically whispers, “Think they’ll be okay with us being friends, Malfoy?”

Hermione bursts into laughter and he feels her fingers squeeze his. 

He chuckles and smirks down at Gin, wondering — if he’d had a sibling would they have been as annoying as her? Would he want to roll his eyes and gather them close in the same breath? Would they be a constant companion, match his wit, understand his thoughts, and quell his worries as she does? 

Draco wouldn’t know for sure. But he wouldn’t trade Gin for anything. 

She grins up at him and he tugs on her ponytail.

“You annoy me, Ginevra.”

She throws her head back and laughs, making Weasley cringe and Potter shake his head. 

“Love you too, Draco.”